riends for whom the knowledge of so--so unfortunate
an--inspiration--would be a real grief. Even say we firmly established
by medical evidence the presumption of a mind disordered by fever, il
en resterait quelque chose. At the best it would look ill in him. Very
ill!"

"Don't try medical evidence," said Newman. "Don't touch the doctors and
they won't touch you. I don't mind your knowing that I have not written
to them."

Newman fancied that he saw signs in M. de Bellegarde's discolored mask
that this information was extremely pertinent. But it may have been
merely fancy; for the marquis remained majestically argumentative. "For
instance, Madame d'Outreville," he said, "of whom you spoke yesterday. I
can imagine nothing that would shock her more."

"Oh, I am quite prepared to shock Madame d'Outreville, you know. That's
on the cards. I expect to shock a great many people."

M. de Bellegarde examined for a moment the stitching on the back of one
of his gloves. Then, without looking up, "We don't offer you money," he
said. "That we supposed to be useless."

Newman, turning away, took a few turns about the room and then came
back. "What DO you offer me? By what I can make out, the generosity is
all to be on my side."

The marquis dropped his arms at his side and held his head a little
higher. "What we offer you is a chance--a chance that a gentleman should
appreciate. A chance to abstain from inflicting a terrible blot upon the
memory of a man who certainly had his faults, but who, personally, had
done you no wrong."

"There are two things to say to that," said Newman. "The first is,
as regards appreciating your 'chance,' that you don't consider me a
gentleman. That's your great point you know. It's a poor rule that won't
work both ways. The second is that--well, in a word, you are talking
great nonsense!"

Newman, who in the midst of his bitterness had, as I have said, kept
well before his eyes a certain ideal of saying nothing rude, was
immediately somewhat regretfully conscious of the sharpness of these
words. But he speedily observed that the marquis took them more quietly
than might have been expected. M. de Bellegarde, like the stately
ambassador that he was, continued the policy of ignoring what was
disagreeable in his adversary's replies. He gazed at the gilded
arabesques on the opposite wall, and then presently transferred his
glance to Newman, as if he too were a large grotesque in a rather
vulgar syste