THE AMERICAN
effronteries, what suspicions and what precautions she had not had, from far back, to make her life. "I need n't ask you who has been your accomplice in this clumsy fraud. Catherine Bread told me you had purchased her services."
"Don't accuse Mrs. Bread of venality," Newman returned. "She has kept your secret all these years. She has given you a long respite. It was beneath her eyes your husband wrote that paper; he put it into her hands with a solemn injunction that she was to make it public. You've had the benefit of her merciful delay."
The Marquise appeared for an instant to hesitate, and then, "My husband, for years, did what he—most remarkably!—liked with her," she declared dryly enough. "She was perhaps the meanest of his many mistresses." This was the only concession to self-defence that she condescended to make.
"I very much doubt that," said Newman. "I believe in her decency."
Madame de Bellegarde got up from her bench. "It was n't to your beliefs—however interesting in themselves—I undertook to listen; so that, if you've nothing left but them to tell me, this charming interview may terminate." And turning to the Marquis she took his arm again. "My son," she then oddly resumed, "say something!"
He looked down at her, passing his hand over his forehead to the positive displacement of his hat; with which, tenderly, caressingly, "What shall I say?" he too uncertainly enquired.
"There's only one thing to say—that it was really
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