Claire? She has given you up?"

"I don't really believe it," said Newman.

"No. Don't believe it, don't believe it. She is gaining time; excuse
her."

"I pity her!" said Newman.

"Poor Claire!" murmured Valentin. "But they--but they"--and he paused
again. "You saw them; they dismissed you, face to face?"

"Face to face. They were very explicit."

"What did they say?"

"They said they couldn't stand a commercial person."

Valentin put out his hand and laid it upon Newman's arm. "And about
their promise--their engagement with you?"

"They made a distinction. They said it was to hold good only until
Madame de Cintre accepted me."

Valentin lay staring a while, and his flush died away. "Don't tell me
any more," he said at last. "I'm ashamed."

"You? You are the soul of honor," said Newman simply.

Valentin groaned and turned away his head. For some time nothing more
was said. Then Valentin turned back again and found a certain force to
press Newman's arm. "It's very bad--very bad. When my people--when
my race--come to that, it is time for me to withdraw. I believe in
my sister; she will explain. Excuse her. If she can't--if she can't,
forgive her. She has suffered. But for the others it is very bad--very
bad. You take it very hard? No, it's a shame to make you say so." He
closed his eyes and again there was a silence. Newman felt almost awed;
he had evoked a more solemn spirit than he expected. Presently Valentin
looked at him again, removing his hand from his arm. "I apologize,"
he said. "Do you understand? Here on my death-bed. I apologize for
my family. For my mother. For my brother. For the ancient house of
Bellegarde. Voila!" he added, softly.

Newman for an answer took his hand and pressed it with a world of
kindness. Valentin remained quiet, and at the end of half an hour the
doctor softly came in. Behind him, through the half-open door, Newman
saw the two questioning faces of MM. de Grosjoyaux and Ledoux. The
doctor laid his hand on Valentin's wrist and sat looking at him. He gave
no sign and the two gentlemen came in, M. Ledoux having first beckoned
to some one outside. This was M. le cure, who carried in his hand an
object unknown to Newman, and covered with a white napkin. M. le cure
was short, round, and red: he advanced, pulling off his little black cap
to Newman, and deposited his burden on the table; and then he sat down
in the best arm-chair, with his hands folded across his person. The
othe