Newman sat down beside the mamma, and she talked a great deal, apparently with the design of convincing him that--if he would only see it--poor dear Claire did not belong to the most fascinating type of woman.She was too tall and thin, too stiff and cold; her mouth was too wide and her nose too narrow.
She had no dimples anywhere.And then she was eccentric, eccentric in cold blood; she was an Anglaise, after all.
Newman was very impatient; he was counting the minutes until his victims should reappear.He sat silent, leaning upon his cane, looking absently and insensibly at the little marquise.
At length Madame de Bellegarde said she would walk toward the gate of the park and meet her companions; but before she went she dropped her eyes, and, after playing a moment with the lace of her sleeve, looked up again at Newman.
"Do you remember," she asked, "the promise you made me three weeks ago?" And then, as Newman, vainly consulting his memory, was obliged to confess that the promise had escaped it, she declared that he had made her, at the time, a very queer answer--an answer at which, viewing it in the light of the sequel, she had fair ground for taking offense.
"You promised to take me to Bullier's after your marriage.
After your marriage--you made a great point of that.
Three days after that your marriage was broken off.Do you know, when I heard the news, the first thing I said to myself?
'Oh heaven, now he won't go with me to Bullier's!' And I really began to wonder if you had not been expecting the rupture.""Oh, my dear lady," murmured Newman, looking down the path to see if the others were not coming.
"I shall be good-natured," said Madame de Bellegarde."One must not ask too much of a gentleman who is in love with a cloistered nun.
Besides, I can't go to Bullier's while we are in mourning.
But I haven't given it up for that.The partie is arranged;I have my cavalier.Lord Deepmere, if you please! He has gone back to his dear Dublin; but a few months hence I am to name any evening and he will come over from Ireland, on purpose.
That's what I call gallantry!"
Shortly after this Madame de Bellegarde walked away with her little girl.
Newman sat in his place; the time seemed terribly long.
He felt how fiercely his quarter of an hour in the convent chapel had raked over the glowing coals of his resentment.Madame de Bellegarde kept him waiting, but she proved as good as her word.
At last she reappeared at the end of the path, with her little girl and her footman; beside her slowly walked her husband, with his mother on his arm.They were a long time advancing, during which Newman sat unmoved.Tingling as he was with passion, it was extremely characteristic of him that he was able to moderate his expression of it, as he would have turned down a flaring gas-burner.His native coolness, shrewdness, and deliberateness, his life-long submissiveness to the sentiment that words were acts and acts were steps in life, and that in this matter of taking steps curveting and prancing were exclusively reserved for quadrupeds and foreigners--all this admonished him that rightful wrath had no connection with being a fool and indulging in spectacular violence.
So as he rose, when old Madame de Bellegarde and her son were close to him, he only felt very tall and light.He had been sitting beside some shrubbery, in such a way as not to be noticeable at a distance;but M.de Bellegarde had evidently already perceived him.
His mother and he were holding their course, but Newman stepped in front of them, and they were obliged to pause.
He lifted his hat slightly, and looked at them for a moment;they were pale with amazement and disgust.
"Excuse me for stopping you," he said in a low tone, "but Imust profit by the occasion.I have ten words to say to you.
Will you listen to them?"
The marquis glared at him and then turned to his mother.
"Can Mr.Newman possibly have anything to say that is worth our listening to?""I assure you I have something," said Newman, "besides, it is my duty to say it.It's a notification--a warning.""Your duty?" said old Madame de Bellegarde, her thin lips curving like scorched paper."That is your affair, not ours."Madame Urbain meanwhile had seized her little girl by the hand, with a gesture of surprise and impatience which struck Newman, intent as he was upon his own words, with its dramatic effectiveness.
"If Mr.Newman is going to make a scene in public,"she exclaimed, "I will take my poor child out of the melee.
She is too young to see such naughtiness!" and she instantly resumed her walk.
"You had much better listen to me," Newman went on.
"Whether you do or not, things will be disagreeable for you;but at any rate you will be prepared."
"We have already heard something of your threats," said the marquis, "and you know what we think of them.""You think a good deal more than you admit.A moment,"Newman added in reply to an exclamation of the old lady.
"I remember perfectly that we are in a public place, and you see I am very quiet.I am not going to tell your secret to the passers-by;I shall keep it, to begin with, for certain picked listeners.
Any one who observes us will think that we are having a friendly chat, and that I am complimenting you, madam, on your venerable virtues."The marquis gave three short sharp raps on the ground with his stick.
"I demand of you to step out of our path!" he hissed.
Newman instantly complied, and M.de Bellegarde stepped forward with his mother.Then Newman said, "Half an hour hence Madame de Bellegarde will regret that she didn't learn exactly what I mean."The marquise had taken a few steps, but at these words she paused, looking at Newman with eyes like two scintillating globules of ice.
"You are like a peddler with something to sell," she said, with a little cold laugh which only partially concealed the tremor in her voice.
"Oh, no, not to sell," Newman rejoined; "I give it to you for nothing."And he approached nearer to her, looking her straight in the eyes.