one chooses to take offense, he may. I have a good conscience,"
said Newman.

"So you are really in love with my sister."

"Yes, sir!" said Newman, after a pause.

"And she also?"

"I guess she likes me," said Newman.

"What is the witchcraft you have used?" Valentin asked. "How do YOU make
love?"

"Oh, I haven't any general rules," said Newman. "In any way that seems
acceptable."

"I suspect that, if one knew it," said Valentin, laughing, "you are a
terrible customer. You walk in seven-league boots."

"There is something the matter with you to-night," Newman said in
response to this. "You are vicious. Spare me all discordant sounds until
after my marriage. Then, when I have settled down for life, I shall be
better able to take things as they come."

"And when does your marriage take place?"

"About six weeks hence."

Valentin was silent a while, and then he said, "And you feel very
confident about the future?"

"Confident. I knew what I wanted, exactly, and I know what I have got."

"You are sure you are going to be happy?"

"Sure?" said Newman. "So foolish a question deserves a foolish answer.
Yes!"

"You are not afraid of anything?"

"What should I be afraid of? You can't hurt me unless you kill me by
some violent means. That I should indeed consider a tremendous sell.
I want to live and I mean to live. I can't die of illness, I am too
ridiculously tough; and the time for dying of old age won't come round
yet a while. I can't lose my wife, I shall take too good care of her. I
may lose my money, or a large part of it; but that won't matter, for I
shall make twice as much again. So what have I to be afraid of?"

"You are not afraid it may be rather a mistake for an American man of
business to marry a French countess?"

"For the countess, possibly; but not for the man of business, if you
mean me! But my countess shall not be disappointed; I answer for
her happiness!" And as if he felt the impulse to celebrate his happy
certitude by a bonfire, he got up to throw a couple of logs upon the
already blazing hearth. Valentin watched for a few moments the quickened
flame, and then, with his head leaning on his hand, gave a melancholy
sigh. "Got a headache?" Newman asked.

"Je suis triste," said Valentin, with Gallic simplicity.

"You are sad, eh? It is about the lady you said the other night that you
adored and that you couldn't marry?"

"Did I really say that? It seemed to me afterwards that the wo