THE AMERICAN
all his trouble. "Ah, she has a spark of that flame, my dear sir, most assuredly. But, to tell you the truth, she has also more than a mere spark of another. She's a franche coquette if there ever was one. I'm sorry to say," he added in a moment, shaking his head with a world of accepted melancholy, "it was to come to her as straight as a letter in the post. Her poor mother had that sad vice."
"Why, you were n't happy with your wife?" Newman almost incredulously asked.
M. Nioche gave half a dozen little backward jerks of his head. "She was my heavy cross, monsieur!"
"She was n't very good?"
"She was good for some things and some people, but not for a poor man like me. She deceived me, under my nose, year after year. I was too stupid, and the temptation was too great. But I found her out at last. I've only been once in my life a man to be afraid of; I know it very well: it was in that hour! Nevertheless I don't like to think of it. I loved her—I can't tell you why nor how much. Oh, she was—if I must say so—bad."
"She's not living?"
"She's gone to her account."
"Her influence on your daughter then," said Newman encouragingly, "is not to be feared."
"She cared no more for her daughter than for the wind in the chimney. But Noémie has no more use for bad examples than for good. She's sufficient to herself. She's stronger than I."
"She does n't mind what you say?"
"There is n't much to mind, sir—I say so little.
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