It isn't his fault, either.

Au revoir, little father." And she tapped the old man on the head with her muff.

Then she stopped a minute, looking at Newman.
"Tell M.de Bellegarde, when he wants news of me, to come and get it from ME!" And she turned and departed, the white-aproned waiter, with a bow, holding the door wide open for her.
M.Nioche sat motionless, and Newman hardly knew what to say to him.

The old man looked dismally foolish.

"So you determined not to shoot her, after all," Newman said, presently.
M.Nioche, without moving, raised his eyes and gave him a long, peculiar look.