While the old man
stood waiting for Noemie to make a parcel of her implements, he let
his mild, oblique gaze hover toward Bellegarde, who was watching
Mademoiselle Noemie put on her bonnet and mantle. Valentin was at no
pains to disguise his scrutiny. He looked at a pretty girl as he would
have listened to a piece of music. Attention, in each case, was simple
good manners. M. Nioche at last took his daughter's paint-box in one
hand and the bedaubed canvas, after giving it a solemn, puzzled stare,
in the other, and led the way to the door. Mademoiselle Noemie made the
young men the salute of a duchess, and followed her father.
"Well," said Newman, "what do you think of her?"
"She is very remarkable. Diable, diable, diable!" repeated M. de
Bellegarde, reflectively; "she is very remarkable."
"I am afraid she is a sad little adventuress," said Newman.
"Not a little one--a great one. She has the material." And Valentin
began to walk away slowly, looking vaguely at the pictures on the walls,
with a thoughtful illumination in his eye. Nothing could have appealed
to his imagination more than the possible adventures of a young lady
endowed with the "material" of Mademoiselle Nioche. "She is very
interesting," he went on. "She is a beautiful type."
"A beautiful type? What the deuce do you mean?" asked Newman.
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