"You were not happy with your wife?" Newman asked.

M. Nioche gave half a dozen little backward jerks of his head. "She was
my purgatory, monsieur!"

"She deceived you?"

"Under my nose, year after year. I was too stupid, and the temptation
was too great. But I found her out at last. I have 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
how much. She was a bad woman."

"She is not living?"

"She has 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 sole of her shoe! But
Noemie has no need of influence. She is sufficient to herself. She is
stronger than I."

"She doesn't obey you, eh?"

"She can't obey, monsieur, since I don't command. What would be the use?
It would only irritate her and drive her to some coup de tete. She is
very clever, like her mother; she would waste no time about it. As a
child--when I was happy, or supposed I was--she studied drawing and