THE AMERICAN
believe it, sir, she did me the honour to have an eye on me. One day I had a red ribbon in my cap, and she flew out at me and ordered me to take it off. She accused me of putting it on to make the Marquis look at me—look in the way he should n't. I don't know that I was impertinent, but I spoke up like an honest girl and did n't count my words. A red ribbon indeed! As if it was my ribbons the Marquis looked at! My lady knew afterwards that I was perfectly respectable, yet she never said a word to show she believed it. But the Marquis did—he knew the rights of me," Mrs. Bread presently added; "and I took off my red ribbon and put it away in a drawer, where I have kept it to this day. It's faded now, it's a very pale pink; but there it lies. My grudge has faded too; the red has all gone out of it; but it lies here yet." And Mrs. Bread touched with old testifying knuckles her black satin bodice.
Newman listened with interest to this decent yet vivid narrative, which seemed to have opened up the deeps of memory to his companion. Then as she remained silent and seemed rather to lose herself in retrospective meditation on her perfect respectability, he ventured on a short cut to his goal. "So Madame de Bellegarde was jealous; I see. And the Marquis admired pretty women without distinction of class. I suppose one must n't be hard on him, for they probably did n't all behave so discreetly as you. But years afterwards it could hardly have been jealousy that turned his wife into a criminal."
Mrs. Bread gave a weary sigh. "We're using dreadful words, sir, but I don't care now. I see
445
