on't pretend to
anything else. Don't flatter yourself that my daughter is not proud. She
is proud in her own way--a somewhat different way from mine. You will
have to make your terms with that. Even Valentin is proud, if you touch
the right spot--or the wrong one. Urbain is proud; that you see for
yourself. Sometimes I think he is a little too proud; but I wouldn't
change him. He is the best of my children; he cleaves to his old mother.
But I have said enough to show you that we are all proud together. It is
well that you should know the sort of people you have come among."

"Well," said Newman, "I can only say, in return, that I am NOT proud;
I shan't mind you! But you speak as if you intended to be very
disagreeable."

"I shall not enjoy having my daughter marry you, and I shall not pretend
to enjoy it. If you don't mind that, so much the better."

"If you stick to your own side of the contract we shall not quarrel;
that is all I ask of you," said Newman. "Keep your hands off, and
give me an open field. I am very much in earnest, and there is not the
slightest danger of my getting discouraged or backing out. You will have
me constantly before your eyes; if you don't like it, I am sorry for
you. I will do for your daughter, if she will accept me everything that
a man can do for a woman. I am happy to tell you that, as a promise--a
pledge. I consider that on your side you make me an equal pledge. You
will not back out, eh?"

"I don't know what you mean by 'backing out,'" said the marquise.
"It suggests a movement of which I think no Bellegarde has ever been
guilty."

"Our word is our word," said Urbain. "We have given it."

"Well, now," said Newman, "I am very glad you are so proud. It makes me
believe that you will keep it."

The marquise was silent a moment, and then, suddenly, "I shall always be
polite to you, Mr. Newman," she declared, "but, decidedly, I shall never
like you."

"Don't be too sure," said Newman, laughing.

"I am so sure that I will ask you to take me back to my arm-chair
without the least fear of having my sentiments modified by the service
you render me." And Madame de Bellegarde took his arm, and returned to
the salon and to her customary place.

M. de la Rochefidele and his wife were preparing to take their leave,
and Madame de Cintre's interview with the mumbling old lady was at an
end. She stood looking about her, asking herself, apparently to whom she
should next speak, when Newman