He had hardly spoken when the crowd in front of them separated, as if by the impulse to make way for an important personage.
Presently, through the opening, advanced Mademoiselle Nioche, attended by the gentleman whom Newman had lately observed.
His face being now presented to our hero, the latter recognized the irregular features, the hardly more regular complexion, and the amiable expression of Lord Deepmere.Noemie, on finding herself suddenly confronted with Newman, who, like M.Nioche, had risen from his seat, faltered for a barely perceptible instant.
She gave him a little nod, as if she had seen him yesterday, and then, with a good-natured smile, "Tiens, how we keep meeting!"she said.She looked consummately pretty, and the front of her dress was a wonderful work of art.She went up to her father, stretching out her hands for the little dog, which he submissively placed in them, and she began to kiss it and murmur over it:
"To think of leaving him all alone,--what a wicked, abominable creature he must believe me! He has been very unwell,"she added, turning and affecting to explain to Newman, with a spark of infernal impudence, fine as a needlepoint, in her eye.
"I don't think the English climate agrees with him.""It seems to agree wonderfully well with his mistress," said Newman.
"Do you mean me? I have never been better, thank you,"Miss Noemie declared."But with MILORD"--and she gave a brilliant glance at her late companion--"how can one help being well?"She seated herself in the chair from which her father had risen, and began to arrange the little dog's rosette.
Lord Deepmere carried off such embarrassment as might be incidental to this unexpected encounter with the inferior grace of a male and a Briton.
He blushed a good deal, and greeted the object of his late momentary aspiration to rivalry in the favor of a person other than the mistress of the invalid pug with an awkward nod and a rapid ejaculation--an ejaculation to which Newman, who often found it hard to understand the speech of English people, was able to attach no meaning.
Then the young man stood there, with his hand on his hip, and with a conscious grin, staring askance at Miss Noemie.
Suddenly an idea seemed to strike him, and he said, turning to Newman, "Oh, you know her?""Yes," said Newman, "I know her.I don't believe you do.""Oh dear, yes, I do!" said Lord Deepmere, with another grin.
"I knew her in Paris--by my poor cousin Bellegarde you know.
He knew her, poor fellow, didn't he? It was she you know, who was at the bottom of his affair.Awfully sad, wasn't it?"continued the young man, talking off his embarrassment as his simple nature permitted."They got up some story about its being for the Pope; about the other man having said something against the Pope's morals.They always do that, you know.
They put it on the Pope because Bellegarde was once in the Zouaves.
But it was about HER morals--SHE was the Pope!"Lord Deepmere pursued, directing an eye illumined by this pleasantry toward Mademoiselle Nioche, who was bending gracefully over her lap-dog, apparently absorbed in conversation with it.
"I dare say you think it rather odd that I should--a-- keep up the acquaintance," the young man resumed."But she couldn't help it, you know, and Bellegarde was only my twentieth cousin.I dare say you think it's rather cheeky, my showing with her in Hyde Park.
But you see she isn't known yet, and she's in such very good form"--And Lord Deepmere's conclusion was lost in the attesting glance which he again directed toward the young lady.
Newman turned away; he was having more of her than he relished.
M.Nioche had stepped aside on his daughter's approach, and he stood there, within a very small compass, looking down hard at the ground.
It had never yet, as between him and Newman, been so apposite to place on record the fact that he had not forgiven his daughter.
As Newman was moving away he looked up and drew near to him, and Newman, seeing the old man had something particular to say, bent his head for an instant.
"You will see it some day in the papers,"' murmured M.Nioche.
Our hero departed to hide his smile, and to this day, though the newspapers form his principal reading, his eyes have not been arrested by any paragraph forming a sequel to this announcement.
