THE AMERICAN
he would n't have been himself if he could wholly fail to be touched by the sight of a woman (criminal or other) in so tight a place. She gave a glance at her son which seemed tantamount to an injunction to be silent and leave her to her own devices. He stood beside her with his hands behind him, quite making up in attitude, as our observer noted, for what he failed of in utterance. It was to remain really a burden on Newman's mind to the end, this irritating, this perplexing illustration he afforded of the positive virtue and the incalculable force, even in the unholy, of attitude "as such." "What paper is this you speak of?" the Marquise asked as if confessing to an interest in any possible contribution to the family archives.
"Exactly what I've told you. A paper written by your husband after you had left him that evening, for dead—written during the couple of hours before you returned. You see he had the time; you should n't have stayed away so long. It declares in the most convincing way his wife's murderous intent.
"I should like to see it," she observed as with the most natural concern for a manifesto so compromising to the—already in his day, alas, so painfully compromised—author of it.
"I thought you might," said Newman, "and I've taken a copy." He drew from his waistcoat pocket a small folded sheet.
"Give it to my son," she returned with decision; on which Newman handed it to the Marquis while she simply added "Look at the thing." M. de Belle-
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