sir; for
the first year of his life he was hardly out of my arms; I taught him
to speak. And the count spoke so well, sir! He always spoke well to his
poor old Bread. When he grew up and took his pleasure he always had a
kind word for me. And to die in that wild way! They have a story that
he fought with a wine-merchant. I can't believe that, sir! And was he in
great pain?"

"You are a wise, kind old woman, Mrs. Bread," said Newman. "I hoped I
might see you with my own children in your arms. Perhaps I shall, yet."
And he put out his hand. Mrs. Bread looked for a moment at his open
palm, and then, as if fascinated by the novelty of the gesture, extended
her own ladylike fingers. Newman held her hand firmly and deliberately,
fixing his eyes upon her. "You want to know all about Mr. Valentin?" he
said.

"It would be a sad pleasure, sir."

"I can tell you everything. Can you sometimes leave this place?"

"The chateau, sir? I really don't know. I never tried."

"Try, then; try hard. Try this evening, at dusk. Come to me in the old
ruin there on the hill, in the court before the church. I will wait for
you there; I have something very important to tell you. An old woman
like you can do as she pleases."

Mrs. Bread stared, wondering, with parted lips. "Is it from the count,
sir?" she asked.

"From the count--from his death-bed," said Newman.

"I will come, then. I will be bold, for once, for HIM."

She led Newman into the great drawing-room with which he had already
made acquaintance, and retired to execute his commands. Newman waited
a long time; at last he was on the point of ringing and repeating his
request. He was looking round him for a bell when the marquis came in
with his mother on his arm. It will be seen that Newman had a logical
mind when I say that he declared to himself, in perfect good faith, as
a result of Valentin's dark hints, that his adversaries looked grossly
wicked. "There is no mistake about it now," he said to himself as they
advanced. "They're a bad lot; they have pulled off the mask." Madame
de Bellegarde and her son certainly bore in their faces the signs of
extreme perturbation; they looked like people who had passed a sleepless
night. Confronted, moreover, with an annoyance which they hoped they had
disposed of, it was not natural that they should have any very tender
glances to bestow upon Newman. He stood before them, and such eye-beams
as they found available they leveled at him; Newm