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Updated: June 16, 2025
He took a kindly leave of M. Nioche, having assured him that, so far as he was concerned, the blue-cloaked Madonna herself might have been present at his interview with Mademoiselle Noemie; and left the old man nursing his breast-pocket, in an ecstasy which the acutest misfortune might have been defied to dissipate.
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.
It was neatly inscribed in pencil, with a great many flourishes, "Mlle. Noemie Nioche." But Mr. Newman, unlike his companion, read the name with perfect gravity; all French names to him were equally droll. "And precisely, here is my father, who has come to escort me home," said Mademoiselle Noemie. "He speaks English. He will arrange with you."
Newman laid down the money, and M. Nioche dropped the napoleons one by one, solemnly and lovingly, into an old leathern purse. "And how is your young lady?" asked Newman. "She made a great impression on me." "An impression? Monsieur is very good. Monsieur admires her appearance?" "She is very pretty, certainly." "Alas, yes, she is very pretty!" "And what is the harm in her being pretty?"
She looked at Newman sharply, to see how he was looking at her, then I don't know what she discovered she said graciously, "How d' ye do, monsieur? won't you come into our little corner?" "Did you come did you come after ME?" asked M. Nioche very softly. "I went to your house to see what had become of you. I thought you might be sick," said Newman.
Newman said to himself that he had better see the thing out and he took a chair at the end of the table, with Mademoiselle Nioche on his left and her father on the other side. "You will take something, of course," said Miss Noemie, who was sipping a glass of madeira. Newman said that he believed not, and then she turned to her papa with a smile. "What an honor, eh? he has come only for us."
"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.
"If you are drinking hot punch," said Newman, "I suppose you are not dead. That's all right. Don't move." M. Nioche stood staring, with a fallen jaw, not daring to put out his hand. The lady, who sat facing him, turned round in her place and glanced upward with a spirited toss of her head, displaying the agreeable features of his daughter.
"I didn't know I had a social position," he said, "and if I have, I haven't the smallest idea what it is. Isn't a social position knowing some two or three thousand people and inviting them to dinner? I know you and your wife and little old Mr. Nioche, who gave me French lessons last spring. Can I invite you to dinner to meet each other? If I can, you must come to-morrow."
I am not so simple! It is a poor business." Valentin remained, and the two men, in their respective places, sat out the rest of the performance, which was also enjoyed by Mademoiselle Nioche and her truculent admirer. At the end Newman joined Valentin again, and they went into the street together.
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