on into an apartment of the house of the Rue
de l'Universite into which he had not yet penetrated, the salon of the
dowager Marquise de Bellegarde. It was a vast, high room, with elaborate
and ponderous mouldings, painted a whitish gray, along the upper portion
of the walls and the ceiling; with a great deal of faded and carefully
repaired tapestry in the doorways and chair-backs; a Turkey carpet in
light colors, still soft and deep, in spite of great antiquity, on the
floor, and portraits of each of Madame de Bellegarde's children, at the
age of ten, suspended against an old screen of red silk. The room was
illumined, exactly enough for conversation, by half a dozen candles,
placed in odd corners, at a great distance apart. In a deep armchair,
near the fire, sat an old lady in black; at the other end of the room
another person was seated at the piano, playing a very expressive
waltz. In this latter person Newman recognized the young Marquise de
Bellegarde.

Valentin presented his friend, and Newman walked up to the old lady by
the fire and shook hands with her. He received a rapid impression of a
white, delicate, aged face, with a high forehead, a small mouth, and a
pair of cold blue eyes which had kept much of the freshness of youth.
Madame de Bellegarde looked hard at him, and returned his hand-shake
with a sort of British positiveness which reminded him that she was
the daughter of the Earl of St. Dunstan's. Her daughter-in-law stopped
playing and gave him an agreeable smile. Newman sat down and looked
about him, while Valentin went and kissed the hand of the young
marquise.

"I ought to have seen you before," said Madame de Bellegarde. "You have
paid several visits to my daughter."

"Oh, yes," said Newman, smiling; "Madame de Cintre and I are old friends
by this time."

"You have gone fast," said Madame de Bellegarde.

"Not so fast as I should like," said Newman, bravely.

"Oh, you are very ambitious," answered the old lady.

"Yes, I confess I am," said Newman, smiling.

Madame de Bellegarde looked at him with her cold fine eyes, and he
returned her gaze, reflecting that she was a possible adversary and
trying to take her measure. Their eyes remained in contact for some
moments. Then Madame de Bellegarde looked away, and without smiling, "I
am very ambitious, too," she said.

Newman felt that taking her measure was not easy; she was a formidable,
inscrutable little woman. She resembled her daughter, and