Madame de Bellegarde gave a glance at her eldest son, and by the time she had crossed the threshold of her boudoir he was at her side.

The room was now empty and offered a sufficient degree of privacy.

The old lady disengaged herself from Newman's arm and rested her hand on the arm of the marquis; and in this position she stood a moment, holding her head high and biting her small under-lip.

I am afraid the picture was lost upon Newman, but Madame de Bellegarde was, in fact, at this moment a striking image of the dignity which--even in the case of a little time-shrunken old lady--may reside in the habit of unquestioned authority and the absoluteness of a social theory favorable to yourself.
"My son has spoken to you as I desired," she said, "and you understand that we shall not interfere.

The rest will lie with yourself." "M.