THE AMERICAN
mercy! You can guess whether it made me feel forgiving!"
M. de Bellegarde appeared to have nothing more to suggest; but he continued to stand there, rigid and elegant, as a man who had believed his mere personal presence would have had an argumentative value. Newman watched him and, without yielding an inch on the main issue, felt an incongruously good-natured impulse to help him to retreat in good order. "Your idea, you see—though ingenious in its way—does n't work. You offer too little."
"Propose something yourself," the Marquis at last brought out.
"Give me back Madame de Cintré relieved of the blight and free of the poison that are all of your producing."
M. de Bellegarde threw up his head and his flush darkly spread. "Never!"
"You can't!"
"We would n't if we could! In the sentiment which led us to deprecate her marriage to you nothing is changed."
"'Deprecate' is lovely!" cried Newman. "It was hardly worth while to come here only to tell me that you're not ashamed of yourselves. I should have come to think of you perhaps as in your guilt-burdened hearts almost pitifully miserable."
The Marquis slowly walked toward the door, and Newman, following, opened it for him. "Your hawking that tatter about will be, on your part, the vulgarest proceeding conceivable, and, as having admitted you to our intimité, we shall proportionately wince
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