THE AMERICAN
Roman Catholic, madam?" he inquired of Madame de Cintré.
"I'm of the faith of my fathers," she gravely replied.
He was struck with a sort of richness in the effect of it—he threw back his head again for contemplation. "Had you never noticed that number up there?" he presently asked.
She hesitated a moment and then, "In former years," she returned.
Her brother had been watching Newman's movement. "Perhaps you would like to examine the house."
Our friend slowly brought down his eyes for recognition of this; he received the impression that the young man at the chimney-piece had his forms, and sought his own opportunities, of amusement. He was a handsome figure of a young man; his face wore a smile, his moustachios were curled up at the ends and there was something—more than the firelight—that played in his eyes. "Damn his French impudence!" Newman was on the point of inwardly growling. "What the deuce is he grinning at?" He glanced at Madame de Cintré, who was only looking at the floor. But she raised her eyes, which again met his, till she carried them to her brother. He turned again to this companion and observed that he strikingly resembled his sister. This was in his favour, and our hero's first impression of Count Valentin had moreover much engaged him. His suspicion expired and he said he should rejoice to see the house.
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