"I am sure I am very glad you didn't shoot her," said Newman. "I was afraid you might have shot yourself. That is why I came to look you up." And he began to button his coat.
"Neither," said M. Nioche. "You despise me, and I can't explain to you. I hoped I shouldn't see you again."
"Why, that's rather shabby," said Newman. "You shouldn't drop your friends that way. Besides, the last time you came to see me I thought you particularly jolly."
"Yes, I remember," said M. Nioche, musingly; "I was in a fever. I didn't know what I said, what I did. It was delirium."
"Ah, well, you are quieter now."
M. Nioche was silent a moment. "As quiet as the grave," he whispered softly.
"Are you very unhappy?"
M. Nioche rubbed his forehead slowly, and even pushed back his wig a little, looking askance
