Responsible or not, he was
equally an accomplice of his detestably mischievous daughter. Newman
was going to leave him abruptly, when a ray of entreaty appeared to
disengage itself from the old man's misty gaze. "Are you going away?" he
asked.
"Do you want me to stay?" said Newman.
"I should have left you--from consideration. But my dignity suffers at
your leaving me--that way."
"Have you got anything particular to say to me?"
M. Nioche looked around him to see that no one was listening, and then
he said, very softly but distinctly, "I have NOT forgiven her!"
Newman gave a short laugh, but the old man seemed for the moment not to
perceive it; he was gazing away, absently, at some metaphysical image
of his implacability. "It doesn't much matter whether you forgive her or
not," said Newman. "There are other people who won't, I assure you."
"What has she done?" M. Nioche softly questioned, turning round again.
"I don't know what she does, you know."
"She has done a devilish mischief; it doesn't matter what," said Newman.
"She's a nuisance; she ought to be stopped."
M. Nioche stealthily put out his hand and laid it very gently upon
Newman's arm. "Stopped, yes," he whispered. "That's it. Stopped short.
She is running away--she must be stopped." Then he paused a moment and
looked round him.
Pages:
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538