It does not strike
me as particularly desirable to introduce you to her, and yet I should
rather like to have your opinion of her."
"Is she pretty?"
"I guess you will think so."
Bellegarde passed his arm into that of his companion. "Conduct me to her
on the instant! I should be ashamed to make a pretty woman wait for my
verdict."
Newman suffered himself to be gently propelled in the direction in
which he had been walking, but his step was not rapid. He was turning
something over in his mind. The two men passed into the long gallery of
the Italian masters, and Newman, after having scanned for a moment its
brilliant vista, turned aside into the smaller apartment devoted to
the same school, on the left. It contained very few persons, but at the
farther end of it sat Mademoiselle Nioche, before her easel. She was
not at work; her palette and brushes had been laid down beside her, her
hands were folded in her lap, and she was leaning back in her chair and
looking intently at two ladies on the other side of the hall, who, with
their backs turned to her, had stopped before one of the pictures. These
ladies were apparently persons of high fashion; they were dressed with
great splendor, and their long silken trains and furbelows were spread
over the polished floor. It was at their dresses Mademoiselle Noemie was
looking, though what she was thinking of I am unable to say.
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