“Your daughter has consented, to my great happiness,” said Newman.
“And when was this arrangement made?” asked Madame de Bellegarde. “I seem to be picking up the news by chance!”
“My suspense came to an end yesterday,” said Newman.
“And how long was mine to have lasted?” said the marquise to her daughter. She spoke without irritation; with a sort of cold, noble displeasure.
Madame de Cintré stood silent, with her eyes on the ground. “It is over now,” she said.
“Where is my son—where is Urbain?” asked the marquise. “Send for your brother and inform him.”
Young Madame de Bellegarde laid her hand on the bell-rope. “He was to make some visits with me, and I was to go and knock—very softly, very softly—at the door of his study. But he can come to me!” She pulled the bell, and in a few moments Mrs. Bread appeared, with a face of calm inquiry.
“Send for your brother,” said the old lady.
But Newman felt an irresistible impulse to speak, and to speak in a certain way. “Tell the marquis we want him,” he said to Mrs. Bread, who quietly retired.
Young Madame de Bellegarde went to her sister-in-law and embraced her. Then she turned to Newman, with an intense smile. “She is charming. I congratulate you.”