“Yes, I saw him an hour ago.”
“Did he tell you that he had seen me last night?”
“He said so.”
“And did he tell you what we had talked about?”
Madame de Cintré hesitated a moment. As Newman asked these questions she had grown a little pale, as if she regarded what was coming as necessary, but not as agreeable. “Did you give him a message to me?” she asked.
“It was not exactly a message—I asked him to render me a service.”
“The service was to sing your praises, was it not?” And she accompanied this question with a little smile, as if to make it easier to herself.
“Yes, that is what it really amounts to,” said Newman. “Did he sing my praises?”
“He spoke very well of you. But when I know that it was by your special request, of course I must take his eulogy with a grain of salt.”
“Oh, that makes no difference,” said Newman. “Your brother would not have spoken well of me unless he believed what he was saying. He is too honest for that.”