r, and I can still look after her. If
she will do wrong, why she will. But there are many different
paths, there are degrees. I can give her the benefit--give her the
benefit"--and M. Nioche paused, staring vaguely at Newman, who began to
suspect that his brain had softened--"the benefit of my experience," M.
Nioche added.

"Your experience?" inquired Newman, both amused and amazed.

"My experience of business," said M. Nioche, gravely.

"Ah, yes," said Newman, laughing, "that will be a great advantage to
her!" And then he said good-by, and offered the poor, foolish old man
his hand.

M. Nioche took it and leaned back against the wall, holding it a moment
and looking up at him. "I suppose you think my wits are going," he
said. "Very likely; I have always a pain in my head. That's why I can't
explain, I can't tell you. And she's so strong, she makes me walk as she
will, anywhere! But there's this--there's this." And he stopped, still
staring up at Newman. His little white eyes expanded and glittered for a
moment like those of a cat in the dark. "It's not as it seems. I haven't
forgiven her. Oh, no!"

"That's right; don't," said Newman. "She's a bad case."

"It's horrible, it's horrible," said M. Nioche; "but do you want to know
the truth? I hate her! I take what she gives me, and I hate her
more. To-day she brought me three hundred francs; they are here in my
waistcoat pocket. Now I hate her almost cruelly. No, I haven't forgiven
her."

"Why did you accept the money?" Newman asked.

"If I hadn't," said M. Nioche, "I should have hated her still more.
That's what misery is. No, I haven't forgiven her."

"Take care you don't hurt her!" said Newman, laughing again. And with
this he took his leave. As he passed along the glazed side of the cafe,
on reaching the street, he saw the old man motioning the waiter, with a
melancholy gesture, to replenish his glass.

One day, a week after his visit to the Cafe de la Patrie, he called upon
Valentin de Bellegarde, and by good fortune found him at home. Newman
spoke of his interview with M. Nioche and his daughter, and said he
was afraid Valentin had judged the old man correctly. He had found the
couple hobnobbing together in all amity; the old gentleman's rigor was
purely theoretic. Newman confessed that he was disappointed; he should
have expected to see M. Nioche take high ground.

"High ground, my dear fellow," said Valentin, laughing; "there is
no high ground for him