“Yes,” replied Nini in a little soft, childish voice, “I must be let off to deliver a bodice for the lady on the third floor, and then I’m to match some things at the shops near the Bourse. But I came to ask you, dear uncle, to come to dinner with us this evening; mamma will be so pleased.” Moche never moved a muscle as he listened to the little speech Nini Guinon reeled off, looking her straight in the eyes and preserving an imperturbable gravity. The old brigand was lost in wonder; ah! how well the child played her part, so cutely, so cleverly—with her way of never looking at Ascott, but all the same contriving to attract the Englishman’s admiration. Most certainly he would make something of little Nini, never fear! The bogus uncle and the pseudo-niece took leave of each other prettily. Nini dropped a curtsy as she withdrew, while Ascott, with shining eyes, bowed to the ground before her. Hardly had the charming vision disappeared ere Ascott, hitherto so frigid and impassive in demeanor, showed a complete change of attitude, marching up and down M. Moche’s office in the throes of a feverish excitement. But the old scamp pretended not to notice anything, busily occupied it seemed in sorting his papers. Suddenly he started round; the Englishman was addressing him. “Monsieur Moche, Monsieur Moche!” he called. Then in hesitating accents Ascott went on: “Monsieur Moche, you have a niece, sir ... and a devilish pretty girl she is!” “Well, yes,” the old brigand observed, feigning not to understand the young man’s drift, “it’s true she has fine eyes, but she’s quite a child yet ... the ‘awkward age,’ you know ... later on, I don’t say, when she’s developed a bit; then her good mother and I will find the girl a good husband.” “Moche,” broke in Ascott, “I want to know your niece.” “But,” returned the villain, still with the same affectation of _naïveté_, “you do know her, didn’t I introduce you?” “You are a trifle obtuse, Monsieur Moche, or else a bit _too_ clever; it’s not in that sense I wish to know her, not I. Your niece is to my taste; at the present moment I have no mistress ...” The old “advocate” sprang back, feigning the most extravagant indignation: “Oh, sir, sir,” he cried, “my dear sir, no, upon my word, I could never have believed that of you; do you dare to come to _me_ to make such a proposal? Certainly I’m not a rich man, and little Nini’s sole and only capital is her virtue and her beauty—it is something, it is a great deal even—but by the Lord God, I give you my oath, I will never, never agree to such a bargain. What do you take me for?” But Ascott still persisted: “I take you, Monsieur Moche, for a man of common-sense ... come now, I or another, what harm can it do you?... while, seeing it is I——”