THE AMERICAN
Pope because Bellegarde was once in the Zouaves. But it was about her morals—she was the Pope!" his lordship pursued, directing an eye illumined by this pleasantry toward Mademoiselle Nioche, who, bending gracefully over her lap-dog, was apparently absorbed in conversation with it. "I dare say you think it rather odd that I should—a—keep up the acquaintance," he resumed; "but she could n't help it, you know, and Bellegarde was only my twentieth cousin. I dare say you think it rather cheeky my showing with her in this place; but you see she is n't known yet and she's so remarkably, thoroughly nice—!" With which his attesting glance returned to the young lady.
Newman turned away; he was having too much of her niceness. M. Nioche had stepped aside on his daughter's approach, and he stood there, within a very small compass, looking down hard at the ground. It had decidedly never yet, as between him and his late protector, been so apposite to place on record that, for his vindication, he was only waiting to strike. As Newman turned off he felt himself held, and, seeing the old man, who had drawn so near, had something particular to say, bent his head an instant.
"You'll see it some day dans les feuilles."
Our hero broke away, for impatience of the whole connexion, and to this day, though the newspapers form his principal reading, his eyes have not been arrested by any paragraph forming a sequel to this announcement.
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