rds had
escaped me. Before Claire it was bad taste. But I felt gloomy as I
spoke, and I feel gloomy still. Why did you ever introduce me to that
girl?"

"Oh, it's Noemie, is it? Lord deliver us! You don't mean to say you are
lovesick about her?"

"Lovesick, no; it's not a grand passion. But the cold-blooded little
demon sticks in my thoughts; she has bitten me with those even little
teeth of hers; I feel as if I might turn rabid and do something crazy
in consequence. It's very low, it's disgustingly low. She's the most
mercenary little jade in Europe. Yet she really affects my peace of
mind; she is always running in my head. It's a striking contrast to your
noble and virtuous attachment--a vile contrast! It is rather pitiful
that it should be the best I am able to do for myself at my present
respectable age. I am a nice young man, eh, en somme? You can't warrant
my future, as you do your own."

"Drop that girl, short," said Newman; "don't go near her again, and your
future will do. Come over to America and I will get you a place in a
bank."

"It is easy to say drop her," said Valentin, with a light laugh. "You
can't drop a pretty woman like that. One must be polite, even with
Noemie. Besides, I'll not have her suppose I am afraid of her."

"So, between politeness and vanity, you will get deeper into the mud?
Keep them both for something better. Remember, too, that I didn't want
to introduce you to her: you insisted. I had a sort of uneasy feeling
about it."

"Oh, I don't reproach you," said Valentin. "Heaven forbid! I wouldn't
for the world have missed knowing her. She is really extraordinary. The
way she has already spread her wings is amazing. I don't know when a
woman has amused me more. But excuse me," he added in an instant; "she
doesn't amuse you, at second hand, and the subject is an impure one.
Let us talk of something else." Valentin introduced another topic, but
within five minutes Newman observed that, by a bold transition, he had
reverted to Mademoiselle Nioche, and was giving pictures of her manners
and quoting specimens of her mots. These were very witty, and, for a
young woman who six months before had been painting the most artless
madonnas, startlingly cynical. But at last, abruptly, he stopped, became
thoughtful, and for some time afterwards said nothing. When he rose to
go it was evident that his thoughts were still running upon Mademoiselle
Nioche. "Yes, she's a frightful little monster!" he