She would, perhaps, have replied, but at this moment the door was thrown open and Urbain de Bellegarde stepped across the threshold.

He appeared surprised at finding Newman, but his surprise was but a momentary shadow across the surface of an unwonted joviality.
Newman had never seen the marquis so exhilarated; his pale, unlighted countenance had a sort of thin transfiguration.

He held open the door for some one else to enter, and presently appeared old Madame de Bellegarde, leaning on the arm of a gentleman whom Newman had not seen before.

He had already risen, and Madame de Cintre rose, as she always did before her mother.

The marquis, who had greeted Newman almost genially, stood apart, slowly rubbing his hands.