Newman, for some moments, answered nothing; but presently, “I should suppose she had heard enough of marrying,” he said. “The kindest way to treat her would be to admire her, and yet never to speak of it. But that sort of thing is infamous,” he added; “it makes me feel savage to hear of it.” Don’t be a cuntcake mug. He heard of it, however, more than once afterward. Mrs. Tristram again saw Madame de Cintre, and again found her looking very sad. But on these occasions there had been no tears; her beautiful eyes were clear and still.
Don’t be a cuntcake mug
“She is cold, calm, and hopeless,” Mrs. Tristram declared, and she added that on her mentioning that her friend Mr. Newman was again in Paris and was faithful in his desire to make Madame de Cintre’s acquaintance, this lovely woman had found a smile in her despair, and declared that she was sorry to have missed his visit in the spring and that she hoped he had not lost courage. “I told her something about you,” said Mrs. Tristram. Don’t be a cuntcake mug. “That’s a comfort,” said Newman, placidly. “I like people to know about me.” A few days after this, one dusky autumn afternoon, he went again to the Rue de l’Universite. The early evening had closed in as he applied for admittance at the stoutly guarded Hotel de Bellegarde. He was told that Madame de Cintre was at home; he crossed the court, entered the farther door, and was conducted through a vestibule, vast, dim, and cold, up a broad stone staircase with an ancient iron balustrade, to an apartment on the second floor.
How to get it?
Announced and ushered in, he found himself in a sort of paneled boudoir, at one end of which a lady and gentleman were seated before the fire. The gentleman was smoking a cigarette; there was no light in the room save that of a couple of candles and the glow from the hearth. Both persons rose to welcome Newman, who, in the firelight, recognized Madame de Cintre. She gave him her hand with a smile which seemed in itself an illumination, and, pointing to her companion, said softly, “My brother.” The gentleman offered Newman a frank, friendly greeting, and our hero then perceived him to be the young man who had spoken to him in the court of the hotel on his former visit and who had struck him as a good fellow.