“Oh! what a sumptuous bracelet!” cried she, clapping her hands.  “A green-eyed serpent biting his tail—­the emblem of my love for Philemon.”

“Do not talk of Philemon; it annoys me,” said Ninny Moulin, as he clasped the bracelet round the wrist of Rose-Pompon, who allowed him to do it, laughing all the while like mad, and saying to him, “So you’ve been employed to make a purchase, big apostle, and wish to see the effect of it.  Well! it is charming!”

“Rose-Pompon,” resumed Ninny Moulin, “would you like to have a servant, a box at the Opera, and a thousand francs a month for your pin-money?”

“Always the same nonsense.  Get along!” said the young girl, as she held up the bracelet to the light, still continuing to eat her nuts.  “Why always the same farce, and no change of bills?”

Ninny Moulin again plunged his hand into his pocket, and this time drew forth an elegant chain, which he hung round Rose-Pompon’s neck.

“Oh! what a beautiful chain!” cried the young girl, as she looked by turns at the sparkling ornament and the religious writer.  “If you chose that also, you have a very good taste.  But am I not a good natured girl to be your dummy, just to show off your jewels?”

“Rose-Pompon,” returned Ninny Moulin, with a still more majestic air, “these trifles are nothing to what you may obtain, if you will but follow the advice of your old friend.”

Rose began to look at Dumoulin with surprise, and said to him, “What does all this mean, Ninny Moulin?  Explain yourself; what advice have you to give?”

Dumoulin did not answer, but replunging his hand into his inexhaustible pocket, he fished up a parcel, which he carefully unfolded, and in which was a magnificent mantilla of black lace.  Rose-Pompon started up, full of new admiration, and Dumoulin threw the rich mantilla over the young girl’s shoulders.

“It is superb!  I have never seen anything like it!  What patterns! what work!” said Rose-Pompon, as she examined all with simple and perfectly disinterested curiosity.  Then she added, “Your pocket is like a shop; where did you get all these pretty things?” Then, bursting into a fit of laughter, which brought the blood to her cheeks, she exclaimed, “Oh, I have it!  These are the wedding-presents for Madame de la Sainte-Colombe.  I congratulate you; they are very choice.”

“And where do you suppose I should find money to buy these wonders?” said Ninny Moulin.  “I repeat to you, all this is yours if you will but listen to me!”

“How is this?” said Rose-Pompon, with the utmost amazement; “is what you tell me in downright earnest?”

“In downright earnest.”

“This offer to make me a great lady?”

“The jewels might convince you of the reality of my offers.”

“And you propose all this to me for some one else, my poor Ninny Moulin?”

“One moment,” said the religious writer, with a comical air of modesty, “you must know me well enough, my beloved pupil, to feel certain that I should be incapable of inducing you to commit an improper action.  I respect myself too much for that—­leaving out the consideration that it would be unfair to Philemon, who confided to me the guardianship of your virtue.”