“Oh, damn your point!” said Newman.  “That is the trouble with you Frenchmen; you must be always making points.  Well,” he added, “be short.  But if you are going in for this kind of thing, we must ship you off to America in advance.”

“Very good,” Valentin answered, “whenever you please.  But if I go to America, I must not let this gentleman suppose that it is to run away from him.”

And they separated.  At the end of the act Newman observed that Valentin was still in the baignoire.  He strolled into the corridor again, expecting to meet him, and when he was within a few yards of Mademoiselle Nioche’s box saw his friend pass out, accompanied by the young man who had been seated beside its fair occupant.  The two gentlemen walked with some quickness of step to a distant part of the lobby, where Newman perceived them stop and stand talking.  The manner of each was perfectly quiet, but the stranger, who looked flushed, had begun to wipe his face very emphatically with his pocket-handkerchief.  By this time Newman was abreast of the baignoire; the door had been left ajar, and he could see a pink dress inside.  He immediately went in.  Mademoiselle Nioche turned and greeted him with a brilliant smile.

“Ah, you have at last decided to come and see me?” she exclaimed.  “You just save your politeness.  You find me in a fine moment.  Sit down.”  There was a very becoming little flush in her cheek, and her eye had a noticeable spark.  You would have said that she had received some very good news.

“Something has happened here!” said Newman, without sitting down.

“You find me in a very fine moment,” she repeated.  “Two gentlemen—­one of them is M. de Bellegarde, the pleasure of whose acquaintance I owe to you—­have just had words about your humble servant.  Very big words too.  They can’t come off without crossing swords.  A duel—­that will give me a push!” cried Mademoiselle Noemie clapping her little hands.  “C’est ca qui pose une femme!”

“You don’t mean to say that Bellegarde is going to fight about you!” exclaimed Newman, disgustedly.

“Nothing else!” and she looked at him with a hard little smile.  “No, no, you are not galant!  And if you prevent this affair I shall owe you a grudge—­and pay my debt!”

Newman uttered an imprecation which, though brief—­it consisted simply of the interjection “Oh!” followed by a geographical, or more correctly, perhaps a theological noun in four letters—­had better not be transferred to these pages.  He turned his back without more ceremony upon the pink dress and went out of the box.  In the corridor he found Valentin and his companion walking towards him.  The latter was thrusting a card into his waistcoat pocket.  Mademoiselle Noemie’s jealous votary was a tall, robust young man with a thick nose, a prominent blue eye, a Germanic physiognomy, and a massive watch-chain.  When they reached the box, Valentin with an emphasized bow made way for him to pass in first.  Newman touched Valentin’s arm as a sign that he wished to speak with him, and Bellegarde answered that he would be with him in an instant.  Valentin entered the box after the robust young man, but a couple of minutes afterwards he reappeared, largely smiling.