THE AMERICAN
really an obtuse angle—anywhere. And then she was eccentric, eccentric in cold blood; she was a furious Anglaise after all. Newman was very impatient; he was counting the minutes until his victims should reappear. He sat silent, leaning upon his cane, looking absently and insensibly at Madame Urbain. At last she said she would walk toward the gate of the park and meet her companions; but before she went she dropped her eyes and, after playing a moment with the lace of her sleeve, looked up again at her visitor.
"Do you remember the promise you made me three weeks ago?" And then as Newman, vainly consulting his memory, was obliged to confess that this vow had escaped it, she mentioned that he had made her at the time a very queer answer—an answer at which, viewing it in the light of the sequel, she had fair ground for taking offence. "You promised to take me to Bullier's after your marriage. After your marriage—you made a great point of that. Three days after that your marriage was broken off. Do you know, when I heard the news, the first thing I said to myself? 'Ah, par exemple, now he won't go with me to Bullier's!' And I really began to wonder if you had n't been expecting the rupture."
"Oh, my dear lady—!" he merely murmured, while he looked down the path to see if the others were n't coming.
"I shall be good-natured," said his friend. "One must n't ask too much of a gentleman who's in love with a cloistered nun. Besides, I can't go to Bul-
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