“Oh, I guess nothing will happen,” said Newman.

“I believe I should shoot her!” said the old man, solemnly.

“Oh, we’ll marry her,” said Newman, “since that’s how you manage it; and I will go and see her tomorrow at the Louvre and pick out the pictures she is to copy for me.”

M. Nioche had brought Newman a message from his daughter, in acceptance of his magnificent commission, the young lady declaring herself his most devoted servant, promising her most zealous endeavor, and regretting that the proprieties forbade her coming to thank him in person.  The morning after the conversation just narrated, Newman reverted to his intention of meeting Mademoiselle Noemie at the Louvre.  M. Nioche appeared preoccupied, and left his budget of anecdotes unopened; he took a great deal of snuff, and sent certain oblique, appealing glances toward his stalwart pupil.  At last, when he was taking his leave, he stood a moment, after he had polished his hat with his calico pocket-handkerchief, with his small, pale eyes fixed strangely upon Newman.

“What’s the matter?” our hero demanded.

“Excuse the solicitude of a father’s heart!” said M. Nioche.  “You inspire me with boundless confidence, but I can’t help giving you a warning.  After all, you are a man, you are young and at liberty.  Let me beseech you, then, to respect the innocence of Mademoiselle Nioche!”

Newman had wondered what was coming, and at this he broke into a laugh.  He was on the point of declaring that his own innocence struck him as the more exposed, but he contented himself with promising to treat the young girl with nothing less than veneration.  He found her waiting for him, seated upon the great divan in the Salon Carre.  She was not in her working-day costume, but wore her bonnet and gloves and carried her parasol, in honor of the occasion.  These articles had been selected with unerring taste, and a fresher, prettier image of youthful alertness and blooming discretion was not to be conceived.  She made Newman a most respectful curtsey and expressed her gratitude for his liberality in a wonderfully graceful little speech.  It annoyed him to have a charming young girl stand there thanking him, and it made him feel uncomfortable to think that this perfect young lady, with her excellent manners and her finished intonation, was literally in his pay.  He assured her, in such French as he could muster, that the thing was not worth mentioning, and that he considered her services a great favor.

“Whenever you please, then,” said Mademoiselle Noemie, “we will pass the review.”

They walked slowly round the room, then passed into the others and strolled about for half an hour.  Mademoiselle Noemie evidently relished her situation, and had no desire to bring her public interview with her striking-looking patron to a close.  Newman perceived that prosperity agreed with her.  The little thin-lipped, peremptory air with which she had addressed her father on the occasion of their former meeting had given place to the most lingering and caressing tones.