e clever Frenchwomen--they all seemed clever--turn their
backs to their partners to get a good look at the strange American whom
Claire de Cintre was to marry, and reward the object of the exhibition
with a charming smile. At last, as he turned away from a battery of
smiles and other amenities, Newman caught the eye of the marquis looking
at him heavily; and thereupon, for a single instant, he checked himself.
"Am I behaving like a d--d fool?" he asked himself. "Am I stepping
about like a terrier on his hind legs?" At this moment he perceived
Mrs. Tristram at the other side of the room, and he waved his hand in
farewell to M. de Bellegarde and made his way toward her.

"Am I holding my head too high?" he asked. "Do I look as if I had the
lower end of a pulley fastened to my chin?"

"You look like all happy men, very ridiculous," said Mrs. Tristram.
"It's the usual thing, neither better nor worse. I have been watching
you for the last ten minutes, and I have been watching M. de Bellegarde.
He doesn't like it."

"The more credit to him for putting it through," replied Newman. "But I
shall be generous. I shan't trouble him any more. But I am very happy.
I can't stand still here. Please to take my arm and we will go for a
walk."

He led Mrs. Tristram through all the rooms. There were a great many of
them, and, decorated for the occasion and filled with a stately crowd,
their somewhat tarnished nobleness recovered its lustre. Mrs. Tristram,
looking about her, dropped a series of softly-incisive comments upon her
fellow-guests. But Newman made vague answers; he hardly heard her, his
thoughts were elsewhere. They were lost in a cheerful sense of success,
of attainment and victory. His momentary care as to whether he looked
like a fool passed away, leaving him simply with a rich contentment.
He had got what he wanted. The savor of success had always been highly
agreeable to him, and it had been his fortune to know it often. But it
had never before been so sweet, been associated with so much that was
brilliant and suggestive and entertaining. The lights, the flowers, the
music, the crowd, the splendid women, the jewels, the strangeness even
of the universal murmur of a clever foreign tongue were all a vivid
symbol and assurance of his having grasped his purpose and forced along
his groove. If Newman's smile was larger than usual, it was not tickled
vanity that pulled the strings; he had no wish to be shown with the
finger or