rs, her
confessor and her nephew: the confessor very strict, and the nephew
a man of fifty, with a broken nose and a government clerkship of two
thousand francs. She threw her old lady over, bought a paint-box, a
canvas, and a new dress, and went and set up her easel in the Louvre.
There in one place and another, she has passed the last two years; I
can't say it has made us millionaires. But Noemie tells me that Rome was
not built in a day, that she is making great progress, that I must leave
her to her own devices. The fact is, without prejudice to her genius,
that she has no idea of burying herself alive. She likes to see the
world, and to be seen. She says, herself, that she can't work in
the dark. With her appearance it is very natural. Only, I can't help
worrying and trembling and wondering what may happen to her there all
alone, day after day, amid all that coming and going of strangers. I
can't be always at her side. I go with her in the morning, and I come to
fetch her away, but she won't have me near her in the interval; she says
I make her nervous. As if it didn't make me nervous to wander about
all day without her! Ah, if anything were to happen to her!" cried
M. Nioche, clenching his two fists and jerking back his head again,
portentously.

"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 confi