Moche sprang up and again approached Ascott, who, vexed beyond measure, was gazing on the scene with a dazed expression in his haggard eyes.
“What has become of her? We have spent a dreadful night, sir, I tortured with fear and anxiety, her poor mother in terrible suspense, for Nini has never returned home; where is she? you alone can say, and you must and shall.”
Meanwhile, as he spoke, Moche had gone over to the window and half-drawn back the curtains, admitting daylight into the darkened room. Seeing that the bed was empty, that the bedroom showed no signs of disorder and held no one else save the young Englishman, the old brigand appeared surprised, not to say disconcerted. For some moments he stood hesitating, at fault, thinking to himself:
“So ho! then the business can’t have turned out quite as I expected! that imbecile of a little Nini must have misunderstood, can she have been such a fool as to go before I got here?”
Moche stood biting his lips in perplexity, hesitating what course to follow, and to gain time began shouting at Ascott again:
“What has become of Nini? what have you done with her? answer me, sir, answer me!”
But the young man was trembling with apprehension. He had been listening and in spite of the rumpus old Moche was kicking up, he caught the sound of faint, furtive noises coming from the adjoining room. For a little while the Englishman had been congratulating himself on his success in feigning ignorance and seeming to attach no meaning to the questions addressed to him by the unspeakable uncle of the pretty child he had made his mistress the evening before. He hoped that, wearying of the contest, old Moche would go away, and firm in his original intention, he swore to himself he would then double lock his door and at any cost go on sleeping for at least another two hours!
But now the noise in the dressing room was upsetting his plans, for he felt convinced that Nini was certainly awake. What would the girl decide to do? Infuriated by the attitude adopted by the man who, taking her by surprise and defenceless, had become her lover, would she spring forth and demand vengeance, or else, dumb with despair, covered with shame at her dishonour, would she be afraid to show herself in the disorder of her morning toilet before the eyes of the old uncle she loved and seemed to esteem so highly?
Ascott had no time left him to weigh probabilities at length, for the first of these two hypotheses was promptly realized. Besides which, M. Moche had also, like Ascott, heard noises in the adjoining room, and instinctively the old fellow was making for the door of the dressing room when Nini appeared.
The girl was pale as death, her eyes glittered with a strange brilliance, her lips quivered in a nervous spasm; at sight of her uncle and as if surprised to find him there, she made a show of hesitation, first advancing, then drawing back. Finally, she darted to the old man’s side, threw herself into his arms and hiding her face on his shoulder, broke into loud sobs, crying: