Newman pursued this favoring strain for some time longer.  The two men strolled about for a quarter of an hour.  Valentin listened and questioned, many of his questions making Newman laugh loud at the naivete of his ignorance of the vulgar processes of money-getting; smiling himself, too, half ironical and half curious.  And yet he was serious; he was fascinated by Newman’s plain prose version of the legend of El Dorado.  It is true, however, that though to accept an “opening” in an American mercantile house might be a bold, original, and in its consequences extremely agreeable thing to do, he did not quite see himself objectively doing it.  So that when the bell rang to indicate the close of the entr’acte, there was a certain mock-heroism in his saying, with his brilliant smile, “Well, then, put me through; push me in!  I make myself over to you.  Dip me into the pot and turn me into gold.”

They had passed into the corridor which encircled the row of baignoires, and Valentin stopped in front of the dusky little box in which Mademoiselle Nioche had bestowed herself, laying his hand on the doorknob.  “Oh, come, are you going back there?” asked Newman.

“Mon Dieu, oui,” said Valentin.

“Haven’t you another place?”

“Yes, I have my usual place, in the stalls.”

“You had better go and occupy it, then.”

“I see her very well from there, too,” added Valentin, serenely, “and to-night she is worth seeing.  But,” he added in a moment, “I have a particular reason for going back just now.”

“Oh, I give you up,” said Newman.  “You are infatuated!”

“No, it is only this.  There is a young man in the box whom I shall annoy by going in, and I want to annoy him.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Newman.  “Can’t you leave the poor fellow alone?”

“No, he has given me cause.  The box is not his.  Noemie came in alone and installed herself.  I went and spoke to her, and in a few moments she asked me to go and get her fan from the pocket of her cloak, which the ouvreuse had carried off.  In my absence this gentleman came in and took the chair beside Noemie in which I had been sitting.  My reappearance disgusted him, and he had the grossness to show it.  He came within an ace of being impertinent.  I don’t know who he is; he is some vulgar wretch.  I can’t think where she picks up such acquaintances.  He has been drinking, too, but he knows what he is about.  Just now, in the second act, he was unmannerly again.  I shall put in another appearance for ten minutes—­time enough to give him an opportunity to commit himself, if he feels inclined.  I really can’t let the brute suppose that he is keeping me out of the box.”

“My dear fellow,” said Newman, remonstrantly, “what child’s play!  You are not going to pick a quarrel about that girl, I hope.”

“That girl has nothing to do with it, and I have no intention of picking a quarrel.  I am not a bully nor a fire-eater.  I simply wish to make a point that a gentleman must.”