The marquis was stationed before the fire, with his head erect and his hands behind him, in an attitude of formal expectancy.
Old Madame de Bellegarde stood up to give Newman her greeting, and there was that in the way she did so which seemed to measure narrowly the extent of her condescension.

"We are all alone, you see, we have asked no one else," she said, austerely.
"I am very glad you didn't; this is much more sociable," said Newman.
"Good evening, sir," and he offered his hand to the marquis.
M.de Bellegarde was affable, but in spite of his dignity he was restless.

He began to pace up and down the room, he looked out of the long windows, he took up books and laid them down again.

Young Madame de Bellegarde gave Newman her hand without moving and without looking at him.
"You may think that is coldness," exclaimed Valentin; "but it is not, it is warmth.

It shows she is treating you as an intimate.