arming young man; it is impossible to be
cleverer. I know a good deal about him too; you can tell him that when
you next see him."

"No," said Newman, with a sturdy grin; "I won't carry any messages for
you."

"Just as you please," said Mademoiselle Nioche, "I don't depend upon
you, nor does M. de Bellegarde either. He is very much interested in me;
he can be left to his own devices. He is a contrast to you."

"Oh, he is a great contrast to me, I have no doubt" said Newman. "But I
don't exactly know how you mean it."

"I mean it in this way. First of all, he never offered to help me to a
dot and a husband." And Mademoiselle Nioche paused, smiling. "I won't
say that is in his favor, for I do you justice. What led you, by the
way, to make me such a queer offer? You didn't care for me."

"Oh yes, I did," said Newman.

"How so?"

"It would have given me real pleasure to see you married to a
respectable young fellow."

"With six thousand francs of income!" cried Mademoiselle Nioche. "Do
you call that caring for me? I'm afraid you know little about women. You
were not galant; you were not what you might have been."

Newman flushed a trifle fiercely. "Come!" he exclaimed "that's rather
strong. I had no idea I had been so shabby."

Mademoiselle Nioche smiled as she took up her muff. "It is something, at
any rate, to have made you angry."

Her father had leaned both his elbows on the table, and his head, bent
forward, was supported in his hands, the thin white fingers of which
were pressed over his ears. In his position he was staring fixedly at
the bottom of his empty glass, and Newman supposed he was not hearing.
Mademoiselle Noemie buttoned her furred jacket and pushed back her
chair, casting a glance charged with the consciousness of an expensive
appearance first down over her flounces and then up at Newman.

"You had better have remained an honest girl," Newman said, quietly.

M. Nioche continued to stare at the bottom of his glass, and his
daughter got up, still bravely smiling. "You mean that I look so much
like one? That's more than most women do nowadays. Don't judge me yet a
while," she added. "I mean to succeed; that's what I mean to do. I leave
you; I don't mean to be seen in cafes, for one thing. I can't think
what you want of my poor father; he's very comfortable now. It isn't his
fault, either. Au revoir, little father." And she tapped the old man on
the head with her muff. Then she stopped a minut