And what do you think of her face ?" "It's handsome!" said Newman.
"I should think it was! Of course you will go and see her." "To-morrow!" cried Newman.
"No, not to-morrow; the next day.

That will be Sunday; she leaves Paris on Monday.

If you don't see her; it will at least be a beginning." And she gave him Madame de Cintre's address.
He walked across the Seine, late in the summer afternoon, and made his way through those gray and silent streets of the Faubourg St.Germain whose houses present to the outer world a face as impassive and as suggestive of the concentration of privacy within as the blank walls of Eastern seraglios.

Newman thought it a queer way for rich people to live; his ideal of grandeur was a splendid facade diffusing its brilliancy outward too, irradiating hospitality.

The house to which he had been directed had a dark, dusty, painted portal, which swung open in answer to his ring.