THE AMERICAN
facial play, in which irony and urbanity seemed perplexingly commingled. "Are you a brave man?"
"Well, try me."
"Ah then, there you are! In that case come again."
"Dear me, what an invitation!" Madame de Cintré murmured with a smile that betrayed embarrassment.
"Oh, I want Mr. Newman to come—particularly," her brother returned. "It will give me great pleasure. I shall feel the loss if I miss one of his visits. But I maintain he must be of high courage. A stout heart, sir, and a firm front." And he offered Newman his hand.
"I shall not come to see you; I shall come to see Madame de Cintré," said Newman, bent on distinctness.
"You 'll need, exactly for that, all your arms."
"Ah de grâce!" she appealed.
"Decidedly," cried Madame de Bellegarde, "I 'm the only person here capable of saying something polite! Come to see me; you 'll need no courage at all, monsieur."
Newman gave a laugh which was not altogether an assent; then, shaking hands all round, marched away. Madame de Cintré failed to take up her sister's challenge to be gracious, but she looked with a certain troubled air at the retreating guest.
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