atitude.' And then she began to look
at me and presently said, 'Pray, are you engaged in some species of
manufacture?' I wanted to say that I manufactured broom-sticks for old
witches to ride on, but Lizzie got in ahead of me. 'My husband, Madame
la Marquise,' she said, 'belongs to that unfortunate class of persons
who have no profession and no business, and do very little good in
the world.' To get her poke at the old woman she didn't care where she
shoved me. 'Dear me,' said the marquise, 'we all have our duties.' 'I am
sorry mine compel me to take leave of you,' said Lizzie. And we bundled
out again. But you have a mother-in-law, in all the force of the term."

"Oh," said Newman, "my mother-in-law desires nothing better than to let
me alone."

Betimes, on the evening of the 27th, he went to Madame de Bellegarde's
ball. The old house in the Rue de l'Universite looked strangely
brilliant. In the circle of light projected from the outer gate a
detachment of the populace stood watching the carriages roll in; the
court was illumined with flaring torches and the portico carpeted with
crimson. When Newman arrived there were but a few people present. The
marquise and her two daughters were at the top of the staircase, where
the sallow old nymph in the angle peeped out from a bower of plants.
Madame de Bellegarde, in purple and fine laces, looked like an old lady
painted by Vandyke; Madame de Cintre was dressed in white. The old lady
greeted Newman with majestic formality, and looking round her, called
several of the persons who were standing near. They were elderly
gentlemen, of what Valentin de Bellegarde had designated as the
high-nosed category; two or three of them wore cordons and stars. They
approached with measured alertness, and the marquise said that she
wished to present them to Mr. Newman, who was going to marry her
daughter. Then she introduced successively three dukes, three counts,
and a baron. These gentlemen bowed and smiled most agreeably, and Newman
indulged in a series of impartial hand-shakes, accompanied by a "Happy
to make your acquaintance, sir." He looked at Madame de Cintre, but she
was not looking at him. If his personal self-consciousness had been of
a nature to make him constantly refer to her, as the critic before whom,
in company, he played his part, he might have found it a flattering
proof of her confidence that he never caught her eyes resting upon him.
It is a reflection Newman did not make