they might prove needful--but of reflection, good-humored suspicion. He
took from his pocket, while he stood on the portico, a card upon which,
under his name, he had written the words "San Francisco," and while
he presented it he looked warily at his interlocutor. His glance was
singularly reassuring; he liked the young man's face; it strongly
resembled that of Madame de Cintre. He was evidently her brother. The
young man, on his side, had made a rapid inspection of Newman's person.
He had taken the card and was about to enter the house with it when
another figure appeared on the threshold--an older man, of a fine
presence, wearing evening dress. He looked hard at Newman, and Newman
looked at him. "Madame de Cintre," the younger man repeated, as an
introduction of the visitor. The other took the card from his hand,
read it in a rapid glance, looked again at Newman from head to foot,
hesitated a moment, and then said, gravely but urbanely, "Madame de
Cintre is not at home."

The younger man made a gesture, and then, turning to Newman, "I am very
sorry, sir," he said.

Newman gave him a friendly nod, to show that he bore him no malice, and
retraced his steps. At the porter's lodge he stopped; the two men were
still standing on the portico.

"Who is the gentleman with the dog?" he asked of the old woman who
reappeared. He had begun to learn French.

"That is Monsieur le Comte."

"And the other?"