THE AMERICAN
forlornness appealed to his democratic instincts. The assumption of any inevitability in the depressed state always irritated his strong good-nature—it was almost the only thing that did so; and he felt the impulse to pass over it the dipped sponge of his own prosperity. Mademoiselle Noémie's parent, however, had apparently on this occasion been vigorously indoctrinated and showed a certain tremulous eagerness to cultivate unexpected opportunities.
"How much do I owe you then with the frame?" Newman asked.
"It will make in all three thousand francs," said the old man, smiling agreeably but folding his hands in instinctive suppliance.
"Can you give me a receipt?"
"I've brought one," said M. Nioche. "I took the liberty of drawing it up in case monsieur should happen to desire to discharge his debt." And he drew a paper from his pocket-book and presented it to his patron. The document, Newman judged, had the graces alike of penmanship and of style. He laid down the money, and M. Nioche dropped the napoleons one by one, solemnly and lovingly, into an old leathern purse.
"And how's your young lady?" he proceeded. "She made a great impression on me."
"An impression? monsieur is very good. Monsieur finds her —?" the old man quavered.
"I find her remarkably pretty."
"Alas, yes, she's very very pretty!"
"And what's the harm in her being so?"
M. Nioche fixed his eyes upon a spot in the car-
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