THE AMERICAN
it. You made Valentin's last hour an hour of anguish, and my friend's generous spirit repudiates your abominable act."
Urbain de Bellegarde had, from whatever emotion, turned so pale that it might have been at the evoked spectre of his brother; but not for an appreciable instant did his mother lower her crest. You have beau jeu, as we say, before the silence of the grave, for every calumny and every insult. But I don't know," she admirably wound up, "that it in the least matters."
"Ah, I don't know that poor Valentin's apology particularly does either," Newman reflectively conceded. "I pitied him certainly more for having to utter it than I felicitate myself even now for your having to hear it."
The Marquise wrapt herself for a minute in a high aloofness so entire, so of her whole being, as he could feel, that she fairly appeared rather to contract than to expand with the intensity and dignity of it; and out of the heart of this withdrawn extravagance her final estimate of their case sounded clear. "To have broken with you, sir, almost consoles me; and you can judge how much that says! Urbain, open the door." She turned away with an imperious motion to her son and passed rapidly down the length of the room. The Marquis went with her and held the door open. Newman was left standing.
He lifted a finger as a sign to M. de Bellegarde, who closed the door behind his mother and stood waiting. Newman slowly advanced, more silent, for the moment, than life. The two men stood face to face.
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