“So then,” he vociferated, “so then, you know everything?” Moche smiled quietly: “No, not everything,” he protested, “but some little matters!... I take it the Princess Danidoff has no more brains than a sparrow, she must be out of her wits to like this low-class police spy better than you ...” But Moche suddenly stopped dead: “I beg your pardon, but there’s someone knocking,” he exclaimed, and went to open the door, pretending to be greatly surprised. Throwing out his arms and speaking loud enough for Ascott to hear him, he greeted the visitor warmly: “Oh, ho! little Nini, it’s you, is it? what a stroke of luck! How is my dear sister, your good mother? d’you bring me good news?” Like a finished actress, Nini stood up on tiptoe, threw her arms round the old scamp’s neck and kissed him on the brow tenderly, but respectfully. Paulet’s mistress had perfectly well understood Père Moche’s instructions. With her modest, decent get-up, she had all the appearance, all the charm of youth, freshness and purity, of an honest little Paris workgirl, one of those pretty flowers that bloom in many a happy home of good, respectable, industrious working people. The girl was entirely charming with her virginal air of innocence and chastity. Père Moche was all smiles as he looked at her; such was the old scamp’s artfulness in disguising his true feelings that as he stood beside the young girl he offered the very picture of a kind, good uncle, proud and happy in the beauty of his little niece! The man seemed to forget his sordid trade amid these tokens of family affection. Like a father proud of his child, he turned to Ascott, who had been the interested witness of this intimate and touching little scene. “Allow me, my dear sir,” he said, “to introduce my young niece Eugénie Guinon, a good little workgirl, who makes at this present time her three francs a day. She’s barely sixteen, but a tall girl, don’t you think for her age?” Ascott bowed to the young girl, muttering to himself: “She’s charming, charming!” But Moche, seeming not to hear the remark, went on, addressing himself to Nini: “Come, don’t be frightened, show you know your manners, say good-day to the gentleman, offer him your hand!” Nini dropped her eyes, shyly extended her arm, let Ascott imprison her little hand in his nervous fingers, which held it a moment or two—perhaps longer than was quite necessary. But old Moche was anxious, as a good uncle should be, not to make his niece waste her time. “My dear child,” he declared, smacking a big kiss on her blushing cheek, “I’m so pleased to have seen you, but you must run away now, for I suppose you’ve work to do, eh?”