“Never,” said Newman. “I am sure I should have remembered it. Donna Elvira reminds me of Madame de Cintré; I don’t mean in her circumstances, but in the music she sings.”
“It is a very nice distinction,” laughed the marquis lightly. “There is no great possibility, I imagine, of Madame de Cintré being forsaken.”
“Not much!” said Newman. “But what becomes of the Don?”
“The devil comes down—or comes up,” said Madame de Bellegarde, “and carries him off. I suppose Zerlina reminds you of me.”
“I will go to the foyer for a few moments,” said the marquis, “and give you a chance to say that the commander—the man of stone—resembles me.” And he passed out of the box.
The little marquise stared an instant at the velvet ledge of the balcony, and then murmured, “Not a man of stone, a man of wood.” Newman had taken her husband’s empty chair. She made no protest, and then she turned suddenly and laid her closed fan upon his arm. “I am very glad you came in,” she said. “I want to ask you a favor. I wanted to do so on Thursday, at my mother-in-law’s ball, but you would give me no chance. You were in such very good spirits that I thought you might grant my little favor then; not that you look particularly doleful now. It is something you must promise me; now is the time to take you; after you are married you will be good for nothing. Come, promise!”
“I never sign a paper without reading it first,” said Newman. “Show me your document.”
“No, you must sign with your eyes shut; I will hold your hand. Come, before you put your head into the noose. You ought to be thankful to me for giving you a chance to do something amusing.”
“If it is so amusing,” said Newman, “it will be in even better season after I am married.”
“In other words,” cried Madame de Bellegarde, “you will not do it at all. You will be afraid of your wife.”