THE AMERICAN
clined to agree with Valentin that the young lady was very remarkable. "No, to tell the truth, I did n't come for you," he said, "and I did n't expect to find you. I was told," he added in a moment, "that you had left your good father."
"Quelle horreur!" she cried with the brightest of all her smiles. "Does one ever leave one's good father? You've the happy proof of the contrary."
"Yes, convincing proof," said Newman with his almost embarrassed eyes on M. Nioche. The old man caught his glance obliquely, with his faded deprecation, and then, lifting his empty glass, pretended to drink again.
"Who told you that?" Noémie demanded. "But I know very well. It was M. de Bellegarde. Why don't you say yes? You're not polite."
"I'm so shy and simple and stupid," Newman said with a certain fond good faith.
"I set you a better example. I know M. de Bellegarde told you. He knows a great deal about me—or he thinks he does. He has taken a great deal of trouble to find out, but half of it is n't true. In the first place I have n't left my father, any more than he has left me. I'm much too fond of him, and never so fond as now, when he has been gentil, mais gentil—! Is n't it so, little father? Have n't you been gentil, mais gentil? M. de Bellegarde's a charming young man; it's impossible to mieux causer. I know a good deal about him too; you can tell him that when you next see him."
"No," said Newman with a sturdy grin; "I won't carry any messages from you."
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