"To take lessons."

"To take lessons, my daughter? From thee?"

"From you!"

"From me, my child? How should I give lessons?"

"Pas de raisons! Ask him immediately!" said Mademoiselle Noemie, with
soft brevity.

M. Nioche stood aghast, but under his daughter's eye he collected his
wits, and, doing his best to assume an agreeable smile, he executed her
commands. "Would it please you to receive instruction in our beautiful
language?" he inquired, with an appealing quaver.

"To study French?" asked Newman, staring.

M. Nioche pressed his finger-tips together and slowly raised his
shoulders. "A little conversation!"

"Conversation--that's it!" murmured Mademoiselle Noemie, who had caught
the word. "The conversation of the best society."

"Our French conversation is famous, you know," M. Nioche ventured to
continue. "It's a great talent."

"But isn't it awfully difficult?" asked Newman, very simply.