Mademoiselle Nioche fixed her eyes an instant on Bellegarde, and then
with a little smile, "I don't understand monsieur," she said, "when he
says so much at once. Would you be so good as to translate?"
"I would rather talk to you out of my own head," Valentin declared.
"No," said Newman, gravely, still in his bad French, "you must not talk
to Mademoiselle Nioche, because you say discouraging things. You ought
to tell her to work, to persevere."
"And we French, mademoiselle," said Valentin, "are accused of being
false flatterers!"
"I don't want any flattery, I want only the truth. But I know the
truth."
"All I say is that I suspect there are some things that you can do
better than paint," said Valentin.
"I know the truth--I know the truth," Mademoiselle Noemie repeated. And,
dipping a brush into a clot of red paint, she drew a great horizontal
daub across her unfinished picture.
"What is that?" asked Newman.
Without answering, she drew another long crimson daub, in a vertical
direction, down the middle of her canvas, and so, in a moment, completed
the rough indication of a cross. "It is the sign of the truth," she said
at last.
The two men looked at each other, and Valentin indulged in another
flash of physiognomical eloquence. "You have spoiled your picture," said
Newman.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225