He was a handsome fellow, his face wore a smile, his mustaches were curled up at the ends, and there was a little dancing gleam in his eye.

"Damn his French impudence!" Newman was on the point of saying to himself.

"What the deuce is he grinning at ?" He glanced at Madame de Cintre; she was sitting with her eyes fixed on the floor.

She raised them, they met his, and she looked at her brother.

Newman turned again to this young man and observed that he strikingly resembled his sister.
This was in his favor, and our hero's first impression of the Count Valentin, moreover, had been agreeable.