THE AMERICAN
Madame de Bellegarde stared; it was presumably the first time she had been condoled with on her losses. "I'm content, I think, with what I have," she said with dignity. Her visitor's eyes were at this moment wandering round the room, which struck him as rather sad and shabby; passing from the high casements, with their small thickly-framed panes, to the sallow tints of two or three portraits in pastel, of the last century, which hung between them. He ought obviously to have answered that the contentment of his hostess was quite natural—she had so much; but the idea did n't occur to him during the pause of some moments which followed.
"Well, my dear mother," said Valentin while he came and leaned against the chimney-piece, "what do you think of my good friend? Is n't he the remarkably fine man I told you of?"
"My acquaintance with Mr. Newman has not gone very far," Madame de Bellegarde replied. "I can as yet only appreciate his great politeness."
"My mother's a great judge of these matters," Valentin went on to Newman. "If you've satisfied her it's a triumph."
"I hope I shall satisfy you some day," said Newman to the old lady. "I've done nothing yet."
"You mustn't listen to my son; he'll bring you into trouble. He's a sad scatterbrain," she declared.
Newman took it genially. "Oh, I've got to like him so that I can't do without him."
"He amuses you, eh?"
"I think it must be that."
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