Newman had spoken with cheerful seriousness, but Madame de Bellegarde’s tone made him go on, after a meditative pause, with a certain light grimness of jocularity. “No, I lost money on wash-tubs, but I came out pretty square on leather.”
“I have made up my mind, after all,” said Madame de Bellegarde, “that the great point is—how do you call it?—to come out square. I am on my knees to money; I don’t deny it. If you have it, I ask no questions. For that I am a real democrat—like you, monsieur. Madame de Cintré is very proud; but I find that one gets much more pleasure in this sad life if one doesn’t look too close.”
“Just Heaven, dear madam, how you go at it,” said the Count Valentin, lowering his voice.
“He’s a man one can speak to, I suppose, since my sister receives him,” the lady answered. “Besides, it’s very true; those are my ideas.”
“Ah, you call them ideas,” murmured the young man.
“But Mrs. Tristram told me you had been in the army—in your war,” said Madame de Cintré.
“Yes, but that is not business!” said Newman.
“Very true!” said M. de Bellegarde. “Otherwise perhaps I should not be penniless.”
“Is it true,” asked Newman in a moment, “that you are so proud? I had already heard it.”
Madame de Cintré smiled. “Do you find me so?”