ome time. "Yes, this morning I was right; you have something on your
mind heavier than Valentin de Bellegarde. Come, I'm a dying man and it's
indecent to deceive me. Something happened after I left Paris. It was
not for nothing that my sister started off at this season of the year
for Fleurieres. Why was it? It sticks in my crop. I have been thinking
it over, and if you don't tell me I shall guess."

"I had better not tell you," said Newman. "It won't do you any good."

"If you think it will do me any good not to tell me, you are very much
mistaken. There is trouble about your marriage."

"Yes," said Newman. "There is trouble about my marriage."

"Good!" And Valentin was silent again. "They have stopped it."

"They have stopped it," said Newman. Now that he had spoken out, he
found a satisfaction in it which deepened as he went on. "Your mother
and brother have broken faith. They have decided that it can't take
place. They have decided that I am not good enough, after all. They have
taken back their word. Since you insist, there it is!"

Valentin gave a sort of groan, lifted his hands a moment, and then let
them drop.

"I am sorry not to have anything better to tell you about them," Newman
pursued. "But it's not my fault. I was, indeed, very unhappy when your
telegram reached me; I was quite upside down. You may imagine whether I
feel any better now."

Valentin moaned gaspingly, as if his wound were throbbing. "Broken
faith, broken faith!" he murmured. "And my sister--my sister?"

"Your sister is very unhappy; she has consented to give me up. I don't
know why. I don't know what they have done to her; it must be something
pretty bad. In justice to her you ought to know it. They have made
her suffer. I haven't seen her alone, but only before them! We had an
interview yesterday morning. They came out, flat, in so many words. They
told me to go about my business. It seems to me a very bad case. I'm
angry, I'm sore, I'm sick."

Valentin lay there staring, with his eyes more brilliantly lighted, his
lips soundlessly parted, and a flush of color in his pale face. Newman
had never before uttered so many words in the plaintive key, but now,
in speaking to Valentin in the poor fellow's extremity, he had a feeling
that he was making his complaint somewhere within the presence of the
power that men pray to in trouble; he felt his outgush of resentment as
a sort of spiritual privilege.

"And Claire,"--said Bellegarde,--"