The new-comer was young and pretty, it seemed to Newman; she wore her bonnet and cloak, and a train of royal proportions.

She began to talk rapidly in French.

"Oh, give me some tea, my beautiful one, for the love of God! I'm exhausted, mangled, massacred." Newman found himself quite unable to follow her; she spoke much less distinctly than M.Nioche.
"That is my sister-in-law," said the Count Valentin, leaning towards him.
"She is very pretty," said Newman.
"Exquisite," answered the young man, and this time, again, Newman suspected him of irony.
His sister-in-law came round to the other side of the fire with her cup of tea in her hand, holding it out at arm's-length, so that she might not spill it on her dress, and uttering little cries of alarm.

She placed the cup on the mantel-shelf and begun to unpin her veil and pull off her gloves, looking meanwhile at Newman.
"Is there any thing I can do for you, my dear lady ?" the Count Valentin asked, in a sort of mock-caressing tone.
"Present monsieur," said his sister-in-law.
The young man answered, "Mr.Newman!" "I can't courtesy to you, monsieur, or I shall spill my tea," said the lady.

"So Claire receives strangers, like that ?" she added, in a low voice, in French, to her brother-in-law.
"Apparently!" he answered with a smile.