13 files changed, 43553 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/old/30041-8.txt b/old/30041-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..783d27c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,14404 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mlle. Fouchette, by Charles Theodore Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mlle. Fouchette
+       A Novel of French Life
+
+Author: Charles Theodore Murray
+
+Illustrator: W. H. Richardson
+             E. Benson Kennedy
+             Francis Day
+
+Release Date: September 20, 2009 [EBook #30041]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MLLE. FOUCHETTE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Irma Špehar, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Transcriber's Note:                                       |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |
+    | been preserved.                                           |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |
+    | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+MLLE. FOUCHETTE
+
+_THIRD EDITION_
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration: FOUCHETTE]
+
+
+
+
+MLLE.
+FOUCHETTE
+
+BY
+
+CHARLES THEODORE
+MURRAY
+
+ILLUSTRATED BY W.H. RICHARDSON
+E. BENSON KENNEDY & FRANCIS DAY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
+J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
+MCMII
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1902
+BY
+CHARLES THEODORE MURRAY
+
+_All rights reserved_
+
+Published March, 1902
+
+
+_Printed by
+J. B Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A._
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+MR. R.F. ("TODY") HAMILTON
+
+A CHARMING GENTLEMAN, DELIGHTFUL
+TRAVELLING COMPANION, PRACTICAL
+PHILOSOPHER, AND
+RELIABLE FRIEND
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+FOUCHETTE                                          _Frontispiece_
+
+HIS STILL UNCONSCIOUS BURDEN                             Page 136
+
+SHE SEIZED JEAN BY THE ARM                                 "  182
+
+IT WAS A CRITICAL MOMENT                                   "  383
+
+
+
+
+MLLE. FOUCHETTE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"Get along, you little beast!"
+
+Madame Podvin accompanied her admonition with a vigorous blow from her
+heavy hand.
+
+"Out, I say!"
+
+Thump.
+
+"You lazy caniche!"
+
+Thump.
+
+"You get no breakfast here this morning!"
+
+Thump.
+
+"Out with you!"
+
+Thump.
+
+In the mean time the unhappy object of these objurgations and blows
+had been rapidly propelled towards the open door, and was with a final
+thump knocked into the street.
+
+A stray dog? Oh, no; a dog is never abused in this way in Paris. It
+would probably cause a riot.
+
+It was only a wee bit of a child,--dirty, clothed in rags, with
+tangled blonde hair that had never, apparently, seen a comb, and whose
+little bare feet and thin ankles were incrusted with the dried filth
+of the gutters.
+
+Being only a child, the few neighbors who were abroad at that early
+hour merely grinned at her as she picked herself up and limped away
+without a cry or a word.
+
+"She's a tough one," muttered a witness.
+
+"She's got to be mighty tough to stand the Podvin," responded another.
+
+In the rapidly increasing distance the child seemed to justify these
+remarks; for she began to step out nimbly towards the town of
+Charenton without wasting time over her grievances.
+
+"All the same, I'm hungry," she said to herself, "and the streets of
+Charenton will be mighty poor picking half an hour hence."
+
+She paused presently to examine a pile of garbage in front of a house.
+But the dogs had been there before her,--there was nothing to eat
+there.
+
+These piles of garbage awaited the tour of the carts; they began to
+appear at an early hour in the morning, and within an hour had been
+picked over by rag-pickers, dogs, and vagrants until absolutely
+nothing was left that could be by any possibility utilized by these
+early investigators. Here and there two or three dogs contested the
+spoils of a promising pile, to separate with watchful amity to gnaw
+individual bones.
+
+As it was a principal highway from the Porte de Charenton to the town,
+the piles of refuse had been pretty thoroughly overhauled by the dogs
+and human scum that infested the barrier.
+
+Finally, the girl stopped as a stout woman appeared at a grille with a
+paper of kitchen refuse which she was about to throw into the street.
+
+They looked at each other steadily,--the child with eager, hungry
+eyes; the woman with resentment.
+
+"There is nothing here for you," rasped the latter, retaining her hold
+upon the folded parcel as she advanced to the curb and glanced up and
+down the street.
+
+The child, who had unconsciously carried her rag-picker's hook, stood
+waiting in the middle of the road.
+
+"Don't you hear me?" repeated the woman, threateningly. "Be off with
+you!"
+
+"It is a public road," said the little one.
+
+"You beggar----"
+
+"I haven't asked you for anything, madame," interrupted the child,
+with quivering voice,--"I'd die before asking you for anything,--but I
+have as much right to the road as you."
+
+There was a flash of defiance in the small blue eyes now.
+
+Two street dogs came up on a run. The woman threw down her parcel to
+them and, retreating, slammed the iron gate after her.
+
+With a wicked swing of her hook the child drove the dogs away and
+hastily inspected the garbage. A piece of stale crust and some
+half-decayed fruit rewarded her. A gristled end of beef she threw to
+the dogs, that watched her wistfully a few yards away.
+
+"Voilà! I divide fair, messieurs," said she, skilfully munching the
+sound spots out of the fruit and casting the rest on the ground.
+
+"One would have thought madame was about to spread a banquet," she
+muttered.
+
+She sauntered away, stopping to break the crust with a piece of loose
+paving, with a sharp eye out for other windfalls.
+
+A young girl saw her from a garden, and shyly peeped through the high
+wrought-iron fence at the little savage.
+
+Though the latter never stopped a second in her process of
+mastication, she eyed the other quite as curiously,--something as she
+might have regarded a strange but beautiful animal through the bars of
+its cage.
+
+In experience and practical knowledge of life the respective ages of
+these two might have been reversed; the child of the street been
+sixteen instead of twelve.
+
+Undersized, thin, sallow, and sunburned,--bareheaded, barefooted,
+dirty, and ragged,--she formed a striking contrast to the
+rosy-cheeked, plump, full-lipped, and well-dressed young woman within.
+
+The extraordinary sound of crunching very naturally attracted the
+first attention of the elder.
+
+"What in the world is that which you are eating, child?" she asked.
+
+"Bread, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Bread! Why, it's covered with dirt!"
+
+"Yes, ma'm'selle."
+
+Redoubled exertion of the sound young teeth.
+
+"Why do you eat that?"
+
+"Hungry, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Heavens!"
+
+Continuous crunching, while the child knocks the remaining crust
+against the wall to get the sand out of it, the dirt of the
+paving-stone.
+
+"What's your name?"
+
+"Fouchette."
+
+"Fouchette? Fouchette what?"
+
+"Nothing, ma'm'selle,--just Fouchette."
+
+"Where do you live, Fouchette? Do throw that dirty bread away, child!"
+
+"Say, now, ma'm'selle, do you see anything green in my eye?"
+
+The young woman seriously inspects the blue eye that is rolled up at
+her and shakes her head.
+
+"N-no; I don't see anything."
+
+"Very well," said Fouchette, continuing her attack on the slowly
+dissolving crust.
+
+"Throw it away, I tell you!--I'll run and get you some,--that's a good
+child!"
+
+Fouchette stopped suddenly and remained immobile, regarding her
+interlocutor sharply.
+
+"Truly?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly."
+
+The child looked at what remained of the crust, hesitated, sighed,
+then dropped it on the ground. The young woman hastily re-entered the
+house and presently reappeared with a huge sandwich with meat on a
+liberal scale.
+
+"Oh, how good you are, ma'm'selle!" cried Fouchette.
+
+Her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure,--her young mouth watered as the
+sandwich was passed between the railing.
+
+"What is that,--why, there is blood on your neck, Fouchette!"
+
+The child felt her neck with her hand and brought it away.
+
+"So it is," said she, sinking her teeth into the sandwich.
+
+"Here,--come closer,--turn this way. It's running down now. How did
+you hurt yourself?"
+
+"Dame! It is nothing, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Nothing! You are just black and blue!"
+
+"Mostly black," said Fouchette. The world looked ever so much
+brighter.
+
+"You've been fighting," suggested the young woman, tentatively.
+
+"No, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Then somebody struck you."
+
+"Quite right, ma'm'selle."
+
+This was delivered with such an air of nonchalance that the young lady
+smiled.
+
+"You speak as if it were a common occurrence," she observed.
+
+"It is," said Fouchette, with a desperate swallow,--"Podvin."
+
+"Po-Podvin?"
+
+"Yes, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Person you live with?"
+
+Fouchette nodded,--she had her mouth full.
+
+"They beat you?"
+
+"Most every day."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Er--exercise, mostly, I think."
+
+The half-sly, half-humorous squint of the left blue eye set the
+sympathetic young woman laughing in spite of herself. The remarkable
+precocity of these petites misérables of the slums was new to her.
+
+"But you had father and mother----"
+
+"I don't know, ma'm'selle,--at least they never showed up."
+
+"But, my child, you must have started----"
+
+"I started in a rag-heap, ma'm'selle. There's where the Podvin found
+me."
+
+"In a rag-heap!"
+
+"Yes, ma'm'selle,--so they say."
+
+"But don't you remember anything at all before that?"
+
+"Precious little. Only this: that I came a long ways off, walking, and
+riding in market carts, and walking some more,--and then the Podvin
+found me,--near here,--and here I am. That's all."
+
+"What does Podvin do for a living?"
+
+"Drinks."
+
+"Ah! And madame?"
+
+"Hammers me."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Rags."
+
+"Now, Fouchette, which is 'the' Podvin?"
+
+"Madame, of course!"
+
+The young woman laughed merrily, and Fouchette gave forth a singular,
+low, unmusical tinkle. She was astonished that the young lady should
+put such a question, then amused as she thought of Mother Podvin
+playing second to anybody.
+
+"What a lively little girl you are, Fouchette!" said her questioner,
+pleasantly.
+
+"It's the fleas, ma'm'selle."
+
+"W-wh-what?"
+
+"I sleep with Tartar."
+
+"Who's Tartar, and what----"
+
+"He's the dog, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Heavens!"
+
+"Oh, he's the best of the family, ma'm'selle, very sure!" protested
+Fouchette, naïvely.
+
+"No doubt of it, poor child!"
+
+"Only for him I'd freeze in winter; and sometimes he divides his
+dinner with me--as well as his fleas--when he is not too hungry, you
+know. This amuses the Podvin so that sometimes, when we have company,
+she will not give me any dinner, so I'll have to beg of Tartar. And we
+have lots of fun, and I dance----"
+
+"You dance after that? Why----"
+
+"Oh, I love to dance, ma'm'selle. I can----"
+
+Fouchette elevated her dirty little bare foot against the railing
+above her head by way of illustration; while, half shocked, half
+laughing, the other hastily exclaimed,--
+
+"Là, là, là! Put it down, Fouchette! Put it down!"
+
+A restless glance up and down the road and back towards the house
+seemed to relieve the young woman materially; she laughed now with
+delightful abandon.
+
+"So Tartar and you are good friends in spite of the--the----"
+
+"The fleas,--yes, ma'm'selle. He loves me and me alone. Nobody dares
+come near him when we sleep--or eat,--and I love him dearly. Did you
+ever love anybody, ma'm'selle?"
+
+This artless question appeared to take the young woman by surprise;
+for she grew confused and quite red, and finally told little Fouchette
+to "run along, now, and don't be silly."
+
+"Not with fleas,--oh, no; I didn't mean that!" cried the child,
+conscious of having made a faux pas, but not clear.
+
+But the young woman was already flying through the flower-garden, and
+quickly disappeared around the corner of the house without once
+looking back.
+
+Fouchette then let go of her breath and heaved a deep sigh as she
+turned away.
+
+It was the only occasion within her childish recollection when one of
+her own sex had spoken to her in kindness. Now and then she had
+dreamed of such a thing as having occurred in the long ago,--in some
+other world, perhaps,--this was real, tangible, perceptible to the eye
+and ear.
+
+                        "Sweet words
+    Are like the voices of returning birds,
+    Filling the soul with summer."
+
+For the moment the starved soul of the child was filled with summer
+softness, as she slowly returned along the route she had recently
+come, thinking of the beautiful young lady and the sensuous odor of
+the flowers which had penetrated to the innermost recesses of her
+being.
+
+As she neared the barriers, however, and was gradually recalled to the
+harsh realities of her daily environment, these fleeting dreams had
+disappeared with the rest, leaving the old, fixed feelings of
+hopelessness and sullen combativeness. With this revival came the pain
+from the still recent blows of the morning, temporarily forgotten.
+
+The barriers at Paris have long been the popular haunts of poverty and
+crime,--though their moral conditions have been greatly modified by
+the multitude of tramways that afford the poor of Paris more extended
+outings. The barriers run along the line of fortifications and form
+the "octroi," or tax limit of the city. These big iron gates of the
+barriers intercept every road entering Paris and are manned by customs
+officials, who inspect all incoming vehicles and packages for dutiable
+goods.
+
+Within the barriers is Paris,--beyond is the rest of the world. Inside
+are the police agents,--outside are the gendarmes.
+
+Cheap shows, gypsy camps, merry-go-rounds, and all sorts of games
+hover about the barriers, where no special tax is exacted and where
+the regulations with reference to public order are somewhat lax. They
+attract noisy and unruly crowds on Sundays and holidays. A once
+popular song ran:
+
+    "Pour rigoler montons,
+      Montons à la barrière."
+
+Which means, that to have a good time let us go up to the barrier.
+
+These resorts are infested by the human vermin that prey on the
+ignorant,--thieves, pickpockets, robbers, and cutthroats of every
+description. This very wood of Vincennes near at hand, now the glory
+of picnickers, was for centuries the home and stronghold of the robber
+and professional assassin. And it is a rash man at this day who would
+voluntarily risk his purse and life by being found alone in the
+neighborhood after nightfall.
+
+Fouchette's territory lay chiefly in the streets and suburbs of
+Charenton. To cover it she was compelled to get out before daylight.
+If she had good luck and brought in anything valuable she got an
+extra allowance of soup, sometimes with a scrap of meat, to be
+invariably divided between her and Tartar, or a small glass of red
+wine; if her find was poor her fare was reduced, and instead of food
+she often received blows.
+
+These blows, however, were never administered in the sight of the dog,
+Tartar,--only once, when the savage animal resented this treatment of
+his side partner by burying his teeth in Mother Podvin's arm.
+
+Little Fouchette remembered this friendly intervention by bringing
+home any choice bits of meat found in the house garbage during her
+morning tour. Mother Podvin remembered it by thereafter thumping
+Fouchette out of sight of her canine friend and protector. The
+infuriated woman would have slaughtered the offending spaniel on the
+spot, only Tartar was of infinite service to her husband in his
+business. She dared not, so she took it out on Fouchette.
+
+Monsieur Podvin's business was not confined wholly to drinking, though
+it was perhaps natural that Fouchette should have reached that
+conclusion, since she had seen him in no other occupation. Monsieur
+Podvin, like many others of the mysterious inhabitants of the
+barriers, worked nights. Not regularly, but as occasion invited him or
+necessity drove him. On such occasions Tartar was brought forth from
+the cellar, where he reposed peacefully by the side of his little
+protégée, and accompanied his master. As Tartar was held in strict
+confinement during the day, he was invariably delighted when the call
+of duty gave him this outing. And as he returned at all sorts of hours
+in the early morning, his frail partner and bedfellow never felt that
+it was necessary to sit up for him. Nevertheless, Fouchette was quite
+nervous, and sometimes sleepless, down there among the wine-bottles in
+the dark, on her pallet of straw, when she awoke to find her hairy
+protector missing; though, usually, she knew of his absence only by
+his return, when he licked her face affectionately before curling down
+closely as possible by her side.
+
+Now, Monsieur Podvin's business, ostensibly, was that of keeping a low
+cabaret labelled "Rendez-Vous pour Cochers." It might have been more
+appropriately called a rendezvous for thieves, though this seems
+rather hypercritical when one knows the cabbies of the barriers. But
+the cabaret was really run by Madame Podvin, which robs monsieur of
+the moral responsibilities.
+
+As a matter of fact, Monsieur Podvin was a mighty hunter, like Nimrod
+and Philippe Augustus, and other distinguished predecessors. His field
+of operations was the wood of Vincennes, where Philippe was wont to
+follow the chase some hundreds of years ago, and wherein a long line
+of royal chasseurs have subsequently amused themselves.
+
+With the simple statement that they were all hunters and robbers, from
+Augustus to Podvin, inclusive, the resemblance ends; for the nobles
+and their followers followed the stag and wild boar, whereas Monsieur
+Podvin was a hunter of men.
+
+At first blush the latter would appear to be higher game and a more
+dangerous amusement. Not at all. For the men thus run down by Monsieur
+Podvin and his faithful dog, Tartar, were little above the beasts from
+self-indulgence at any time, and were wholly devoid of even the
+lowest animal instincts when captured. They were the victims of their
+own bestiality before they became the victims of Podvin.
+
+Every gala-day in the popular wood of Vincennes left a certain amount
+of human flotsam and jetsam lying around under the trees and in the
+dark shadows, helpless from a combination of wood alcohol and water
+treated with coloring matter and called "wine." It was Monsieur
+Podvin's business to hunt these unfortunates up and to relieve them of
+any valuables of which they might be possessed, and which they had no
+use for for the time being. It was quite as inspiriting and ennobling
+as going over a battlefield and robbing the dead, and about as safe
+for the operators. The intelligence of Tartar and his indefatigable
+industry lent an additional zest to the hunt and made it at once easy
+and remunerative. Tartar pointed and flushed the prey; all his master
+had to do was to go through the victims, who were usually too helpless
+to object. If, as was sometimes the case, one so far forgot himself as
+to do so, the sight of a gleaming knife-blade generally reconciled the
+victim to the peaceful surrender of his property. On special occasions
+Monsieur Podvin was assisted by a patron of the Rendez-Vous pour
+Cochers; but he usually worked alone, being of a covetous nature and
+unwilling to share profits. When accompanied, it was with the
+understanding that the booty was to be divided into equal shares,
+Tartar counting as an individual and coming in on equal terms, and one
+share on account of Fouchette,--all of which went to Monsieur Podvin.
+
+For, without any knowledge or reward, Fouchette was made to do the
+most dangerous part of the business,--which lay in the disposal of the
+proceeds of the chase. It was innocently carried by her in her
+rag-basket to the receiver inside the barriers.
+
+Where adults would have been suspected and probably searched, first by
+the customs officers and then by the police, Fouchette went
+unchallenged. Her towering basket, under which bent the frail little
+half-starved figure, marked her scarcely more conspicuously than her
+ready wit and cheerful though coarse retorts to would-be sympathizers.
+Her load was delivered to those who examined its contents out of her
+sight. The price went back by another carrier,--a patron of the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. "La petite chiffonnière" was widely known in
+the small world of the Porte de Charenton.
+
+As for Fouchette,--well, she has already, in her laconic way, given
+about all that she knew of her earlier history. Picked up in a
+rag-heap by a chiffonnière of the barrier, she had succeeded to a
+brutal life that had in five years reduced her to the physical level
+of the spaniel, Tartar. In fact, her position was really inferior,
+since the dog was never beaten and had always plenty to eat.
+
+Instead of killing her, as would have been the fate of one of the
+lower animals subjected to the same treatment, all this had seemed to
+toughen the child,--to render her physically and morally as hard as
+nails.
+
+It would be too much or too little--according to the point of view--to
+assume that Fouchette was patient under her yoke and that she went
+about her tasks with the docility of a well-trained animal. On the
+contrary, she not only rebelled in spirit, but she often resisted
+with all her feeble strength, fighting, feet, hands, and teeth, with
+feline ferocity. Having been brought to the level of brutes, she had
+become a brute in instinct, in her sensibility to kindness, her
+pig-headedness, resentment of injury, and dogged resistance.
+
+On her ninth birthday--which, however, was unknown--Monsieur Podvin,
+over his fourth bottle, offered to put her up against the dog of his
+convive of the moment, so much was he impressed with Fouchette's
+fighting talent. Fouchette, who was serving the wine, was not
+unmindful of the implied compliment. She glanced at the animal and
+then at its owner with a bitter smile that in her catlike jaws seemed
+almost a snarl,--
+
+"I'd much rather fight le Cochon," said she.
+
+"Ho! ho! ho!" roared the man, who was a dirty ruffian of two hundred
+pounds, mostly alcohol, and who enjoyed the fitting sobriquet of "le
+Cochon," from his appearance and characteristic grunt.
+
+"Voilà!" cried Monsieur Podvin; "that's Fouchette!"
+
+"Pardieu! but what a little scorcher!" exclaimed the ruffian, rather
+admiringly.
+
+"The dog is honest and decent," said the child, turning her steely
+blue eyes on the man.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+The peremptory voice was that of "the" Podvin behind the zinc. Such
+plain talk--any talk at all about "honesty" and "decency"--at the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers was interdicted. And had the girl noted the
+look which followed her retreating figure she might have gone abroad
+the next morning with less confidence.
+
+From that time on these two, ruffian and child, snapped at each other
+whenever they came in contact,--which, as the man was an habitué of
+the place, and occasional assistant of Monsieur Podvin in his business
+of scouring the wood of Vincennes for booty, was pretty nearly every
+day. For in addition to her labors as a rag-picker Fouchette was
+compelled to wait upon customers in the wine-shop and run errands and
+perform pretty much all the work of housekeeping for the Podvins. Her
+foraging expeditions merely filled in the time when customers were not
+expected.
+
+Strange as it may appear, Fouchette liked this extra hour or so abroad
+better than any other duty of the day,--it was freedom and
+independence. With her high pannier strapped to her slender back and
+iron hook in hand she roamed about the streets of Charenton, sometimes
+crossing over through ancient Conflans and coming home by the Marne
+and Seine. There were only footpads, low-browed rascals, thieves, and
+belated robbers about at this hour, before the trams began to make
+their trips to and from Paris, but these people never disturbed the
+petite chiffonnière, save to sometimes exchange the foul witticisms of
+the slums, in which contests the ready tongue and extensive vocabulary
+of little Fouchette invariably left a track of good-humor. They knew
+she hadn't a sou, and, besides, was one of their class.
+
+Fouchette was a shining example of what environment can make of any
+human being, taken sufficiently young and having no vacation.
+
+Up to this particular morning Fouchette had accepted her position in
+life philosophically as a necessary condition, and with no more
+consideration of the high and mighty of this world than the high and
+mighty had for her. Slowly and by insensible degrees, since she was
+too young to mark the phenomena in any case, she had been forged and
+hammered into a living piece of moral obliquity,--and yet the very
+first contact with an innocent mind and kindly sympathy awoke in her
+childish breast a subtle consciousness that something was wrong.
+
+She fell asleep later, worn out with toil and sore from bruises, her
+thin arm flung across Tartar's neck, to dream of a plump young face, a
+pair of big, dark, soulful eyes that searched and found her heart. The
+noise of the revelling robbers above her faded into one sweet, deep,
+mellow voice that was music to her ears. And the powerful odors that
+impregnated the atmosphere of the cellar and rendered it foul to
+suffocation--dampness and dog and dregs of wine, and garlic and
+decaying vegetables--became the languorous breath of June flowers.
+
+Ah! the beautiful young lady! The beautiful flowers!
+
+Their perfume seemed to choke her, like the deadly tuberoses piled
+upon a coffin.
+
+She tried to cry out, but her mouth was crowded full of something, and
+she awoke to find herself in the brutal hands of some one in the
+darkness. She kicked and scratched and struggled in vain, to be
+quickly vanquished by a brutish blow.
+
+Tartar! Tartar!
+
+Oh, if Tartar were only there!
+
+When she came to herself she was conscious of being carried in her own
+basket on the back of one who stepped heavily and somewhat uncertainly
+along the road.
+
+She was doubled up like a half-shut jack-knife, her feet and head
+uppermost, and had great difficulty in breathing by reason of her
+cramped position and the ill-smelling rags with which she was covered.
+Besides which, she felt sick from the cruel blow in her stomach.
+
+Yet her senses were keenly alert.
+
+She was well aware who had her; for the man gave out his
+characteristic grunt with every misstep, and there was no one else in
+the world likely to do her serious physical injury.
+
+She knew that it was still dark, both from the way the man walked and
+from the cool dampness of the atmosphere with which she was familiar.
+
+Yes, it was le Cochon.
+
+She knew him for an escaped convict, for a murderer as well as a
+robber, and that he would slit a throat for twenty sous if there were
+fair promise of immunity.
+
+She felt instinctively that she was lost.
+
+All at once the man stopped, went on, paused again.
+
+Then she heard other footsteps. They grew louder. They were evidently
+approaching. They were the heavy, hob-nailed shoes of some laborer on
+his way to work.
+
+Her heart stood still for a few moments as she listened, then beat
+wildly with renewed hope.
+
+If she could only cry out; but the rag that filled her mouth made
+giving the alarm impossible.
+
+Finally, after some hesitation, her abductor moved on as if to meet
+the coming footsteps, slowly, and leaning far over now and then, in
+apparent attempt to counterfeit the occupation of a rag-picker. And at
+such moments the child felt that she was standing on the back of her
+neck.
+
+The heavy tramp of the stranger grew nearer--was upon them.
+
+"Bonjour!" called out a cheerful, manly voice.
+
+"Bonjour, monsieur!" replied le Cochon, humbly.
+
+"You are abroad early this morning."
+
+"It is necessary, if an honest chiffonnier would live these times."
+
+"Possible. Good luck to you."
+
+"Thanks, monsieur."
+
+The steps had never paused and were quickly growing fainter down the
+road, while the young heart within the basket grew fainter and fainter
+with the fading sounds.
+
+This temporary hope thus crushed was more cruel than her former
+despair.
+
+Her bearer uttered a low volley of horrible imprecations directed
+towards the unknown.
+
+He stopped suddenly, and, unstrapping the basket from his shoulders,
+placed it on the ground.
+
+Fouchette smelled the morning vapors of the river; discerned now the
+distinct gurgle of the flood.
+
+As the robber took the rags from the basket and pulled her roughly
+forth, the full significance of her perilous situation rushed upon
+her. She trembled so that she could scarcely stand,--would have
+toppled over the edge of the quai but for the strong arm of le Cochon,
+who restrained her.
+
+"Not yet, petite," said he.
+
+And he began to strap the basket upon her young shoulders.
+
+"Pardieu! we must regard conventionalities," he added, with devilish
+malignity.
+
+It was early gray of morning, and a mist hung over the dark waters of
+the Seine. No attempt had been made to obstruct her vision, which,
+long habituated to the hour, took in the road, the stone quai, the
+boats moored not far away, the human monster at her side, all at a
+single sweeping glance.
+
+Her feet and arms were bound, the gag was still in her mouth,--there
+was no escape, no succor.
+
+There was the river; there was le Cochon.
+
+Nothing more.
+
+What more, indeed, was necessary to complete the picture?
+
+Death.
+
+Nothing was easier. No conclusion more mathematically certain.
+
+With his knife between his teeth the assassin hastily adjusted the
+straps under her arms. It was but the work of half a minute from the
+time he had stopped, though to the terror-stricken child it seemed an
+age of torment.
+
+The rags were packed tightly down in the bottom of the basket.
+
+"It'll do for a sinker," said the man.
+
+Then he cut the thongs that held her arms, severed the ligament that
+bound her feet, and with one hand removed the cloth from her mouth,
+while with the other he suddenly pushed his victim over the edge of
+the stone quai.
+
+"Voilà!"
+
+Short as was the opportunity, Fouchette gave one terrified shriek as
+she went over the brink,--a shriek that pierced the river mists and
+reverberated from the stone walls and parapets and went ringing up and
+down the surface of the swiftly swirling stream.
+
+Again, as she reappeared, battling with the murky waters with
+desperate stroke and splash, her childish voice rose,--
+
+"Tartar! Tartar!"
+
+And yet again, choking with the flood,--
+
+"Tar--Tar--tar!"
+
+It was the last thought,--the last appeal,--this despairing cry for
+the only one on earth she loved,--the only being on earth who loved
+her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The piercing cry of Fouchette seemed yet to linger in the misty
+morning air, thrilling the distant ear, vibrating upon the unstrung
+nerves of the outcasts beneath the far-away bridges, borne upon the
+surface of the waters, when it was answered out of the darkness by a
+sharp, shrill note of sympathy.
+
+Those who have heard the wild hyena in his native fastnesses
+responding to the appeal of its imperilled young might have understood
+this half-human, half-savage cry of the roused animal.
+
+And almost simultaneously came the swift rush of feet that seemed to
+claw the granite into flying electric sparks.
+
+The repulsive face of the convict murderer turned pale at the sound,
+and at the sight of the glowing eye-balls his ugly teeth clattered
+against each other. Nevertheless, the instinct of self-preservation
+made him crouch low, deadly knife in hand, to receive the expected
+attack.
+
+At the sight of le Cochon the dog emitted a howl of wrath. With the
+marvellous judgment, however, of the trained animal that will not be
+turned from the trail of a deer by the scent of skunk, this sight
+scarcely checked his plunge.
+
+Tartar's divination was unerring. He wasted no effort in battling with
+the current or paddling around in a circle, but turned at once and
+swam rapidly with the stream. He spent no breath in useless
+vociferation. All his canine strength was put forth to an end. And
+these instincts were quickly rewarded by the sight of a strange
+object floating ahead of him,--something a little higher, than the
+water.
+
+The fiend who had packed the old rags into the bottom of the pannier
+with the double motive of indicating an accident and of carrying the
+child under beneath its weight had overdone the trick. For the rags,
+once soaked, proved so much heavier than the frail body that it turned
+turtle and threw the child face upward and partially above the
+surface. The load instead of sinking buoyed her up, and, being
+strapped securely to it, she could not fall off. Whereas if she had
+simply been thrown into the river without these precautions, she would
+have gone to the bottom.
+
+With a succession of low whines now that were almost human sobs, the
+excited spaniel quickened his stroke, if, indeed, such a thing were
+possible, and redoubled his energies. He saw that it was the body of
+his beloved mate.
+
+But when he reached the floating object and seized it with his teeth
+it was to find that he was powerless to drag it ashore. In vain he
+struggled and splashed and tugged at it. The load was too much for
+him. Almost frantic from disappointment, he soon became exhausted. He
+seemed to realize that he would not only be unable to save his little
+mistress, but was likely to perish with her. It was not long before
+his fight ceased. He hung on by his teeth now to keep from sinking.
+
+Thus the combination, waterlogged basket, unconscious girl, and
+exhausted dog, floated silently along, under the National Bridge, past
+the bridge of Tolbiac, and came opposite the great freight-yards of
+the Orleans Railway on the left and the greater Entrepôts de Bercy on
+the right.
+
+The homeless of both sexes that swarm the shelter of the bridges of
+the Seine were just awakening to life and a renewed sense of misery.
+The thin fog had begun to lift. The sharper eyes of the dog discovered
+the proximity of human beings before the latter could see him, and he
+let go of his floater long enough to utter a few sharp yelps of
+distress.
+
+A tramp, wider awake or less benumbed by liquor than his fellows,
+heard the sounds from the river and called the attention of
+companions.
+
+A dog in distress,--it was enough to rouse the sympathetic blood of
+any true Parisian. The more active of the men ran vociferously along
+the bank, raising the watchmen of either shore.
+
+Numerous barges and tugs lay moored along the Quai de la Gare. From
+these lights began to show. Men sprang up as if by magic. Those on one
+side of the river shouted to those on the other side to find out what
+was the matter, and the other side shouted back that they didn't
+know,--but it was somebody or something in the river. As there is
+always "somebody" in the river, the idea did not attract so much
+attention as the possibility that it was "something."
+
+When it was ascertained that it was a dog--which followed upon
+additional pathetic appeals from the water--there was wild excitement
+all along the line. Men tumbled over barrels and boxes, and ran plump
+up against walls, and fell into pits, and even into the river itself,
+in their anxiety to keep pace with the sounds from the fog.
+
+Others began hastily to get out boats, and ran about with lanterns and
+oars and ends of rope and other life-saving paraphernalia. These boats
+put off simultaneously from either side, and contained police agents,
+bargemen, roustabouts, watchmen, watermen, and bums. As the
+inhabitants of the Long Island shore at the cry of "A whale!" man the
+boats and race to get in the first harpoon, so these rivermen of the
+Seine now pulled for a drowning dog.
+
+The conflicting sounds of human voices, the grating of boats against
+the stones, the rattle of chains, the splash of oars, were plainly
+heard and as plainly understood by the intelligent animal now
+struggling with death. Through his set jaws, which still clung to the
+child's clothing, or, rather, through his nose, there came occasional
+whines of distress that were almost heart-rending in their intensity.
+
+These last faint appeals for help directed the rescuers.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed a waterman, nearing the spot and rowing
+alongside.
+
+"It's a child!" screamed another.
+
+"No, it's a dog," said a third.
+
+The light was still uncertain and objects confusing.
+
+"It's dog and child----"
+
+"It's dead!"
+
+"Not yet, monsieur."
+
+"I mean the child."
+
+"Dead?"
+
+"No; the dog has held its face above water."
+
+"The dog,--quick! he's sinking!"
+
+"Here!"
+
+"A rope!"
+
+"There!"
+
+"No, no! Catch him by the neck!"
+
+"Save the child first!"
+
+"I've got him!"
+
+"And I've got her!"
+
+"Hang on to the dog! Pull him into the boat, stupid!"
+
+"Why, she's strapped down to something!"
+
+"What is this, anyhow?"
+
+"Pull the dog loose, man!--he'll drown her yet!"
+
+"There!"
+
+"Your knife, Pierre!"
+
+"Hold!"
+
+This was from the river policeman, who held up his bull's-eye lantern
+so that it threw a yellow glare on the white upturned face.
+
+"She's dead, poor little thing!"
+
+"We shall bring in the body just as it is," said the official.
+
+"But----"
+
+"That's the law!"
+
+"Tonnerre! Is it the law to let a child drown in one's sight?"
+
+"Oh, she's dead enough, I'm afraid."
+
+"I don't know about that."
+
+"Bring it in just as it is," repeated the official, adjusting a rope
+to the mysterious thing beneath the body.
+
+"Sacré bleu! And if she's alive?"
+
+"Poor doggie! He's about done for too."
+
+And so it really seemed, for Tartar lay in the bottom of the boat,
+still breathing, but in convulsive gasps. In his teeth remained a
+portion of the child's clothing, torn away with him. He had hung to
+his charge to the last. His jaws had never relaxed.
+
+In the mean time the whole fleet with its spoils had been floating
+steadily down with the powerful current. Amidst the wrangle of
+contending voices, and with some angry altercation, the police boat
+and its accompanying consorts were towing the yet unknown object and
+its silent burden towards the shore.
+
+This was not an easy job, since the river becomes more narrow as it
+threads the city, and the current proportionately stronger, and the
+undertow caught at the low-hanging mass as if determined to bear it
+down to the morgue just below. They had been carried under the Pont de
+Bercy and were drawing near the Quai d'Austerlitz. Finally they got
+ashore at the Gare d'Orléans.
+
+"Parbleu! it's a little chiffonnière!"
+
+"Truly!"
+
+"She has evidently fallen into the river with her basket on her back."
+
+They had now, in the rapidly growing daylight, discovered the
+character of the object that held her in its embrace. In fact, when
+half a dozen stout fellows had attempted to lift the whole thing out
+of the water the rags had dropped out unseen and were borne away by
+the current, leaving the light empty pannier and the body of the child
+in their hands. And the men marvelled at the resistance they had
+encountered.
+
+A messenger had been at once despatched for medical assistance. The
+great hospital of Salpêtrière was near at hand.
+
+"May as well take her to the morgue," muttered one.
+
+"Soon enough,--soon enough," replied the river policeman. "Follow the
+custom."
+
+Notwithstanding the general opinion that it was too late, a rough
+boatman had torn off a section of his flannel shirt and was chafing
+the cold little hands, while another rubbed the legs and a third tried
+to restore respiration. These people were familiar with cases of
+drowning, and knew the best and simplest immediate first aid by heart.
+
+To their very great surprise a few minutes sufficed to show that the
+child was still alive. By the time the doctor arrived she gave decided
+signs of returning animation. Under the influence of his restoratives
+she opened her eyes.
+
+"Tartar!" she gasped.
+
+"What's that, little one?" inquired the doctor, bending low over her.
+She still lay on the stone quai, a laborer's coat beneath her extended
+figure.
+
+"Tar--Tartar," she repeated, again closing her eyes. "Oh, mon Dieu! I
+remember now. That wretch!--it could not have been!"
+
+"Maybe it's her dog," suggested a man.
+
+"Yes,--Tartar----"
+
+"There, my child,--don't! Is it the dog?"
+
+"Yes,--tell me----"
+
+"Oh, he's all right.--Say!"
+
+He hailed the group gathered about the other victim of the river.
+
+"How's the dog?"
+
+"All right, Monsieur le Docteur!"
+
+Fouchette heard and brightened perceptibly. The doctor increased the
+effect by observing that the dog was coming around all right.
+
+"But he's had a pretty close call."
+
+"So it was Tartar, after all," whispered Fouchette. "Dear Tartar!"
+
+"A brave dog, Tartar,--stuck to you to the last," put in the
+policeman.
+
+"Truly!"
+
+Half a dozen men cried at once, "Vive Tartar!" with the enthusiasm of
+true Frenchmen.
+
+And if a dog ever did deserve the encomiums that were showered upon
+him Tartar certainly was that dog.
+
+As soon as Fouchette began to revive, a stalwart bargewoman, awakened
+in her little cubby by the cries of the men in the vicinity, and who
+had hastily turned out to see for herself, had disappeared for a
+moment in her floating home, and shortly afterwards returned with some
+substantial clothing borrowed from her family wardrobe.
+
+"How thin the child is!" she remarked, as she substituted the dry
+clothing on the spot.
+
+"Thin!" growled a bystander; "she had to be mighty thin to come down
+the river on an empty basket!"
+
+"You see, she must have fallen in with the basket on her back----"
+
+"I was pushed in," corrected Fouchette.
+
+"Pushed into the river?"
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"Who did it, child?"
+
+"Impossible!"
+
+"There is some devilish crime here."
+
+"It's a case for the police."
+
+This last observation came from the policeman as he brought out his
+note-book, while a buzz of indignation ran through the crowd.
+
+Fouchette heard these mutterings and saw the inquisitorial pencil of
+the official in uniform. He had shut off his light with a snap.
+
+At this moment Tartar, having heard the voice of his mistress, had
+struggled to his feet, and now dragged himself over to where she lay.
+The crowd separated for him.
+
+"Ah! Tartar!" exclaimed Fouchette, affectionately, raising her hand to
+his head.
+
+With a whimper of joy the noble animal licked her hand, her face and
+neck, wagging his bedraggled tail with intense satisfaction, winding
+up this demonstration by lying down by her side as closely as he could
+get, and giving a long breath, which in a human being would be called
+a sigh.
+
+The act moved the coarse bargewoman to tears, while the men turned
+away to hide their emotion.
+
+The silence was profound,--the testimony of a sentiment too deep for
+mere words.
+
+The police agent was the first to come to the practical point in the
+situation. The violence phase of the case made him consequential. It
+would invite the attention of his superiors. It would get his name in
+the daily journals.
+
+"What is your name, child?"
+
+The intended victim of police interrogatory closed her eyes without
+answering.
+
+"You were thrown into the river. It is necessary for us to know the
+name of the person who committed this outrage. If you do not know, it
+is our business to find out. The miscreant must be arrested and
+punished. Where do you live?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Speak, my child! Speak up!"
+
+She had reopened her eyes and now looked at him steadily, stonily, but
+without a word. He was nonplussed.
+
+As Fouchette began rapidly to recover her strength she also recovered
+her self-possession, also the results of her training. Foremost among
+these were her suspicions of the police, whom she had come to believe
+were organized by society to restrain and harass the poor; that the
+informer was the lowest grade of humanity.
+
+In addition to these precepts of the barriers, Fouchette was afraid.
+She knew the character of those whom she had left behind. She felt
+certain that if she betrayed them to the police she would be put out
+of the way.
+
+Nor was this fear at all unreasonable. Without her recent terrible
+experience she would have been fully aware of the danger that attended
+a too loquacious tongue. The question of putting this one or that one
+"out of the way" had frequently been discussed openly and seriously at
+the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. A word from her now would send the
+police down on that resort. Just a little while ago she was nervous
+and unstrung, but, while she had at first formed the intention of
+bringing le Cochon to book, the very first question brought her face
+to face with the consequences. The second query increased her
+obstinacy. The peremptory command to speak out left her mute. By
+saying nothing she could compromise nobody.
+
+"Only a street waif," suggested the doctor,--"probably has no home."
+
+Fouchette, who had now risen to a sitting posture, nodded vivaciously.
+
+"Then why didn't you say so?" growled the police agent. "Have you any
+parents?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Whom were you living with, and where?"
+
+"Nowhere."
+
+"Now, again,--what is your name?"
+
+Silence.
+
+"Why don't you answer?"
+
+"Because it's none of your business," snapped Fouchette.
+
+"We'll see about that before the Commissaire," retorted the agent.
+"He'll take the sulk out of you."
+
+"Hold on," put in the bargewoman; "don't be harsh with her, monsieur.
+She has been abused dreadfully. Her body is covered with bruises."
+
+"So much more reason we should find out who did it,--who has attempted
+to murder the child into the bargain."
+
+"She has been cruelly beaten."
+
+Fouchette nodded.
+
+"I'll have to take you to the Commissariat, my child."
+
+"I don't care where you take me,--that is, if Tartar goes along."
+
+The dog regarded her inquiringly.
+
+"Certainly," responded the agent,--"Tartar is a part of the case.
+Allons!"
+
+He would have picked her up in his powerful arms, but she rebelled
+vigorously, protesting that she could walk.
+
+"Very well. Good! You're a plucky one. You're the right stuff."
+
+The little official party--the agent, Fouchette, Tartar, a waterman
+carrying the basket, the stout bargewoman bearing the child's wet
+clothing--took up the march, followed by several idlers in search of
+sensation.
+
+Having arrived at the Commissariat, it was necessary to await the hour
+when it pleased Monsieur le Commissaire to put in an appearance. In
+the mean time Fouchette was disposed of on a bench within a railed
+space, her bare feet dangling, momentarily growing physically better
+and more mentally perplexed.
+
+What would they do with her?
+
+She dared not return to the Podvins. She knew of no other place to go.
+She was desperately alone in the world. Only Tartar, who once more
+stretched himself at her feet, with his head in a position where he
+could keep a half-open eye on his mistress. Tartar needed rest, and
+was getting it.
+
+The police! Next to the murderer of the barrier she hated and feared
+the police.
+
+Would they send her to prison?
+
+After all, she thought, one might as well have been drowned to a
+finish. It would have been an easy escape from this uncertainty and
+agony of mind.
+
+She began to feel hungry. Gradually the thoughts of what she should do
+for something to eat, and where she would be able to get something for
+Tartar, drove out all other thoughts. If they could only get away
+now,--at this hour something might be found in the streets. She
+calculated the chances of escape by a sudden dash for the door. But
+there were several police agents lounging in the anteroom, and her
+conductor sat at the little gate of the enclosure. So the scheme was
+reluctantly dismissed. Anyhow, if they would let Tartar remain with
+her she didn't care much.
+
+During this time several successive attempts were made by the police
+agents to get her to talk. She responded by "Yes" or "No" or a motion
+of the head to all questions not connected with her case. On this
+subject she was persistently silent.
+
+An hour later the bargewoman, who had been in secret consultation with
+the police agents, went out and got Fouchette a roll and some cheese,
+which she ate eagerly. This woman was a coarse, masculine-looking
+creature with hands as hard and rough as a fowl's foot, a distinct
+moustache and tufts of hair cropping out here and there on her neck
+and chin, but her voice assumed a kindly tone. She led Fouchette to
+the farther corner of the room.
+
+"I must go back to my boat now, chérie. Cheer up! And promise me one
+thing,--don't try the river again. You were not born to be drowned,
+anyhow. If you really want to die you'll have to try something else."
+
+"But I don't want to die," protested Fouchette.
+
+"And they send people to prison who attempt suicide," continued the
+woman.
+
+"But I didn't, madame."
+
+"The bodies spoil the water. There are so many of them floating by.
+I've seen hundreds of 'em in my time."
+
+"No, indeed; I would rather live."
+
+"That's right,--that's a dear! My barge is 'La Thérèse,'--named after
+me. We are in the coal trade. I want you to come and see me, petite.
+You shall take a trip to Rouen. Yes,--would you like to----"
+
+"Oh, very much, madame!" interrupted Fouchette, joyfully.
+
+"You shall."
+
+"And Tartar?"
+
+"Shall go too. We'll have fine times, I promise you. You will find us
+at the Quai d'Austerlitz when in Paris."
+
+"Thank you,--so much! I've seen the big boats go by lots of times and
+wished I was on one--one with flowers and vines and a dog--Tartar. And
+sometimes I've seen 'em in my sleep--yes."
+
+Fouchette at once lost herself in this prospect. It would be the most
+delightful thing in her life.
+
+"Yes, it is very nice," continued the bargewoman. "Remember,
+chérie,--'La Thérèse.' You can bring the clothes with you. Ask for
+me,--'Thérèse.' My husband named the barge after me long ago."
+
+"It's a pretty name," said the child.
+
+"You think so? A name is--what is your real name, petite?"
+
+"I don't know, madame," replied Fouchette, promptly and truthfully.
+
+"What! Don't know your own name? Impossible!"
+
+The woman was vexed, and made no effort to conceal her vexation. To be
+outwitted by a mere child was too much to bear with equanimity. As
+kindly disposed as she was by nature, she lost her temper at once at
+what she considered a stupid falsehood.
+
+"You're an obstinate little brute!" she exclaimed, in a passion,--a
+state of mind aggravated by the laughter of the police agents in the
+room.
+
+"Yes, and a little liar," she added.
+
+"M--mad--madame!" stammered the trembling child, whose bright visions
+vanished in a twinkling.
+
+"I don't wonder they threw you in the river,--not a bit!"
+
+Fouchette's lips were now set in mute rage. She was up in arms at
+once. Her steely eyes shot fire. The honest bargewoman had almost won
+her childish confidence. Another word or two of kindness and she would
+have gained an easy victory. Now, however, everything was upset and
+the fat was in the fire.
+
+Without a word Fouchette began to hurriedly divest herself of the
+clothing she wore and to throw the garments, piece by piece, on the
+floor.
+
+So quickly was this accomplished that neither the astonished woman nor
+the puzzled police agents could interfere before the child stood there
+perfectly nude in the midst of them. Her frame, which was little more
+than a living skeleton covered with marks of violence, fairly quivered
+with anger. She choked so that she could not speak. In another minute
+she had resumed her wet rags.
+
+"Voilà!" she finally cried, pointing to the discarded garments. "At
+least you can never say that I asked for them or didn't return them!"
+
+"Mon Dieu!" The woman was overwhelmed,--breathless.
+
+To be misunderstood is often the bitterest thing to bear in this life.
+Madame Thérèse and little Fouchette were suffering simultaneously from
+this evil.
+
+"Take 'em away!"
+
+"But listen, child! I----"
+
+"Take 'em away!" she screamed.
+
+Tartar rose with an ominous growl and looked from his mistress to the
+woman.
+
+"We don't need 'em, do we, Tartar? No! Let them take their gall and
+honey with 'em. Yes! They make us tired. Yes!"
+
+To all of these observations--somewhat heavily weighted with barrier
+billingsgate--Tartar showed his approval by wagging his tail knowingly
+and by covering the small face bent down to him with canine kisses.
+
+"Better come away, madame," said an agent, in a low voice, to the
+stupefied woman thus assailed. He laughed at her discomfiture. "It is
+waste kindness and waste time. You can't do anything with that sort of
+riffraff. It's only a stray cat fed to scratch you. They're a bad
+lot."
+
+The "bad lot" had overheard this police philosophy, and it confirmed
+her pre-existing opinion of the police.
+
+Monsieur le Commissaire was a grave and burly gentleman of middle
+life, with iron-gray hair and moustache, and eyes that seemed to read
+their object through and through. He pulled this moustache
+thoughtfully as he listened to the report of the river police agent,
+all the time keeping the eyes upon the diminutive but defiant child
+before him. When he had learned everything,--including the scene in
+the station,--he said, abruptly,--
+
+"Come in here, my child. Don't be afraid,--nobody's going to hurt you.
+Yes, bring the dog. Brave dog! Splendid fellow! Come! I'd like to own
+that dog, now,--I would, indeed!" he observed, as he closed the door
+of his private office; "but I suppose you wouldn't part with him for
+the world now, would you?"
+
+"N-no. But he isn't mine, monsieur," she replied, regretfully.
+
+"No? What a pity! Then perhaps I could buy him, eh?"
+
+"I--I don't know. Monsieur Podvin----"
+
+She stopped suddenly. But the magistrate was looking abstractedly over
+her head and did not appear to notice her slip of the tongue. He was
+thinking. It gave little Fouchette time to recover.
+
+He was something like the enthusiastic physician who sees in his
+patient only "a case,"--something devoid of personality. He recognized
+in this waif a condition of society to be treated. In his mind she was
+a wholly irresponsible creature. Not the whole case in question,--oh,
+no; but a part of the case. What she had been, was now, or would be
+were questions that did not enter into the consideration. Nothing but
+the case.
+
+Instead of putting the child through a course of questions,--what she
+anticipated and had steeled herself against,--he merely talked to her
+on what appeared to be topics foreign to the subject immediately in
+hand.
+
+"You must be taken care of in some way," he declared. "Yes,--a child
+like you should not be left in the streets of Paris to beg or
+starve,--and it's against the law to beg----"
+
+"But I never begged, monsieur," interrupted the child,--"never!"
+
+"Of course not,--of course not! No; you are too proud to beg. That's
+right. But you couldn't make a living picking rags, and the law
+doesn't permit a child to pick rags in the streets of Paris."
+
+"I never did, monsieur, never!"
+
+"Of course not,--you would be arrested. But outside the barriers the
+work is not lucrative. Charenton, for instance, is not as prolific of
+rags as it is of rascals."
+
+At the mention of Charenton Fouchette started visibly; but her
+interlocutor did not seem to notice it.
+
+"No; it does not even give as brave a child as you enough to eat,--not
+if you work ever so hard,--let alone to provide comfortably for
+Tar--for Tartar. Eh, my brave spaniel? We must get Tartar some
+breakfast. Has Tartar had any breakfast?"
+
+"No, monsieur,--oh, no! And he is so hungry!"
+
+She was all eagerness and softness when it came to her faithful
+companion. Tartar began to take a lively interest in the conversation
+of which he knew himself the subject.
+
+"Exactly," said the Commissaire, suddenly getting up. He had reached
+his conclusion. "Now, remain here a few minutes, little one, while I
+see about it."
+
+He disappeared into the outer office and remained closeted in a small
+cabinet with a telephone. Then, calling one of his men in plain
+clothes aside, he gave some instructions in a rapid manner.
+
+When he re-entered the private office he knew that a rascal named
+Podvin kept a disreputable cabaret near the Porte de Charenton, and
+that a small, thin child called Fouchette lived with the Podvins, who
+also kept a dog, liver-colored, with dark-brown splotches, named
+Tartar, but that the child was not yet missed, probably owing to the
+fact that it was her customary hour in the streets of Charenton. In
+the same time he had notified the Préfecture that a murderous attempt
+had been made on a child, probably by some one of the gang that
+infested the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, and had been directed to
+co-operate with two skilled Central men in an investigation.
+
+"All right, petite," said the Commissaire, rubbing his hands and
+assuming his most oily tone. "First we are going to have some dry
+clothes and some shoes and stockings and----"
+
+"I only--I never wore shoes and stockings," interrupted Fouchette,
+somewhat embarrassed by this flood of finery. "I don't need 'em,
+monsieur. It is only Tartar's----"
+
+"Oh, we'll attend to Tartar also,--don't be afraid."
+
+"Monsieur is very kind."
+
+"It is nothing. Come along, now. You're going to ride in a nice
+carriage, too,--for the crowd might follow you in the street, you
+know,--and I'll send a man with you to take good care of you."
+
+"But Tartar----"
+
+"You can take him in the carriage with you if you wish,--yes, it is
+better, perhaps. He might get run over or lost."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+And thus Fouchette rode in state, and in wet rags at the same time,
+down past the great Jardin des Plantes, the Halle aux Vins, and along
+the Boulevard St. Germain to Rue St. Jacques, where they turned down
+across the Petit Pont and stopped in the court-yard of an immense
+building across the plaza from Notre Dame. Tartar was somewhat uneasy,
+as well as his little mistress, at this novelty of locomotion, but as
+long as they were together it seemed to be all right. So they looked
+out of the carriage windows at the sights that were as strange to
+their eyes as if they had never before been in the city of Paris.
+Meanwhile, to divert the child, the man at her side had gayly pointed
+out the objects of interest.
+
+"Ah! and there is grand old Notre Dame," said he.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"Notre Dame."
+
+"It's a big house."
+
+"Yes; but you've seen it, of course."
+
+"Never."
+
+"What!" he exclaimed, in astonishment; "you, a little Parisienne, and
+never saw Notre Dame?"
+
+"You--you, monsieur, you have then seen everything in Paris?"
+
+There was a vein of cold irony in the small voice.
+
+"Er--w-well, not quite. Not quite, perhaps," he smilingly answered.
+
+"No, nor I," she said.
+
+"But Notre Dame----"
+
+"What's Notre Dame to me? Nothing!"
+
+A slight gesture of impatience.
+
+"But----"
+
+"What's it for?"
+
+"Why, it's a church, petite."
+
+"A church! And what's that to me?"
+
+"Well, truly, I don't know, child. Nothing, I suppose."
+
+"Nothing!"
+
+She snapped her fingers contemptuously.
+
+"Here is the Préfecture."
+
+It was the Préfecture de Police and not Notre Dame that had to do with
+little Fouchette and her kind. She knew what the Préfecture was,
+though she now saw it for the first time. And she shivered in her wet
+rags as the carriage turned into the great court-yard surrounded by
+the immense stone quadrangle that fronts upon the quai.
+
+A troop of the Garde de Paris was drilling at the upper end of the
+court. Sentinels with gay uniforms and fixed bayonets solemnly paraded
+at the three gate-ways.
+
+"Come, petite," said the man, flinging open the carriage doors and
+lifting the child in his arms to the ground. The dog leaped out after
+her and looked uneasily up and down.
+
+Half an hour later when Fouchette emerged with her conductor she had
+undergone a transformation that would have rendered her
+unrecognizable in Charenton. She had not only been washed and combed
+and rubbed down, but had been arrayed in a frock of grayish material,
+a chip hat with flowers in it, and shoes and stockings. She was so
+excited over the grandeur of her personal appearance that she had
+completely lost her bearings. It is true the hat was too old for a
+child of her years, and the coarse new costume was several sizes too
+large for her bony little frame, and the shoes were very embarrassing,
+but to Fouchette they seemed the outfit of a "real lady."
+
+She had entered the Préfecture sullenly, desperately, half expecting
+to be sent to a lonely cell and perhaps loaded with chains,--she had
+heard tell of such things,--and, instead, had been treated with
+kindness by a gentle matron, her body washed and clothed, her stomach
+made glad with rich soup and bread and milk, while Tartar was amply
+provided for before her own eyes.
+
+Fouchette was still in a daze when she found herself again in the
+closed carriage, with Tartar at her feet, being whirled away at a pace
+that seemed to threaten the lives of everybody in the streets. The
+same man sat beside her, and an extra man had, at the last moment,
+clambered up by the side of the driver.
+
+This furious speed was continued for a long time, until Fouchette
+began to wonder more and more where they were going. She could not
+recognize anything en route, and the man was now serious and taciturn.
+
+All at once she saw that they were approaching the barrier. Things
+looked differently from a carriage window, and yet there was a
+familiar air about the surroundings.
+
+The man noticed her uneasiness and pulled down the blinds.
+
+A terrible fear now seized her. Were they going to take her back to
+the Podvins?
+
+This fear increased as the speed of the vehicle lessened and as Tartar
+began to move about impatiently. He was trying to get his nose under
+the curtain.
+
+"Hold him down!" said the man in a low voice. He was afraid to touch
+the dog himself.
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" she finally exclaimed, "we are not going to--to----"
+
+"The Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, my little Fouchette," he put in, with a
+smile.
+
+"Oh, mon Dieu! Please, monsieur! Take me anywhere else,--back to the
+Préfecture--to prison--anywhere but to this place! They'll kill me!
+Oh, they'll kill me, monsieur!"
+
+"Bah! No, they won't, little one. We'll take care of that."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Besides," he continued, reassuringly, "we're not going to leave you
+there, so don't be afraid. Maybe you won't have to get out, or be seen
+even, if you do as I tell you. Have no fear."
+
+"Mon Dieu! monsieur does not know. They'll kill you, too!"
+
+"No, they won't. And I know all about them, my child. There are four
+of us, and---- Keep the dog down till I open the door."
+
+The carriage had stopped.
+
+"Stay right where you are," he whispered. "Let the dog out."
+
+Tartar could not have been held in by both of them. He jumped to the
+ground with joyous barks of recognition.
+
+It was now ten o'clock, and the usual odors of a Parisian second
+breakfast permeated the atmosphere of the cabaret.
+
+Four or five rough-looking men were lounging about, gossiping over
+their absinthe or apératif. Monsieur Podvin was already, at this early
+hour in the day, on his second bottle of ordinaire. Opposite, as
+usual, sat le Cochon.
+
+Madame Podvin was busily burnishing up the zinc bar, and the vigorous
+and spiteful way in which she did this betrayed the fact that she was
+in bad temper. She was reserving an extra force of pent-up wrath
+against the moment when that "lazy little beast Fouchette" should put
+in an appearance.
+
+Monsieur Podvin was also irritated, but not because of Fouchette's
+prolonged absence. He was concerned about Tartar.
+
+Le Cochon sympathized with both of them.
+
+Among the various theories offered for these disappearances madame
+thought that Fouchette was simply playing truant. The dog did not
+bother her calculation, as he would not share the punishment.
+
+Monsieur was certain that the girl had enticed the dog away from home;
+though why she had taken her basket and hook if she were not coming
+back he could not say.
+
+Le Cochon took a gloomy view of it. He was afraid some accident had
+befallen her,--she might have got run over by a fiacre, or have fallen
+into the river.
+
+"Nonsense!" protested M. Podvin. "The dog would come home. He wouldn't
+get run over too, and you couldn't drown a spaniel."
+
+It was precisely at this moment that the loud barking of Tartar broke
+upon their ears, confirming his master's judgment and sending a thrill
+through everybody in the room. This sensation, however, was by no
+means the same.
+
+The brute master alone rejoiced for pure love of the dog and for the
+dog's sake.
+
+Madame Podvin went in search of a certain stout strap used upon
+Fouchette on special occasions of ceremonial penological procedure.
+
+Two strange men seated at some distance from each other, and who up to
+that moment had ignored each other's existence, exchanged looks of
+intelligence and rose as if to leave the place.
+
+Le Cochon alone seemed disconcerted. His beetle brows clouded, and his
+right hand involuntarily sought the handle of his knife.
+
+The instincts of the robber were this time unerring. For Tartar had
+scarcely licked the dirty hand of his master, when his eyes fell upon
+the would-be murderer of his beloved mistress. The sight appeared to
+startle the animal at first. But only for a second. Then, with a growl
+of rage that began low and ominously, like the first notes of a
+thunder-storm, and swelled into a howl, the spaniel sprang upon the
+villain and fastened his fangs in his fleshy throat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The onset was so sudden and swift, and the animal had received such a
+powerful impetus from his spring, that the burly robber went down with
+a tremendous crash.
+
+Man and dog rolled together in the dirt, upsetting tables and chairs
+and raising a terrible uproar. The desperate wretch plunged his knife
+again and again into the body of the enraged spaniel; the latter only
+clinched his teeth tighter and endeavored to tear his enemy by main
+brute strength.
+
+Madame Podvin, having been diverted from her original purpose by this
+unexpected mêlée, set up a scream that would have drowned an active
+calliope.
+
+"That's our bird!" shouted the man who had been serving as Fouchette's
+footman.
+
+Whereupon his partner and the two agents from the Préfecture who had
+been waiting within fell upon the struggling pair.
+
+It was all over in a few seconds.
+
+Yet within that brief period Tartar lay dead from a knife-thrust in
+the heart, and the robber was extended alongside of his victim, his
+hands securely manacled upon his back.
+
+"Hold on, gentlemen!" broke in M. Podvin at this juncture, having
+found his voice for the first time, "what does this mean?"
+
+"It means, my dear Podvin, that this amiable gentleman, who has always
+been so handy with his knife, is wanted at the Préfecture----"
+
+"And that you are politely requested to accompany him," added the
+other Central man, tapping M. Podvin on the shoulder.
+
+"But, que diable!"
+
+"Come! Madame will conduct the business all right, no doubt, while her
+patriot husband serves the State."
+
+"That cursed dog has finished me," growled the prostrate robber.
+"C'est égal! I've done for him and F---- If it had only been one of
+you, curse you!"
+
+This benevolent wish was addressed to the police agent who was at that
+moment engaged in binding up the horrible wound in the man's throat.
+Both were drenched with blood, partly from the dog and partly from the
+man. Le Cochon had been assisted to a sitting posture, sullen,
+revengeful, with murder in his black heart.
+
+All at once his inflamed eyes rested upon something in the doorway. At
+first it was but casually, then fixedly, while the bloated face turned
+ashen.
+
+He started to rise to his feet, and would have warded off the
+apparition with his hands, only they were laced in steel behind him,
+then, with a deep groan of terror, pitched forward upon his face,
+senseless.
+
+It was Fouchette.
+
+The others turned towards the doorway to see,--there was nothing
+there.
+
+Cowering for a few moments in the darkest corner of the carriage, she
+had heard the voice of Tartar raised in anger, followed by the tumult.
+The latter she had anticipated with fear and trembling. She had
+divined at the last moment that these were agents of the police, and
+that the object was arrests. The noise of combat roused her fighting
+blood, the silence that so soon followed heated her curiosity to the
+boiling-point. It was intolerable. Perhaps the agents were being
+killed. The suspense was dreadful. She felt that she could not endure
+it another second.
+
+The man had ordered her to remain in the carriage. The blinds were
+down; the coachman stood on the side next to the cabaret.
+
+Come what might, she must know. So Fouchette slipped softly out on the
+opposite side and sneaked swiftly around the horses' heads.
+
+The coachman on guard was for the same moment completely wrapped up in
+the riot that had been going on inside the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers;
+he saw the child just as she reached the doorway, and then he made a
+dash for her, grabbed her, and put her back in the carriage.
+
+Thus, it so happened that but a single pair of eyes within had seen
+Fouchette, and these eyes belonged to the man who believed her to be
+dead.
+
+It was for the purpose of the identification of her assailant that
+Fouchette had been brought to the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. Tartar had
+spared her that trouble, though it was for quite another reason that
+le Cochon fell into the grip of the police.
+
+The latter had experienced no difficulty in identifying Fouchette in
+spite of her obstinate silence. As she had come down the river from
+outside the barrier, it was clear that she made her living in some
+river suburb. A telephonic inquiry brought not only immediate
+confirmation from the authorities at Charenton, but had elicited the
+important details that brought the specials from the Préfecture down
+upon the suspected cabaret. In the man described as "le Cochon" the
+officials at once recognized a notorious escaped convict.
+
+It was not until Fouchette was on her way back to the Préfecture that
+it was learned that in their prisoner, le Cochon, they also had an
+assassin who up to this moment had eluded arrest.
+
+When the agent had informed her of the death of Tartar she was first
+overcome with grief. The sense of her utter loneliness rushed upon
+her. She wept convulsively. Her sorrow was bitter and profound.
+
+"Cheer up, my child; don't give way like that."
+
+Her companion tried now and then to comfort her in his rough way.
+
+"Ah, monsieur! but he was the only friend I had in the world!" she
+sobbed.
+
+"There, there!" he said, soothingly; "you'll have more friends. You'll
+be taken care of all right."
+
+"I don't care what becomes of me, now poor Tartar's gone! He loved me!
+Nobody will ever love me like he did,--never!"
+
+But when she had recovered from this tempest of tears it was to
+succumb to a tempest of wrath.
+
+"That wretch! I'll see him under the razor!" she exclaimed, meaning
+the guillotine. "He tried to drown me, the assassin! Yes, I know him
+for an assassin,--a murderer! It was he who pushed me into the river!"
+
+"Oho!"
+
+"It is true! That man is a fiend,--an assassin! I am ready to tell
+everything, monsieur! Everything!"
+
+Not for love of truth,--not for fear of law,--but for the love of a
+dog.
+
+In this mood she was encouraged by all the wiles and insinuating ways
+known to the professional student of human nature. So that, when
+Fouchette reached the Préfecture, she had not only imparted valuable
+information, she had astounded her official auditor. Not altogether by
+what she had revealed, but quite as much by her precocious cleverness
+and judgment.
+
+She was taken at once before Inspector Loup, of the Secret Service.
+
+Fouchette was not in the least intimidated when she found herself
+closeted alone with this mighty personage. For she did not know the
+extraordinary power wielded by Inspector Loup, and was in equal
+ignorance of the stenographer behind the screen. She was thinking only
+of her revenge. She had sworn, mentally, to have the head of le
+Cochon. She would see him writhing under the guillotine. Not because
+he had tried to drown her,--she would never have betrayed him for
+that,--but because he had murdered her dog. She would have vengeance.
+She would have overlooked his cowardly butchery of a stranger in the
+wood of Vincennes; but for the killing of Tartar she was ready and
+eager to see the head of le Cochon fall in the Place de la Roquette.
+
+Therefore Fouchette confronted Inspector Loup intent upon her own
+wrongs, and with a face which might have been deemed impudent but for
+its premature hardness.
+
+Inspector Loup was a tall, thin man, with small, keen, fishy
+eyes,--so small they seemed like beads, all pupil, so keen they
+glistened like diamonds, so fishy they appeared to swim round in two
+heavily fringed ponds. And they were always swimming,--indolently, as
+if it were not really worth while, but still leaving the vague and
+sometimes uncomfortable impression that they were on you, under you,
+around you, through you; that they were weighing you, analyzing you,
+and knew what was in your mind and stomach, as well as the contents of
+your inside pockets.
+
+It was the habit of Inspector Loup to turn these peculiar orbs upon
+whoever came under his personal jurisdiction for a minute or two
+without uttering a word, though usually before that time had expired
+the individual had succumbed to their mysterious influence and was
+ready to make a clean breast of it.
+
+Their awful influence upon the wrongdoer was intensified by the
+softness of his insinuating voice, that seemed to pry down into human
+secrets as a sort of intellectual jimmy, delicate but powerful, and by
+the noiselessness of his tread, which had the effect of creeping upon
+his victim preparatory to the final spring.
+
+In other words, Inspector Loup accomplished by moral force what others
+believed possible only to physical intimidation. Yet those
+law-breakers who had presumed too much upon his gentleness had
+invariably come to grief, and Inspector Loup had reached his present
+confidential position through thrilling experiences that had left his
+lank body covered with honorable scars.
+
+Inspector Loup was practically chief of the Secret System,--or,
+rather, was director of that system under the eye of the Minister of
+the Interior. He had served a dozen ministries. He had adopted the
+great Fouché as a standard, and no government could change quicker
+than Inspector Loup could. If he had been of the Napoleonic period he
+might have rivalled his distinguished model. As it was, he did as well
+as was possible with the weak governing material with which France was
+afflicted.
+
+The word "spy" being obnoxious in all languages and at all times and
+in all places, the myriad smaller particles of the Secret System were
+called "Agents."
+
+The Paris "agent" of this class has, happily, no counterpart in the
+American government. Our "detectives," or "plain clothes men," are
+limited to legitimate police duties in the discovery of crime and
+prosecution of criminals. They are known, are borne on pay-rolls,
+usually have good character and some official standing.
+
+The Paris "agent" is a widely different individual, speaking of that
+branch not in uniform and not regularly employed on routine work. This
+class is formed of government employés, all persons holding government
+licenses of any kind, all keepers of public-houses and places of
+public resort subject to government inspection, returned convicts
+under police surveillance, criminals under suspension of sentence, all
+persons under the eye of the police subject to arrest for one thing or
+another, or who may be intimidated.
+
+Add to these the regular service men and women, then bear in mind that
+the names of all "agents" are secure from public knowledge, even of a
+military court, that they can stab in the dark and never be held
+accountable by their victims, and that appropriations are made in bulk
+for this service without an accounting, and you will then understand
+the full strength and appreciate the unique infamy of the French
+Secret System.
+
+"Eh, bien?"
+
+Inspector Loup had finished his inspection of the childish figure
+before him and was compelled to break the ice.
+
+"Eh, bien, monsieur; it is me."
+
+An obstinate silence ensued.
+
+"Well, what do you want?" finally inquired the inspector, in a tone
+that clearly implied that, whatever it was, she would not get it.
+
+"Nothing," she replied.
+
+"Then what are you here for?"
+
+"Because I was brought."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"Well, now you are here----"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"What have you got to say?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Que diable! child, no fencing!"
+
+Another awkward silence, during which each coolly surveyed the other.
+
+"Why don't you speak?"
+
+"About what?"
+
+"Yourself."
+
+"Of what good is it to speak?" she asked, simply,--"monsieur knows."
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+This child was breaking the record. Inspector Loup contemplated her
+petite personality once more. Here was a rare diplomate.
+
+"You are called Fouchette?" he said.
+
+"Yes, mon----"
+
+"You come from Nantes. No; you don't remember. You were picked up in
+the streets by the Podvins and have been living with them ever since.
+Fouchette is the name they gave you. It is not your real name. You are
+ostensibly a ragpicker, but are the consort and associate of thieves
+and robbers and assassins, who have used you as well as abused you.
+You are suspected to be a regular go-between for these and the
+receivers of stolen goods."
+
+"M-monsieur!"
+
+Truly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur knew more of her than she did.
+
+"And I know that it is true. You would have been arrested in the act
+the next trip. This ruffian, so-called le Cochon, threw you in the
+river with the intention of drowning you. You were rescued through the
+sagacity and devotion of a dog. Both this man le Cochon and Podvin
+have been arrested. There are others----"
+
+"There are others," repeated Fouchette.
+
+"Which you----"
+
+"I know."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"The dead man of the wood of Vincennes--last year. Did they ever find
+the one who did that?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Le Cochon!"
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"Very sure."
+
+"You saw it?"
+
+"Oh, no. I heard them talking."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Monsieur Podvin and le Cochon."
+
+"Go on, mon enfant; you grow interesting at last."
+
+"Monsieur Podvin was very angry because of it. They quarrelled. I
+heard them from my bed in the cellar. The man had resisted,--over a
+few sous, think! And Monsieur Podvin said it was not worth while, for
+so little, to bring the police down on the neighborhood. It spoiled
+business. For the twelve sous Monsieur Podvin said he'd lose a
+thousand francs."
+
+"M. Podvin was undoubtedly right."
+
+"Yes; but le Cochon said it was worth a thousand francs to hear the
+man squeal."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Yes. And then Monsieur Podvin wanted to take it out of his share."
+
+"So?"
+
+"Yes; and so they quarrelled dreadfully."
+
+"And Madame Podvin,--she heard this?"
+
+"Madame is not deaf, monsieur."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"She was at the zinc."
+
+"Truly, Madame Podvin may become of value," muttered Inspector Loup.
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"Oh! And so you've kept this to your little self all this time. Why?"
+
+"I was afraid; then----"
+
+"I understand. But you got bravely over all this as soon as this
+miscreant undertook to put you out of the way, eh?"
+
+"It was not that, monsieur, for what I would be avenged."
+
+"So you confess to the motive?"
+
+"I would surely be revenged, monsieur," she avowed, frankly.
+
+"A mighty small woman, but still a woman, and sure Française,"
+observed the inspector.
+
+"He killed my only friend, monsieur."
+
+"What! Another murder? Le Cochon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Très bien! Go on, mon enfant; you grow more and more interesting!"
+
+"It was only this morning, monsieur," said the child, again reminded
+of her irreparable loss.
+
+"This morning, eh? The report is not yet in.--There, now, don't
+blubber, little one.--Another murder for le Cochon! Pardieu! we shall
+have his head!"
+
+"Truly?" Fouchette brightened up immediately at this prospect.
+
+"The infamous wretch!"
+
+"Yes; go on, monsieur. You grow more interesting!"
+
+"What an infernally impudent child!" observed the inspector to
+himself, yet aloud.
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"What--how about this morning's murder?"
+
+"Le Cochon's dreadful knife! Oh! I would love to see him strapped to
+the plank and his head in the basket! Yes, ten thousand curses on----"
+
+"Là! là! là! Mon Dieu! will you never get on? Who was le Cochon's
+victim this time?"
+
+"Tartar, monsieur,--yes! Ah! Oh!"
+
+"Tartar? Tartar? Why, that's the name of----"
+
+"Yes, monsieur, the dog! Poor Tartar!"
+
+"So le Cochon killed your dog, eh?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur," sobbed Fouchette.
+
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur was silent for a while, thoughtfully regarding
+the grieving child with his fishy eyes.
+
+"After all, it was murder," he said. "Had this man committed no other
+crime, he deserves death for having killed such a noble beast."
+
+"Ah! thank you, monsieur! Thank you very much!"
+
+Having established this happy entente, Inspector Loup and Fouchette
+entered into a long and interesting conversation,--interesting
+especially to the chief of the Secret System.
+
+When the interview was over Fouchette was led away almost quite happy.
+Happier, at least, than she had ever been,--far happier than she had
+ever hoped to be. First, she had been promised her revenge; second,
+she was neither to go back to the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers nor to be
+turned into the street; third, she was to be sent to a beautiful
+retreat outside of Paris, where she would be taught to read and write
+and be brought up as a lady.
+
+It seemed to the child that this was too good to be true. The
+country, in her imagination, was the source and foundation of all real
+happiness. There was nothing in cities,--nothing but dust and crowds,
+and human selfishness and universal hardness of heart, and toil and
+misery.
+
+In the country was freedom and independence. She had tasted it in her
+furtive morning excursions in the wood of Vincennes. Tartar had loved
+the country. The woods, the fields, and the flowers,--to range among
+them daily, openly and without fear, would be heaven!
+
+To the Parisian all outside of Paris is country.
+
+And to learn to read and to write and understand the newspapers and
+what was in books!
+
+Yes, it seemed really too much, all at once. For of all other things
+coveted in this world, Fouchette deemed such a knowledge most
+desirable. Up to this moment it had been beyond the ordinary flight of
+her youthful imagination. It was one of the impossibilities,--like
+flying and finding a million of money. But now it had come to her. She
+might know something she had never seen, or of which she had never
+heard.
+
+To accomplish all of this and to be in the country at the same time,
+what more could anybody wish?
+
+Yet she was to have more. The inspector,--what was this wonderful man,
+anyhow, who knew everything and could do anything?--he, the inspector,
+had promised it. She was to have human kindness and love!
+
+The inspector was a nice gentleman. And the agents,--it was all a lie
+about the agents de police. They were all nice men. She had hated and
+dreaded them; and had they not been good to her? Had they not taken
+her from the river and fed her and clothed her and visited with swift
+punishment those who had cruelly abused her?
+
+Fouchette was learning rapidly. The change was so confusing, and
+events had chased one another so unceremoniously, that she must be
+pardoned if she grasped new ideas with more tenacity than accuracy. It
+is what all of us are doing day by day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a long distance by rail.
+
+Fouchette had never dreamed that a railroad could be so long and that
+the woods and fields with which her mind had been recently filled
+could become so monotonous and tedious. Even the towns and
+villages,--of which she had never heard,--that were interesting at
+first, soon became stupid and tiresome. She had long ceased to notice
+them particularly, her mind being naturally filled with thoughts of
+the place to which she was going, and where her whole future seemed to
+lay yet undeveloped. She finally fell into a sound sleep.
+
+The next thing she knew was that she was roughly shaken by the
+shoulder, and a voice cried, somewhat impatiently,--
+
+"Come, come! What a little sleepyhead!"
+
+It was that of a "religieuse," or member of a religious order, and its
+possessor was a stout, ruddy-faced woman of middle life, garbed in
+solemn black, against which sombre background the white wings of her
+homely headpiece and the white apron, over which dangled a cross,
+looked still more white and glaring than they were.
+
+Another woman in the same glaring uniform, though less robust and
+quite colorless as to face, stood near by on the station platform.
+
+"Bring her things, sister,--if she has anything."
+
+Following these instructions, the red-faced woman rummaged in the
+netting overhead with one hand while she pulled Fouchette from her
+corner with the other.
+
+"Come, petite! Is this all you've got, child?"
+
+"Yes, madame," replied the child, respectfully, but with a sinking
+heart.
+
+"So this is Fouchette, eh?" said the white-faced woman, as her
+companion joined her with the child and her little bundle.
+
+"Yes, madame," faltered Fouchette.
+
+But for the eyes, which were large and dark and luminous, and which
+seemed to grasp the object upon which they rested and to hold it in
+physical embrace, the face might have been that of the dead, so
+ghastly and rigid and unnatural it was.
+
+"She's not much, very sure," observed the other, turning Fouchette
+around by the slender shoulder.
+
+"She'll never earn her salt," said the pale-faced sister.
+
+Fouchette noticed that her lips were apparently bloodless and that she
+scarcely moved them as she spoke.
+
+"Not for long, anyhow," responded the other, with a significance
+Fouchette did not then understand.
+
+Without other preliminary they led Fouchette down the platform.
+
+"Where's your ticket?" asked the white-faced woman, coldly.
+
+Fouchette nervously searched the bosom of her dress. In France the
+railway ticket is surrendered at the point where the journey ceases,
+as the traveller leaves the station platform.
+
+"Sainte Marie!" exclaimed the ruddy-faced sister,--"lost it, I'll
+wager!"
+
+"Where on earth did you put it, child?"
+
+"Here, madame," said the latter, still fumbling and not a little
+frightened at the possible consequences of losing the bit of
+cardboard. "Ah! here--no, it isn't. Mon Dieu!"
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+The voice of the pale religieuse was stern, though her face rested
+perfectly immobile, no matter what she said.
+
+"Let me see----"
+
+"Search, Sister Agnes."
+
+The ruddy-faced woman obeyed by plunging her fat hand down the front
+of the child's dress, where she fished around vigorously but
+unsuccessfully.
+
+"Nothing but bones!" she ejaculated.
+
+Meanwhile, everybody else had left the platform, and the gatekeeper
+was growing impatient.
+
+Sister Agnes was a practical woman. She wound up her fruitless search
+by shaking the child, as if the latter were a plum-tree and might
+yield over-ripe railway tickets from its branches.
+
+It did. The ticket dropped to the platform from beneath the
+loose-fitting dress.
+
+"There it is!" cried the gatekeeper.
+
+"Stupid little beast!"
+
+And Sister Agnes shook her again, although, as there were no more
+tickets, the act seemed quite superfluous.
+
+Outside the station waited a sort of carryall, or van, drawn by a
+single horse, which turned his aged head to view the new-comer, as did
+also the driver.
+
+"Oh! so you're coming, eh?" said the latter.
+
+"Yes,--long enough!" grumbled Sister Agnes.
+
+They had driven some distance through the streets of a big town
+without a word, when the last speaker addressed her companion in a low
+voice.
+
+"You noted the ticket?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Another silence.
+
+"I don't see what they sent her to us for, do you?"
+
+"That is for the Supérieure."
+
+A still longer silence.
+
+"It's a pity," continued Sister Agnes.
+
+"Yes, they ought to go to the House of Correction."
+
+"These Parisian police----"
+
+"Chut!"
+
+But they need not have taken even this little precaution before
+Fouchette. She had long been lost in the profound depths of her own
+gloomy thoughts. In her isolation she required but a single, simple
+thing to render her happy,--a thing which costs nothing,--something of
+which there is an abundance and to spare in the world, thank God!--and
+that was a little show of kindness.
+
+The child was not very sensitive to bad treatment. To that she was
+inured; but she had tasted the sweets of kindness, and it had
+inspired hopes that already began to wither, encouraged dreams that
+had already vanished.
+
+Fouchette was fast falling into her habitual state of childish
+cynicism. The police had tricked her, no doubt. She was more than
+suspicious of this as she noted their approach towards a pile of
+buildings surrounded by a high wall, which reminded her of La
+Roquette. This wall had great iron spikes and broken glass bottles set
+in cement on top, and seemed to stretch away out of sight in the
+growing shadows of evening. Once proceeding parallel with the wall,
+the buildings beyond were no longer visible to those outside.
+
+They stopped in front of an immense arched gateway, apparently of the
+mediæval period, with a porter's lodge on one side, slightly recessed.
+The gates were of stout oak thickly studded with big-headed nails and
+bolts. In the heavy oaken door of the lodge was set a brass "judas," a
+small grille closed by an inner slide, and which might be operated by
+an unseen hand within so as to betray the identity of any person
+outside without unbarring the door,--a not uncommon arrangement in
+French gates and outside doors.
+
+If Fouchette had not been restricted by the sides and top of the van,
+she might have seen the words "Le Bon Pasteur" carved in the ancient
+stone above the great gateway. But, inasmuch as she could not have
+read the inscription, and would not have been able to understand it in
+any case, it was no great matter.
+
+The driver of the van got down and let fall the old-fashioned iron
+knocker. The judas showed a glistening eye for a second, then closed.
+This was immediately followed by a slipping of bolts and a clanging of
+iron bars, and then the big gates swung inward. They appeared to do
+this without human aid, and shut again in the same mysterious way when
+the vehicle had passed.
+
+"Supper, thank goodness!" said Sister Agnes, with a sigh.
+
+"You're always hungry----"
+
+"Pretty nearly."
+
+"Always thinking of something to eat," continued the other,
+reprovingly. "It is not a good example to the young, sister. The
+carnal appetite, it is a sin, my sister, to flatter it!"
+
+"Dame! As if one could possibly be open to such a charge here!"
+retorted the ruddy-faced Agnes.
+
+"We are taught to restrain,--mortify,--pluck out,--cut off the
+offending member. It is----"
+
+"But what are we going to do with this child, Sister Angélique?"
+interrupted Sister Agnes, and abruptly shutting off the religious
+enthusiast. "She must be hungry. And the Supérieure----"
+
+"Cannot be disturbed at this hour. In the morning is time enough for
+an unpleasant subject. Take her to No. 17,--it is prepared,--in the
+right lower corridor."
+
+"Sainte Marie!" cried Sister Agnes, crossing herself, "as if I didn't
+know! Why, I was taken to that cell myself when I came here forty
+years ago!"
+
+"Perhaps, and have never had reason to regret it, quite surely. But
+take this child there. Let her begin her new life with fasting and
+prayer, as you doubtless did, sister. It will serve to fit her to
+come before the Supérieure in the morning with the humble spirit of
+one who is to receive so much and who, evidently, can give so little."
+
+Fouchette was so bewildered with her surroundings that she paid little
+attention to what was being said. The great irregular piles of
+buildings, the going and coming of the ghostly figures, the silence,
+impressed her vividly. Of the nearest building, she could see that the
+windows were grated with iron bars; her ears registered the word
+"cell." Fouchette did not understand what was meant by the expression
+"fasting and prayer," but she had a definite idea of a "cell" in a
+house with grated windows within a high wall.
+
+"Come! hurry up, my child; I want my supper. Yes, and I'll see that
+they treat you better than they did me. Come this way! Yes,--mon Dieu!
+Mortify the flesh! Flatter the carnal appetite!"
+
+She muttered continuously, as she led Fouchette along a dark corridor
+with which her feet were familiar.
+
+"Forty years! Ah! Mother of God! Pluck it out! Cut it off! Blessed
+Sainte Agnes, give me patience! Forty years! Holy Mother, pardon me!
+Forty years! Yes! Reason to regret? May the good God forgive me!--Here
+we are, my child."
+
+She suddenly stopped and turned a key, opened a door, thrust the child
+within, and paused to look around, as if pursuing her reminiscences,
+oblivious of everything else.
+
+It was a plain cell, such as was used by the early monks when this
+building was a monastery, possibly nine by six feet, with a high,
+small, grated hole for the only light and air. A narrow iron cot, a
+combination stand, and a low stool constituted the sole furniture. A
+rusty iron crucifix in the middle of the wall opposite the bed was the
+only decoration. The rest was blank stone, staring white with
+crumbling whitewash.
+
+Stone floor, stone walls, stone ceiling,--cold, clammy, cheerless.
+
+The floor was worn into a smooth, shallow furrow lengthwise, showing
+where countless weary inmates had paced up and down, up and down,
+during the long hours. And beneath the crucifix were scooped out two
+round hollows in the solid rock, where countless knees had bent in
+recognition of the Christ.
+
+The religieuse seemed to forget the presence of Fouchette, for she
+dropped upon her own knees in the little hollows in the cold stone
+floor beneath the rusty iron crucifix on the wall.
+
+"Oh, pardon, my child!" she exclaimed, coming back to the present as
+she arose from prayer, "I forgot. Forty years ago,--it comes upon me
+here."
+
+She gently removed the little hat with its cheap flowers, then bent
+over and kissed the thin cheeks, promising to return soon with
+something to eat.
+
+Fouchette heard the door close, the key grate harshly in the lock.
+
+The moisture of the lips and eyes remained upon her cheeks. She felt
+it still warm, and involuntarily put up both hands, as if to further
+convince herself that the kisses were real and to hold them there.
+
+The Christ was to her a myth, the crucifix a vague superstition,
+prayer a mere unmeaning mummery. But the kisses were tangible and
+easily understood.
+
+But oh! the country!--the woods! the fields! the flowers!--freedom!
+
+She threw herself on the iron cot and wept passionately.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+"Là, là, là!" came the cheery but subdued voice of Sister Agnes. She
+had re-entered the cell to catch the last faint sounds of childish
+grief coming out of the darkness.
+
+"There! Softly now, petite! Where are you? Oh! If they catch me here
+at this hour and bringing--sh!"
+
+The good-hearted woman had groped her way to the cot, raised Fouchette
+to a sitting posture, and, sitting down by her side, pulled the child
+over in her arms.
+
+Fouchette, who had almost ceased to weep by this time, was at once
+overcome anew by the motherly caress and broke down completely. She
+flung her arms wildly about Sister Agnes's neck and buried her face in
+the ample bosom.
+
+"Là, là, là, là! my little skeleton, there is nothing to be afraid of
+here. Nothing at all! Don't take on so. God is everywhere, and takes
+care of us in the night as well as by day. Fear not! And here, my
+child, see what I've brought you! Feel, rather,--taste; you must be
+half starved. Here is a big, fat sandwich, and here's another. And
+here's a small flacon of the red wine of Bourgogne. You poor child!
+You need something for blood. Here's a bit of cheese, too, and, let's
+see,--by the blessed Sainte! I was told to let you have bread and
+water and I've actually forgotten the water!
+
+"Now eat! The idea of a big girl like you being afraid in the dark!"
+
+"No, it was not that, madame. Mon Dieu, no! I'm used to that. Indeed,
+I'm not afraid. It----"
+
+"Then what on earth have you been crying about, child?"
+
+"Oh, madame! it is because--because you are so good to me. Yes, that
+is it. I'm not used to that,--no!"
+
+Sister Agnes must have been quite agitated by this frank and
+unexpected avowal, for she pressed the child to her with still greater
+fervor, kissing her time and again more affectionately, after which
+she immediately slipped into the religious rut again below the
+crucifix.
+
+A single ray of moonlight from the high loophole in the wall fell
+athwart the sombre cell and rested caressingly upon her bowed head as
+she knelt and seemed to bless her.
+
+When she had recovered her self-possession she resumed her seat by the
+side of Fouchette, who, meanwhile, had been making havoc with the
+provisions.
+
+"Oh! I was afraid--dreadfully afraid--that night, forty years ago,"
+she whispered. "It was in this same place. And when they left me I
+almost cried my eyes out--and screamed,--how I screamed! Yet no one
+came. The next morning I had bread and water. And the next night and
+day, too. Ah! Sainte Mère de Dieu! how I suffered!"
+
+Fouchette shuddered.
+
+"And I was a strong, healthy child, but wilful; yet the dark seemed
+terrible to me--because I was wicked."
+
+Fouchette wondered what dreadful crime this child of forty years ago
+had committed to have been thus treated. She must have been very, very
+wicked.
+
+"Yes, forty years ago----"
+
+"How much did they give you, madame?"
+
+"Er--what's that, petite?"
+
+"Pardon, madame, but how much time yet do you have to serve?"
+
+"I don't understand," replied the puzzled woman, unfamiliar with
+worldly terms.
+
+"Why, I mean, how long did they send you up for?" asked the child.
+
+"Send?--they?--who?"
+
+"The police."
+
+"Police? Mon Dieu! my child, the police had nothing to do with me."
+
+"Well, the gendarmes."
+
+"The gendarmes?"
+
+"No; you could never have been guilty, madame! Never! Whatever it was
+they charged you with----"
+
+"Charged? Sainte Marie be praised, I never committed any crime in my
+life,--unless it was a crime to be thoughtless and happy."
+
+"I was sure of that!" cried Fouchette, much relieved nevertheless.
+
+"Why, I never was charged with any!" protested the astonished Sister
+Agnes.
+
+"Then they imprisoned you without trial, as they have me. Ah! mon
+Dieu! madame, I see it all now! And forty years! Oh!"
+
+"Well, blessed be the saints in heaven!" exclaimed the enlightened
+religieuse. "What do you think this place is, Fouchette?"
+
+"It is"--she hesitated and changed the form of speech--"is it a--a
+prison?"
+
+"Why, no! Holy Mother, no!--not a prison, child! You thought it----"
+
+"Yes, madame," faltered Fouchette.
+
+"You poor child! Not so bad as that; yet----"
+
+"I see,--a house of correction?"
+
+"No, not that. At least, not--ah! if Sister Angélique had heard you
+call 'Le Bon Pasteur' a house of correction it would have been worth
+three days of bread and water!"
+
+"'Le Bon Pasteur?'" repeated Fouchette.
+
+"Yes, my child. Didn't you really know----"
+
+"No, madame."
+
+Sister Agnes pondered.
+
+"Then why should you remain here?" pursued the curious child. "Can't
+you go away if you want to?"
+
+"But I do not wish to go now,--not now."
+
+"But if you had wished it at any time."
+
+Sister Agnes was silent.
+
+"Then what is this place, madame?"
+
+"A retreat for the poor,--an orphan asylum,--where little girls who
+have neither father nor mother, and no home, are sent. And where they
+are brought up to be good and industrious young women."
+
+"D-don't they ever get out again?" asked Fouchette, somewhat
+doubtfully.
+
+"Oh, yes. They are set free at twenty-one years of age if they wish to
+go, and even sooner if their friends come for them. If they don't wish
+to go, they can remain and become members of the order, if they are
+suitable. I was brought here at ten years of age by my aunt and left
+temporarily, but my uncle died and she was too poor, or else did not
+want me, so I was compelled to remain. When I became twenty-one I owed
+the institution so much from failure to do my tasks and fines, and
+what my aunt had promised to pay and didn't pay, that I had to stay a
+long time and work it out, and by that time I had become so accustomed
+to living here that I was afraid to leave the institution and begged
+them to let me become one of the community.
+
+"Sometimes girls are bad and so lazy they won't work, and then they
+are punished. And when they prove incorrigible they are put in the
+other building, which is a house of correction. But if a girl is good
+and obedient and industrious she has no trouble, and may save up money
+against the day when she is set at liberty, besides receives the good
+recommendation of the Supérieure, on which she may find honest
+employment."
+
+While the good Sister Agnes spoke truly, she dared not tell this child
+the whole truth.
+
+She dared not say that Le Bon Pasteur,--The Good Shepherd,--although
+ostensibly a charitable institution, under religious auspices and
+subsidized by the State, for the protection and education of orphan
+girls during their minority, was practically a great factory which did
+not come under the legal restrictions governing free labor in France,
+and where several hundred girls and young women, whose only offence
+against society had been to lose their natural protectors, were
+subjected to all the rigors of the most benighted penal institutions.
+
+She dared not warn this poor little novice that her commitment to The
+Good Shepherd was equivalent to a sentence of nine years at hard
+labor; that good conduct and industry would not earn a day from that
+term, but that bad conduct, neglect, or inability to perform allotted
+tasks would result not only in severe punishments but an extension of
+imprisonment indefinitely, at the pleasure of those who reaped the
+financial reward from the product of the sweat of the orphans.
+
+She dared not notify this frail waif that these tasks of the needle
+were measured by the ability of the most expert, and that the majority
+of girls were obliged to work overtime in order to accomplish them;
+that to many this was an impossibility, and to some death.
+
+She dared not add to her recital of the money that might be earned and
+saved up against the day of liberty that comparatively few were able
+to perform the extra work necessary; that fines and charges of all
+kinds were resorted to in order to reduce such earnings to minimum;
+and that at the close of her nine years of hard labor for Le Bon
+Pasteur the most she could expect was to be thrust into the street in
+the clothes she wore, without a cent, without a friend, without a
+shelter.
+
+She dared not more than hint at the terrible alternatives placed
+before these young women from their long isolation from the world,--to
+remain here prisoners for life, or to cast themselves into the
+seething hell of Paris.
+
+More than all, she dared not add that all of this was done in a
+so-called republic, in the name of Civilization, to the glory of
+modern Religion, in love of the Redeemer.
+
+Fouchette would learn all of this quite soon enough through her own
+observation and experience. Why needlessly embitter her present?
+
+And this was well. Besides, the religieuse was ashamed to admit these
+things, as she would have been afraid to deny them, being divided
+between the vows of her order and her own private conscience.
+
+Sister Agnes was a plain, honest woman of little sentiment, but this
+little had been curiously awakened in her breast by the coincidence of
+the time and place which had recalled minutely the circumstances of
+her own entrance to the institution.
+
+She had unconsciously adopted Fouchette from that moment. She mentally
+resolved that she would keep an eye on this child. If it could be so
+managed, Fouchette should come into her section. And, since the child
+was ignorant and ambitious, she should receive whatever advantages of
+instruction were to be had.
+
+Quick to respond to this sympathy, Fouchette, on her part, mentally
+resolved to deserve it. She would be good and obedient, so that the
+sweet lady would love her and continue to kiss her. How could girls be
+wicked if all the women of the community of Le Bon Pasteur were like
+Sister Agnes?
+
+And it would have been quite unnatural and unchildlike, owing to the
+marked improvement in her condition, if Fouchette had not gone to
+sleep forgetting her earlier disappointment.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Five years in such a place are as one year,--the same monotonous daily
+grind in oblivion of the great world outside,--and need not be dwelt
+upon here beyond a brief reference to its results upon Fouchette's
+character, when we must hurry the reader on to more eventful scenes.
+
+In this life of seclusion there were three saving features in
+Fouchette's case. First, its worst conditions were very much better
+than those under which she had formerly lived; second, she had been
+torn from no family or friendly ties which might have weighed upon her
+fancy; third, but not least, there was the love of Sister Agnes.
+
+The petite chiffonnière's ideas of life had been cast in a lowly and
+humble mould, so that from the beginning these new surroundings seemed
+highly satisfactory, if not in many respects absolutely joyous. For
+instance, the beds were prison beds, but they were clean and the
+dormitories fairly well ventilated,--luxury to one who was accustomed
+to sleep in a noisome cellar on filthy and envermined straw. The food
+was coarse and frugal, but it was regular and almost prodigal to one
+habituated to disputing her breakfast with vagrant dogs. The clothes
+were coarse and cheap and often shabby, but to the child of rags they
+were equivalent to royal gowns. The discipline was severe, but it was
+unadulterated kindness by the side of the brutality of the Podvin.
+
+The society of respectable young girls of her own age, and constant
+contact with those who were older and of superior birth and breeding,
+opened up a new world to Fouchette. That these companions were more
+or less partakers of similar misfortunes engendered ready sympathies,
+though the feeling of caste was as powerful among these orphans of the
+State as in the Boulevard St. Germain. Tacitly acknowledging the lowly
+origin of the rag-heap, Fouchette was content to fag, to go and come,
+fetch and carry, and to patiently endure the multitude of petty
+tyrannies put upon her. She accepted this position from the start as a
+matter of course.
+
+But it was chiefly in the daily intercourse with the cheerful,
+ruddy-faced, and rather worldly as well as womanly Sister Agnes that
+Fouchette found life worth living. It was Sister Agnes who patiently
+instructed her in the mysteries of reading and writing and spelling
+and the simple rudiments of language and figures. Sister Agnes
+smoothed her young protégée's pathway through a sea of new
+difficulties. Sister Agnes had secret struggles of her own, and had
+worn away considerable stone before the image of the Virgin in the
+course of her seclusion; though precisely what the nature of her
+private troubles was must have been known to nobody else. Sister Agnes
+was not a favorite with the Supérieure, apparently, since every time
+she was called before that dreaded female functionary she seemed much
+agitated and held longer conferences with the image of the Virgin in
+the little bare chapel. Whatever her mental and moral disturbances,
+however, Sister Agnes never faltered in her attention to Fouchette.
+
+For the most part these were surreptitious, though to the recipient
+there did not appear to be any reason for this concealment. As one
+year followed another Fouchette saw more clearly, and it caused her
+to redouble her exertions to please the good woman who risked the ill
+will of her superiors to shower kindnesses upon the otherwise
+friendless.
+
+Five years to a girl of twelve brings considerable change physically
+as well as otherwise. The change in Fouchette was really wonderful.
+She remained still rather stunted and undersized at seventeen, though
+face and figure had developed to her advantage. The hardness of the
+first had not wholly disappeared, but it was much modified, while the
+bones no longer showed through her dress. Her blonde hair had become
+abundant, and, being of peculiar fineness and sheen, lent an
+attractiveness to features that only a slightly tigerish fulness of
+cheeks prevented from being almost classical. This feline expression
+of jaws became more marked when she smiled, when a rather large mouth
+displayed two rows of formidable teeth. The pussy-cat and monkey-faces
+are too common among the French to be called peculiar.
+
+Her hands and feet were small, her frail body and limbs straight and
+supple as those of a young dancer. While she excelled at lively games
+in the great playground under the trees, her complexion was extremely
+delicate, even to paleness. Being naturally a clever imitator and
+always desirous of the good opinion of Sister Agnes, Fouchette had
+acquired graceful and lady-like manners that would have been
+creditable to any fashionable pension of Paris. Continuous happiness
+had left her light-hearted even to shallowness.
+
+Fouchette latterly was not popular. She had been first a fag and
+drudge, then had been withdrawn from the work-room to serve in the
+kitchen; from scullery-maid she had been promoted to the chambers of
+Sister Angélique, who was the stern right arm of the Supérieure; and,
+finally, was transferred to the holy of holies of the Supérieure
+herself.
+
+All through her tractability and adaptability. She was quick to see
+what was wanted, and lent herself energetically to the task of
+performance. The good sisters encouraged her. Especially in bringing
+to them any stray ideas she had picked up among her companions. Sister
+Angélique, severe to fanaticism in all the forms of religion, early
+impressed upon the child the importance and imperative duty of the
+truth. It was not only a service to the community, but a service to
+the Church and to God for her to keep her superiors posted as to what
+was going on among the inmates of the institution.
+
+It was a very trivial thing at first, then more trivial things,--mere
+gossip of children. Then her information resulted in the cell and
+paddle for the unfortunate and began to be talked about on the
+playground and in the work-room. When she heard what had happened,
+Fouchette was conscience-stricken and ran to Sister Agnes for
+consolation. The latter was so confused and contradictory in her
+definition of right and wrong, as to how far one might go for Christ's
+sake, that Fouchette was left in doubt. And when Sister Angélique
+asked her for the name of the girl who committed an offence in the
+dormitory, Fouchette hesitated and wanted to consult Sister Agnes.
+
+The result was that Sister Agnes was called before the Supérieure, and
+was compelled to instruct Fouchette that whatever was required of her
+by those in authority was right and should be done. It is a doctrine
+as universal as the Christian religion.
+
+So Fouchette told, and the tale brought to the offender five days'
+diet of bread and water in a cell.
+
+As a tale-bearer who was not afraid to tell the truth Fouchette had in
+the course of time ingratiated herself into the favor of Sister
+Angélique, and finally, as has been shown by her transfer to the
+governing regions, became the factotum of the Supérieure. These
+services carried privileges.
+
+They also brought unpopularity. On the playground Fouchette began to
+be avoided. In the work-room voices suddenly became hushed as she
+passed. In the dormitory she began to experience coldness and hostile
+demonstrations.
+
+Yet up to the present she had been suspected only. When the growing
+suspicion became a certainty she was assaulted in the dormitory in the
+presence of a matron. The biggest and stoutest girl of the section
+pulled her from her bed in the dark and began to beat her. There was
+no outcry at first,--only a silent struggle on the floor.
+
+But the stout young woman had counted too much on her physical
+strength and upon the supposed weakness of her frail antagonist. For
+Fouchette was like a cat in another respect,--she fought best on her
+back, where she was all hands and feet and teeth. Before the fat
+matron could find them between the beds the big girl was yelling for
+mercy and the whole section of a hundred girls was in an uproar.
+
+"Help! help!" screamed the girl. "She's murdering me!"
+
+"Who? Where?"
+
+"Silence!"
+
+"Quick! Help! She's killing me! Fouchette! It's Mademoiselle
+Fouchette!"
+
+The matron was thus guided to Fouchette's bed, where she found the
+latter tearing the big girl's ear with her teeth, and with her hands
+clawing the big girl's face.
+
+To this moment Fouchette had not uttered a word. Then she let flow a
+torrent of language such as had never before been heard within the
+sacred precincts of Le Bon Pasteur. She could no more be stopped than
+an avalanche.
+
+The girls of the dormitory closed their ears in their fright at this
+flood of profanity.
+
+"Stop! stop! stop!" cried the matron, now overcome with horror. "You
+belong in the Reformatory! You shall go to the Reformatory! You shall
+have the bath and the paddle, you vile vixen!"
+
+And Fouchette's vocabulary having been exhausted for the time being,
+she ceased.
+
+Meanwhile, a light was brought, and attendants came running in from
+the other parts of the building.
+
+Notwithstanding the confused explanation, and the fact that the
+aggressor's bed was at some distance from the spot where the two were
+discovered, which sustained the charge of Fouchette that the latter
+had been first attacked, the terrible condition of the big girl was
+such that Fouchette was sent to a cell and held in close confinement
+till the next evening.
+
+She was then taken to Sister Angélique, where she was examined as to
+her version of the occurrence. The victim of her nails and teeth also
+had a hearing.
+
+Between the two, and considering all the circumstances, Sister
+Angélique came to the proper conclusion, and so reported the case to
+the Supérieure.
+
+The latter had Fouchette brought before her. She was a very flabby and
+masculine woman, of great brains and keen penetration, and invariably
+had an oleaginous Jesuit priest at her elbow on important occasions to
+strengthen her religious standing and to give her decisions the force
+and effect of ecclesiastical law.
+
+"Father Sébastien," said the Supérieure, "this is a grievous case.
+What are we to do with these girls that fight like tigers,--that set
+the whole blessed institution of Le Bon Pasteur by the ears?"
+
+The Jesuit rubbed his hands, eying the slender figure before them
+curiously.
+
+"A sad case,--a very sad case," he muttered; "and yet----"
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette has been of good service to us, and----"
+
+"And has invited this attack by her friendliness for the institution.
+No doubt,--no doubt at all," said the priest.
+
+"But it is necessary to punish somebody," persisted the Supérieure,
+"else we shall lose control of these hot-heads."
+
+"How about the other one? Mademoiselle----"
+
+"Mademoiselle Angot----"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She's pretty well punished as it is. She looks as if she had been
+through a threshing-machine. How such a chit could----"
+
+Father Sébastien laughed, in his low, gurgling way, and rubbed his
+hands some more, still eying Fouchette.
+
+"She's been a good girl for five years, you say?"
+
+"Yes, Father; we could not complain."
+
+"Five years is a very long time to--to--for a girl like her to be
+good. Is it not so?"
+
+"Truly."
+
+"And yet they say her language was dreadfully--er--ah--improper."
+
+"If you were pulled out of bed in the night and beaten because you
+spoke the truth to the Supérieure," broke in Fouchette at this point,
+"you'd probably use bad language too!"
+
+"Chut! child," said the Supérieure, smiling in spite of herself.
+
+"Oh! me?"
+
+"Là, là! Father." The Supérieure now laughed.
+
+"Quite possibly," he added,--"quite possibly. But in a demoiselle like
+you----"
+
+"I'm afraid to send her back to the dormitory. Are you afraid to go
+back there, Fouchette?"
+
+"No, madame," replied Fouchette.
+
+"I think they'll leave her alone after this," said the priest.
+
+"They'd better," said Fouchette.
+
+"Oho!"
+
+"But you must not quarrel, my dear,--remember that. And if they--well,
+you come to me or to Sister----"
+
+"Sister Agnes, yes----"
+
+"No, no; Sister Angélique," interrupted the Supérieure, tartly.
+"Sister Agnes has nothing to do with you hereafter."
+
+"Wh-at? But Sister Agnes----"
+
+"Now don't stand there and argue. I repeat that Sister Agnes is to
+have nothing to do with you hereafter. Sister Agnes has gone----"
+
+"Gone!"
+
+It was the worst blow--the only blow she had received in these five
+years. Her swollen lips quivered.
+
+"I say Sister Agnes has gone. You will never see her again. And it's a
+good riddance! I never could bear that woman!"
+
+"Oh, madame! madame!"
+
+Fouchette sank to her knees appealingly.
+
+"Get up!"
+
+"Oh, madame!"
+
+"Get up! Not another word!"
+
+"But, madame!"
+
+"There, my child," put in the priest. "You hear?"
+
+"But Sister Agnes was my only friend here. Where has she gone? Tell me
+why she has gone. Oh, mon Dieu! Gone! and left me here without a word!
+Oh! oh! madame!"
+
+"She's gone because I sent her,--because it is her sworn duty to
+obey,--to go where she is sent. Where and why is none of her business,
+much less yours. Now let us hear no more from you on that point, or
+you will forfeit the leniency I was about to extend to you. Go!"
+
+"But, madame," supplicated Fouchette, "hear me! Sister Agnes----"
+
+The Supérieure was now furious. She rang a little bell, waving Father
+Sébastien aside. Two sisters appeared,--her personal attendants, well
+known to those who had suffered punishment.
+
+"Give this girl the douche!"
+
+"Madame!" screamed Fouchette.
+
+"Give her the douche--for fighting in the dormitory. In the refectory.
+Assemble everybody! And if she resists let her have the paddle. If
+that doesn't bring her to her senses, give her five days on bread and
+water. I'll take that rebellious spirit out of her or----"
+
+The two women hustled the trembling Fouchette away from the Presence.
+
+Fouchette knew the disgrace of the douche. She had seen grown young
+women stripped stark naked before five hundred girls and have a bucket
+of ice-cold water thrown over them. One of them had been ill and was
+unable to do her work. She had died from the effects.
+
+Fouchette understood the terrible significance of the paddle. A girl
+was stripped and strung up by the wrists to a door and was beaten with
+a heavy leather strap soaked in brine until the blood ran down her
+thighs.
+
+Fouchette comprehended the character of the five days on bread and
+water, wherein the victim was forced to remain in her own filth for
+five days with nothing to eat but a half-loaf of stale bread and a
+small pitcher of water per twenty-four hours.
+
+Yet, dreadful as was this immediate prospect, and as cruel as was the
+injustice meted out to her, Fouchette thought only of Sister Agnes.
+She would have gone to punishment like a Stoic of old could somebody
+have assured her that what she had just heard was false and that
+Sister Agnes was yet in the institution. Everything else and all
+together seemed dwarfed by the side of this one great overwhelming
+calamity.
+
+"How could you have so angered Madame?" said one of her
+conductors,--both of whom were aware that she was to be unjustly
+punished.
+
+"Be good, now, Fouchette," whispered the other; "besides, it is
+nothing,--a little water,--bah!"
+
+They were leading her along a dark corridor, the same through which
+she had been taken five years before. It rushed over her now,--dear
+Sister Agnes!
+
+"I only wanted to know about Sister Agnes," protested Fouchette.
+
+Her conductors stopped short.
+
+"S-sh! Mademoiselle did not know that----"
+
+"That what?"
+
+"Better tell her, sister," encouraged the other woman.
+
+"That Sister Agnes was--was suspected of being a creature of the
+Secret Police?"
+
+"N-no, madame," faltered the girl,--"I don't understand. And if----"
+
+"And we are for the restoration----"
+
+"The restoration----"
+
+"Of the throne of France."
+
+"Is it Inspector Loup?" asked Fouchette, suddenly recalling that
+personage.
+
+"Inspector Loup,--it is he who is responsible for the withdrawal of
+Sister Agnes, mademoiselle."
+
+"Paris,--I will go to Paris!" said Fouchette, brightening up all at
+once.
+
+To the two who heard her it was as if Fouchette had said, "I will go
+to the moon."
+
+She slipped from between them and darted down the corridor. Before
+they had recovered from their astonishment she was out of the building
+and out of sight.
+
+Nothing could have been more absurd.
+
+But one girl had succeeded in scaling the high walls that surrounded
+the establishment of Le Bon Pasteur, and she had been pursued by
+savage dogs kept for such exigencies and brought back in mere shreds
+of clothing, with her flesh terribly lacerated. Even once outside, if
+the feat were possible and the dogs avoided, how was a bareheaded girl
+without a sou to get to Paris, three hundred kilometres? And, that
+surmounted, what would become of her in Paris?
+
+It was absurd. It was impossible.
+
+Meanwhile, Fouchette evaded the now lighted buildings in the rear and
+was skirting the high walls towards the north with the fleetness of a
+young deer.
+
+The grounds of Le Bon Pasteur embraced about ten acres, a well-wooded
+section of an ancient park, the buildings, old and new, being on the
+side next to the town. By day one might easily see from wall to wall,
+the lowest branches of the trees being well clear of the ground, the
+latter being trampled grassless, hard, and smooth by thousands of
+youthful feet.
+
+It was now growing too dark to see more than a few yards. This did
+not prevent Fouchette from making good speed. She knew every inch of
+the park. And as she ran her thoughts kept on well ahead.
+
+She had started with the definite idea of leaving the place, but
+without the slightest idea of how that was to be accomplished. Like a
+frightened rabbit running an enclosure, she sought in vain for some
+unheard-of opening,--some breach in the wall, some projections by
+which she might scale the frowning barrier.
+
+Now and then she paused to listen intently. There were no pursuers,
+apparently. Her heart sank rather than rose at the thought; for it
+implied that the chances of her escape were not considered worth an
+energetic effort,--that she must inevitably return of her own accord.
+
+Fouchette was mistaken. It was only that the pursuers were not so sure
+of their route and were not so fleet of foot. They had called in
+re-enforcements and were approaching in extended order beneath the
+trees, with the moral certainty of rounding her up.
+
+As soon as Fouchette realized this she felt that she was lost. There
+was no place to hide from such a search,--then they could let loose
+the dogs!
+
+With a fresh energy born of desperation she sprang at the
+chestnut-tree in front of her and began to shin up the rough trunk,
+boy fashion. Like most generalizations, the statement that a woman
+cannot climb a tree is not an axiomatic truth. It depends wholly upon
+the woman and the occasion. Fouchette had often amused her playmates
+by going up trees, and was considered a valuable addition to any party
+of chestnut hunters. So in this instance the woman and the occasion
+met. She was securely perched in the foliage when the scouting party
+went by. One sister walked directly beneath the tree.
+
+"We ought to have brought the dogs," she muttered.
+
+Fouchette was breathless.
+
+Immediate danger past, she began to think of what she should do next.
+She could not remain up there forever; and if she came down she would
+be just where she was before,--would probably be run down by the dogs.
+
+Presently she saw a light glimmering through the trees. Cautiously
+pushing the leaves aside, she saw it more distinctly. It was bobbing
+up and down. It was a lantern. It was coming towards her. Being a
+lantern, it must be carried by somebody, and that this somebody was in
+search of her she had no doubt. All the world was out after her.
+
+The lantern came closer. And then she saw the barbed iron wall
+immediately below her, between her and the lantern. It was outside,
+then; and the tree she was in seemed to overhang the wall.
+
+A desperate hope arose within her,--scarcely a hope yet,--rather a
+vague fancy. They could not have spread the alarm outside so
+quickly,--the lantern and its bearer could have no reference to her
+escape.
+
+It was now almost immediately beneath her, and she saw that it was
+borne by a stalwart young man. It was a chance,--a mere chance,--but
+she at once resolved to risk it.
+
+"S-sh!"
+
+The bearer of the lantern stopped, raised it high, and peered about in
+every direction.
+
+"S-sh!" repeated Fouchette.
+
+"S-sh yourself!" said the young man, evidently suspecting some trick.
+
+"Not so loud if you please, monsieur."
+
+"Not so--but where the devil are you, anyhow?" He had looked in every
+direction except the right one.
+
+"Here," whispered Fouchette. "Up in the tree."
+
+"Tonnerre! And what are you doing up there in the tree, mademoiselle?"
+he inquired with astonishment, elevating his lantern so as to get a
+glimpse of the owner of the voice.
+
+"Nothing," said Fouchette.
+
+"Well, if this don't--say, mademoiselle."
+
+"Please don't talk so loud, monsieur. They will hear you, and I will
+be lost."
+
+"Indeed! So you're running away, eh?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Because they are going to give me the douche, the paddle, and
+prison."
+
+"The wretches!" whispered the young man through his half-set teeth.
+
+"Then you'll help me, monsieur?" asked Fouchette, in a tone of
+entreaty.
+
+"That I will," said he, promptly, "if I can. If you could swing
+yourself over the wall, now; but, dame! no girl can do that," he added
+half to himself.
+
+"I'll try it," said Fouchette.
+
+"Don't do it, mademoiselle; you'll break your neck."
+
+For answer to this, Fouchette, who had been working her dangerous way
+out on the uncertain branches, holding tenaciously to those above, so
+as to wisely distribute her weight, only said,--
+
+"Look out, now!"
+
+There was no time to parley,--it was her only hope,--and if she fell
+inside the wall----
+
+A splash among the leaves and a violent reversal of branches relieved
+of her weight and--and a ripping sound.
+
+"Oh, mon Dieu!" she gasped.
+
+She had swung clear, but her skirts had caught the iron spikes as she
+came down and now held her firmly, head downward,--a very embarrassing
+predicament.
+
+"Put out the light, monsieur, please!"
+
+He gallantly closed the slide and sprang to her assistance.
+
+"Don't be afraid, mademoiselle. Let go,--I'll catch you. Let go!"
+
+"Oh, but I----"
+
+"Let go!"
+
+"Sacré bleu! I can't, monsieur! I'm stuck like a fish on a gaff! My
+skirts----"
+
+This startling intelligence, while it relieved his immediate anxiety,
+involved the young man in a painful quandary. He dared not call for
+help; he was likely to be arrested in any case; he could not go away
+and leave the girl dangling there. She was at least three feet beyond
+his extreme reach.
+
+"Let's see," he said, hastily grabbing his lantern to make an
+examination.
+
+"Oh, put out that light!" exclaimed the girl.
+
+"But, mademoiselle, I can't see----"
+
+"Mon Dieu! monsieur, I don't wish you to see! No! I should--put down
+the lantern!"
+
+Having complied with this request, he stood under her in despair.
+
+"Can't you tear the--the--what-you-may-call-it loose?"
+
+"No; it's my skirt,--my dress,--I'm slipping out of it. Look out,
+monsieur, for--I'm--coming--oh!"
+
+And come she did, head first, minus the dress skirt, plump into the
+startled young man's arms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+"Me voilà!" said Fouchette, gaining her feet and lightly shaking her
+ruffled remains together, as if she were a young pullet that had
+calmly fluttered down from the roost.
+
+"Well, you're a bird!" he ejaculated, the more embarrassed of the two.
+
+"Mon Dieu! monsieur, but for you I'd soon have been a dead bird! I
+thank you ever so much."
+
+She reached up at him and succeeded in pecking a little kiss on his
+chin. It was her first attempt at the masculine mouth and she could
+scarcely be censured if she missed it.
+
+"It certainly was a lucky chance that I came this way at the moment,"
+he said.
+
+"It was, indeed," she assented.
+
+He was surveying her now by the light of his lantern; and he smiled at
+her slight figure in the short petticoat. Her blind confidence in him
+and her general assurance amused him.
+
+"Where were you thinking of going, mademoiselle?"
+
+"To Paris."
+
+"Paris!"
+
+The young man almost dropped his lantern. Paris seemed out of reach to
+him.
+
+"And why not, monsieur?"
+
+"Er--well, mademoiselle, climbing a tree and throwing one's self head
+over heels over a wall--er--and----"
+
+"And leaving ones skirt hanging on the spikes----"
+
+"Yes,--is not the customary way for young ladies to start for Paris.
+But I suppose you know what you are about."
+
+"If I only had my skirt."
+
+Fouchette glanced up at the offending member of her attire which she
+had cast from her.
+
+"Never mind that,--I'll return and get it. Come with me, mademoiselle.
+I live near by, and my mother and sisters will protect you for the
+time being. Come! Where's your hat?"
+
+"I didn't have time----"
+
+"You didn't stop to pack your bundle, eh?"
+
+"Not exactly, monsieur."
+
+They walked along silently for a few yards, following the wall.
+
+"You have relatives in Paris, mademoiselle?" he finally asked.
+
+"No, monsieur."
+
+"Friends, then?"
+
+"Well, yes."
+
+"It is good. Paris is no place for a young girl alone. Besides, it is
+just now a scene of riot and bloodshed. It is in a state bordering on
+revolution. All France is roused. Royalists and Bonapartists have
+combined against the life of the republic. Paris is swarming with
+troops. There will be barricades and fighting in the streets,
+mademoiselle."
+
+Fouchette recalled the fragments of conversations
+overheard,--conversations between the Supérieure and Father Sébastien
+and certain visitors. Beyond this casual information she knew
+absolutely nothing of what was going on in the outer world. He
+misconstrued her silence.
+
+"Whom do you know in Paris, mademoiselle?--somebody powerful enough to
+protect you?"
+
+"Oh, yes, monsieur," she promptly answered. "I know one man,--one who
+sent me here,--who is powerful----"
+
+"May I ask----"
+
+"The Chief of the Secret Police," she said, lowering her tone to a
+confidential scale,--"Inspector Loup."
+
+"Oh, pardon, mademoiselle!" quickly responded the young man. "Pardon!
+I meant it for your welfare, not to inquire into your business. Oh,
+no; do not think me capable of that!"
+
+He appeared to be somewhat frightened at what he had done, but became
+reassured when she passed it with easy good nature.
+
+"It is important, then, mademoiselle, that you reach Paris at once?"
+
+"It is very important, monsieur."
+
+"The royalist scoundrels are very active," he said. "They must be
+headed off--exposed!"
+
+He spoke enthusiastically, seizing Fouchette's hand warmly. That
+demoiselle, who was floundering around in a position she did not
+understand, walked along resolved to keep her peace. He assured her
+that she might fully rely upon him and his in this emergency. Let her
+put him to the test.
+
+The enigmatical situation was more confounding to Fouchette when she
+was being overwhelmed with the subservient attentions of the young
+man's family; but the less she comprehended the more she held her
+tongue. They were of the class moderately well-to-do and steeped in
+politics up to the neck.
+
+Fouchette knew next to nothing about politics. Only that France was a
+republic and that many were dissatisfied with that form of government;
+that some wanted the empire, and others the restoration of the kings,
+and still others anything but existing things. Having never been
+called upon to form an opinion, Fouchette had no opinion on the
+subject. She did not care a snap what kind of a government ruled,--it
+could make no difference to her.
+
+Coming in contact with all of this enthusiasm, she now knew that Le
+Bon Pasteur was royalist for some reason; and she shrewdly guessed,
+without the assistance of this family conviction, that all Jesuits,
+whatever they might otherwise be, were also royalists. And, as
+Inspector Loup was a part of the existing government, he must be a
+republican,--which was not so shrewd as it was logical; therefore that
+if Sister Agnes was suspected of being friendly to Inspector Loup, the
+good sister was a republican and naturally the political enemy of the
+managers of Le Bon Pasteur. Whatever Sister Agnes was it must be
+right.
+
+But in holding her tongue Fouchette was most clever of all,--whereas,
+usually, the less people know about government the more persistently
+they talk politics.
+
+The young man went back to the wall with a fish-pole and rescued the
+recalcitrant skirt, much to her delight. His mother mended the rents
+in it and his sisters fitted her out with a smart hat.
+
+It was soon developed that Fouchette had no money. This brought about
+a family consultation.
+
+"I must go to Paris," said Fouchette, determinedly, "if I have to
+walk!"
+
+"Nonsense!" said the young man.
+
+"Nonsense!" chimed in mother and sisters.
+
+"I'll fix you all right," finally declared the young man, "on a single
+condition,--that you carry a letter from me to Inspector Loup and
+deliver it into his own hands, mademoiselle. Is it a bargain?"
+
+"Oh, yes, monsieur,--very sure!" cried the girl, almost overcome by
+this last good fortune. "You are very good,--it would be a pleasure,
+monsieur, I assure you."
+
+"And if you were to tell him the part I have taken to-night in your
+case it would be of great service,--if you would be so good,
+mademoiselle. Not that it is anything, but----"
+
+"You may be assured of that, too," said Fouchette, who, however, did
+not understand what possible interest lay in this direction.
+
+They were all so effusive and apparently grateful that she was made to
+believe herself a very important personage.
+
+As the letter was brought out immediately, she saw that it was already
+prepared, and wondered why it was not sent by post.
+
+Another family consultation, and it was decided that Fouchette might
+lose the letter by some accident; so, on the suggestion of the mother,
+it was carefully sewn in the bosom of their emissary's dress.
+
+It was also suggested that, since an effort for Fouchette's recapture
+might include the careful scrutiny of the trains for Paris the next
+day, she should be accompanied at once to a suburban town where she
+could take the midnight express.
+
+All of these details were not settled without considerable discussion,
+in which Fouchette came to the private conclusion that they were even
+more anxious for her to get to Paris than she was herself, if such a
+thing were possible.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fouchette arrived in Paris and alighted at the Gare de l'Est at a very
+early hour in the morning. Her idea had been to go direct to the
+Préfecture and demand the whereabouts of Sister Agnes. Incidentally
+she would deliver the mysterious letter intrusted to her.
+
+But during her journey Fouchette had enjoyed ample time for
+reflection. She was not absolutely certain of her reception at the
+hands of Inspector Loup; could not satisfy her own mind that he would
+receive her at all. Besides, would he really know anything about
+Sister Agnes?
+
+Fouchette's self-confidence had been oozing away in the same ratio as
+she was nearing her journey's end. When she had finally arrived she
+was almost frightened at the notion of meeting Inspector Loup. He had
+threatened her with prison. He might regard her now as an escaped
+convict. On the whole, Fouchette was really sorry she had run away.
+Back again in Paris, where she had suffered so much, she realized
+again that there were worse places for a girl than Le Bon Pasteur.
+Anyhow, it was early,--there was plenty of time,--she would consider.
+
+She took the tramway of the Boulevards Strausbourg and Sébastopol,
+climbing to the imperial, where a seat was to be had for three sous.
+
+What crowds of people!
+
+She was surprised to see the great human flood pouring down the
+boulevards and side streets at such an early hour in the morning. But
+her volatile nature rose to the touch of excitement. She at once
+forgot everything else but the street. Fouchette was a true
+Parisienne.
+
+"Paris!" she murmured; "dear Paris!"
+
+As if Paris had blessed her childhood with pleasure, instead of having
+starved and beaten her and degraded her to the level of beasts!
+
+"Where on earth are all of these people going?" she asked herself.
+
+There were now and then cries of "Vive l'armée!" "Vive la république!"
+and "Vive la France!" while the excitement seemed to grow as they
+reached the Porte St. Denis.
+
+"What is it, monsieur?" she finally asked the man at her side.
+
+"It is the 25th of October," said he.
+
+"But, monsieur, what is the matter?"
+
+He looked over his shoulder at the young girl rather resentfully,
+though his doubts as to her sincerity vanished in a smile.
+
+"It is the rentrée of the Chambers," he answered.
+
+"Oh," she said, "is that it?"
+
+But she knew no more now than she had known before. Presently her
+curiosity again got the better of her timidity.
+
+"Where are they going, monsieur?"
+
+"They don't know, mademoiselle. Palais Bourbon, Place de la
+Concorde,--anywhere it happens to be lively enough to suit. But where
+have you been, mademoiselle, to not know,--in the country?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"And where are you going?"
+
+"Place de la Concorde."
+
+"Don't do it, little one,--don't you do it! It is not a place for a
+mite like you on such a day. Take my advice,--go anywhere else."
+
+"I'm going to the Place de la Concorde, monsieur," she responded,
+quite stiffly.
+
+When she reached the great plaza, however, she found it practically
+deserted. The usual throngs of carriages were passing to and fro.
+Immense black crowds blocked the Rue Royale at the Madeleine and in
+the opposite direction in the vicinity of the Palais Bourbon across
+the river. These crowds appeared to be held at bay by the cordons of
+police agents, who kept the Place de la Concorde clear and pedestrians
+moving lively in the intersecting streets.
+
+Fouchette hopped nimbly off the steps of the omnibus she had taken at
+le Châtelet, to the amusement of a gang of hilarious students from the
+Latin Quarter, who recognized in her the "tenderfoot."
+
+The Parisienne always leaves the omnibus steps with her back to the
+horses. This keeps American visitors standing around looking for a
+mishap which never happens; for the Parisienne is an expert
+equilibrist and can perform this feat while the vehicle is at full
+speed, not only with safety but with an airy grace that is often
+charming.
+
+But Fouchette did not mind the laughter; she had found a good place
+from which to view whatever was to be seen. She did not have to wait
+long.
+
+"À bas le sabre!" shouted a man.
+
+"À bas les traitres!" yelled the students in unison.
+
+One of the latter leaped at the man and felled him with a blow.
+
+The frantic crowd of young men attempted to jump upon this victim of
+public opinion, but as others rushed at the same time to his rescue,
+all came together in a tumultuous, struggling heap.
+
+The angry combatants surged this way and that,--the score soon became
+an hundred, the hundred became a thousand. It was a mystery whence
+these turbulent elements sprang, so quickly did the mob gather
+strength.
+
+The original offender got away in the confusion. But the struggle went
+on, accompanied by shouts, curses, and groans. One platoon of police
+agents charged down upon the fighters, then another platoon.
+
+Friends struck friends in sheer excess of fury. The momentarily
+swelling roar of the combat reverberated in the Rue Royale and echoed
+and re-echoed from the garden of the Tuileries.
+
+The police agents struggled in vain. They were unable to penetrate
+beyond the outer rows of the mob. And these turned and savagely
+assaulted the agents.
+
+Then the massive grilles of the Tuileries swung upon their hinges and
+a squadron of cuirassiers slowly trotted into the Place de la
+Concorde. They swept gracefully into line. A harsh, rasping sound of
+steel, a rattle of breastplates as the sabres twinkled in the
+sunshine, and the column moved down upon the snarling horde of human
+tigers.
+
+Brave when it was a single unarmed man, the mob broke and ran like
+frightened sheep at the sight of the advancing cavalry.
+
+In the mean time myriads of omnibuses, vans, carriages, and vehicles
+of all descriptions, having been blocked by a similar mob in the
+narrow Rue Royale and at the Pont de la Concorde in the other
+direction, now became tangled in an apparently inextricable mass in
+the middle square.
+
+The individual members of the crowd broke for this cover, while the
+agents dashed among them to make arrests. Men scrambled under
+omnibuses and wagons, leaped through carriages, dodged between wheels,
+climbed over horses, crept on their hands and knees beneath vans.
+
+Fouchette ran like a rabbit, but between the rush of police and
+scattering of the mob she was sorely hustled. She finally sprang into
+an open voiture in the jam, and wisely remained there in spite of the
+driver's furious gesticulations.
+
+"This way!" cried a stalwart young student to his fleeing companions.
+
+The agents were hot upon them.
+
+Fouchette saw that they were covered with dirt, and one was hatless.
+And this one glared at her as he dodged beneath the horse.
+
+The next vehicle was pulled up short, as if to close the narrow
+passage, whereat the hatless man shook his fist at the driver and
+cursed him.
+
+"Vive la liberté!" retorted the driver.
+
+"So! We'll give you liberty, you cur!" and the hatless man called to
+his nearest companion, "Over with him!"
+
+The two seized the light vehicle and overturned it as if it were an
+empty basket. The driver pitched forward, sprawling, to the asphalt.
+Seeing which the wary driver of the voiture in which Fouchette was
+seated turned and called to her behind his hand,--
+
+"Keep your seat, mademoiselle! It's all right!"
+
+He was terrified lest his carriage should follow the fate of his
+neighbor's. But the young men merely compelled him to whip up and keep
+the lines closed, and with this moving barricade they trotted along
+secure from present assault. Fouchette could have touched the nearest
+student. She was so frightened that the coachman's admonition was
+quite unnecessary. She could not have stirred.
+
+"Jean!" said the hatless man to the other, who was so close, "you saw
+Lerouge there?"
+
+"See him! I was near enough to punch him!"
+
+"Did you----"
+
+"Ah!" There was a quaver in his voice.
+
+"I understand, my friend."
+
+"But I can't understand Lerouge," said the young man called Jean.
+"Don't be afraid, mademoiselle," he added, speaking to Fouchette
+reassuringly. "Our friends the agents----"
+
+"Oh, there they come, monsieur!" she cried.
+
+"Pardieu!" exclaimed the hatless. "We're caught!"
+
+A big van loaded with straw blocked the way. Behind it skulked a whole
+platoon of blue uniforms. The fugitives hesitated for a second or
+two.
+
+"Over with it!" shouted the hatless young man, at the same moment
+appropriating a deserted headpiece.
+
+"Down with the agents!"
+
+A dozen stalwart young men seized the big wheels. The top-heavy load
+wavered an instant, then went over with a simultaneous swish and a
+yell.
+
+The latter came from the police agents, now half buried in the straw.
+
+A second squadron of cavalry, Garde de Paris, drawn up near by,
+witnessed this incident and smiled. These little pleasantries amuse
+all good Parisians.
+
+Safety now lay in separation. Jean kept on towards the Rue Royale; his
+friends broke off, scattering towards the Rue de Rivoli.
+
+"Que diable!" he muttered.
+
+He stopped and looked hastily about him.
+
+"Well, devil take her anyhow,--she's gone. And I'm here."
+
+He saw himself, with many others out of the line of blocked vehicles,
+hemmed in by agents, Gardes de Paris, and cuirassiers to the right and
+left, now driven into the Rue Royale as stray animals into a pound.
+
+Double lines of police agents supported by infantry and cavalry held
+both ends of this short street; here, where it opened into the Place
+de la Concorde and there where it led at the Madeleine into the grand
+boulevards.
+
+The roar of the mob came down upon him from the Madeleine, where the
+rioters had forced the defensive line from time to time only to be
+driven back by the fists and feet of the police agents and with the
+flat of the cavalry sabre.
+
+The authorities knew their ground. The Rue Royale was the key to the
+military position.
+
+But in the attempt to clear the Place de la Concorde the nearest
+fugitives were thrust into the Rue Royale and driven by horse and foot
+towards the Madeleine, where they were mercilessly kicked outside the
+lines to shift for themselves, an unwilling part of a frenzied mob.
+
+"I'm a rat in a trap here," growled the young man, having been
+literally thrown through the lower cordon by two stalwart agents.
+
+The shopkeepers had put up their heavy shutters. The grilles were
+closed. People looked down from window and balcony upon a street
+sealed as tight as wax.
+
+Having witnessed the infantry reserves ambushed behind the Ministry of
+Marine filling their magazines, and being confronted by a fresh émeute
+above, Jean Marot began to feel queer for the first time of a day of
+brawls.
+
+He recalled the historical fact that here in this narrow street a
+thousand people were slain in a panic on the occasion of the
+celebration of the marriage of Marie Antoinette.
+
+A horseman with drawn sabre rode at him and ordered him to move on
+more quickly.
+
+"But where to, Monsieur le Caporal?"
+
+"Anywhere, mon enfant! Out of this, now! Circulate!"
+
+"But----"
+
+"There is no 'but!' What business have you here? You are not a
+Deputy!" The man urged him with his sabre.
+
+"Hold, Monsieur le Caporal! Has, then, a citizen of Paris no longer
+any right to go home without insult from the uniform?"
+
+"Where do you live, monsieur?"
+
+"Just around the corner in the Faubourg St. Honoré," replied the young
+man.
+
+"Ah!" growled the cavalryman, doubtfully, "and there is another
+route."
+
+All of this time the soldier's horse, trained by much service of this
+sort during the preceding year, was pushing Jean along of his own
+accord,--now with his breast, now with his impatient nose,--to the
+considerable sacrifice of that young man's dignity. The latter edged
+up to the wall, but the horse followed him, shoving him along gently
+but firmly under a loose rein.
+
+Jean flattened himself against a doorway to escape the pressure. But
+the horse paused also and leaned against him.
+
+"Oh, say, then!"
+
+"Hello! Here they come again!" exclaimed the corporal, reining in his
+horse, with his eyes bent towards the Madeleine.
+
+At this juncture the door was suddenly opened and Jean, who was fast
+having the breath squeezed out of him, fell inside.
+
+The door was as suddenly closed again and barred.
+
+The cavalryman, who had not seen this movement, glanced around on
+either side, behind, then beneath his horse, finally up in the sky,
+and shrugged his shoulders and rode on along the walk.
+
+"Oho, Monsieur Jean!" roared a friendly voice as the young man caught
+his breath; "trying to break into my house, eh? By my saint, young
+man, you were in a mighty tight place! Oh, this dreadful day! No
+business at all, and----"
+
+"Business!" gasped Jean,--"business, man! Never had a more busy day in
+my life!"
+
+"You? Yes! it is such wild young blades as you and that
+serious-looking Lerouge who raise all the row in Paris.--I say,
+monsieur," broke off the garrulous old restaurateur, and, running to
+the window behind the bar, "they're putting the sand!"
+
+Men with barrows from the Ministry of Marine were hastily strewing the
+smooth asphalt with sand. It meant cavalry operations.
+
+"But, Monsieur Jean, where's your double? Where's the other Marot
+to-day?"
+
+Jean's face clouded. He did not reply.
+
+"I never saw two men look so much alike," continued the restaurateur.
+
+"So the medics all say, and that I do all the deviltry and Henri gets
+sent to dépôt for it." He had called for something to eat, and looked
+up from the distant table in continuation,--
+
+"Lerouge has turned out to be the most rabid Dreyfusarde. We met in
+the fun to-day----"
+
+"Fun!"
+
+"There certainly was fun for a while. George Villeroy, when I last saw
+him, was being chased to the Rue de Rivoli. Hope he gets back this
+evening at Le Petit Rouge."
+
+"Le Petit Rouge! Faugh! Nest of red republicans, royalists----"
+
+"No royalists----"
+
+"Anarchists----"
+
+"Yes, I'll admit that----"
+
+"And bloody bones----"
+
+"Bloody noses to-day, monsieur."
+
+"And this Lerouge and you?"
+
+"Yes, this is George's night to carve," said Jean, changing the
+subject back to surgery.
+
+"Carve?"
+
+"Yes,--certes! Cut into something fresh, if it turns up."
+
+"Turns up?"
+
+"Why, Monsieur Bibbôlet, you're as clever as a parrot! Yes, turns up.
+Subject, stiff, cadaver,--see?--Le café, garçon!"
+
+"Ah! you medical----"
+
+"You see, George has a new arterial theory to demonstrate. I tell you,
+he can pick up an artery as easily as your cook can pick a chicken. If
+you'd care to let him try----"
+
+"How! Pick up my arteries? Not if I----"
+
+"What's that?"
+
+They again ran to the window.
+
+"It's the cuirassiers, Monsieur Jean! Ah! if it came to blows they'd
+pot 'em like rabbits here! You're out of it just in time."
+
+So closely was the squadron of cuirassiers wedged in the street that
+Jean could have put his hand upon the jack-boots of the nearest
+soldier. There had been a fresh break in the Madeleine guard, and this
+was the reserve. They slowly pricked their resistless way, and one by
+one the exhausted agents slipped between them to the rear. Some of the
+latter dragged prisoners, some supported bruised and bleeding victims.
+Some persons had been trampled or beaten into insensibility, and these
+were being carried towards the Place de la Concorde. Among them were
+women. There are always women in the Paris mob.
+
+And this particular mob was a mere political "manifestation." That was
+all. It was the 25th of October, 1898, and the day on which the French
+Parliament met. So the Parisian patriots lined the route to the Palais
+Bourbon and "manifested" their devotion to liberty French fashion, by
+clubbing everybody who disagreed with them.
+
+"Well!" said Jean, "they have pushed beyond St. Honoré. I can get home
+now."
+
+"Not yet, monsieur. Do not go yet. It is still dangerous. A bottle of
+old Barsac with me."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Night had fallen. Jean Marot was cautiously let out of a side door.
+
+The Ministry had also fallen.
+
+Hoarse-lunged venders of the evening papers announced the fact in
+continuous cries. Travel had been resumed in the Rue Royale. Here and
+there the shops began to take in their shutters and resume business.
+Timid shopkeepers came out on the walk and discussed the situation
+with each other.
+
+The ministerial journals sold by wholesale. The angry manifestants
+burned them in the streets. Which rendered the camelots more insistent
+and obnoxious with fresh bundles to be sold and destroyed in the same
+way.
+
+Jean Marot, refreshed by rest and food, lingered a moment at Rue St.
+Honoré, uncertain whether to return to his rooms or join a mob of
+patriots howling the Marseillaise in front of the Café de Londres.
+
+"Enough," he finally concluded, and turned up towards the Rue Boissy
+d'Anglais.
+
+There were evidences of a fierce struggle in the narrow but
+aristocratic faubourg. Usually a blaze of light at this hour, it was
+closed from street to street and practically deserted. Scared
+milliners and dress-makers and fashionable jewellers peered out from
+upper windows, still afraid to open up. Fragments of broken canes,
+battered hats, and torn vestments told an eloquent story of political
+differences.
+
+"We certainly missed the fun here," thought Jean. "Hello! What's
+this?"
+
+He had tripped on a woman's skirt in the shadow of the wall.
+
+"Peste! Why can't our fair dames and demoiselles let _us_ fight it
+out? There really isn't enough to go round!"
+
+He paused, then returned impulsively and looked at the dark
+bundle,--stirred it with his foot. It was certainly the figure of a
+woman.
+
+"Last round," he muttered; "next, the Seine!"
+
+His budding professional instincts prompted him to search for the
+pulse.
+
+It was still.
+
+And when he took his hand away it was covered with blood.
+
+"Wait!"
+
+He placed his hand over the heart, then uncovered a young but bruised
+and swollen face.
+
+"The cavalry," he murmured. "She's dead; she--well, perhaps it was
+better."
+
+He glanced up and down the street, as if considering whether to go his
+way or to call the police. There was nobody in sight near enough to
+attract by cries. The police were busy elsewhere. Then his face all at
+once lighted up.
+
+"A good idea!" he ejaculated,--"a very good idea!"
+
+He saw two cabs approaching.
+
+Calling the first, he began to carry the good idea into immediate
+execution.
+
+"What is it, monsieur?" inquired the cabman, seeing the body.
+
+"An accident. Quick, cocher!"
+
+With his usual decision Jean thrust the body into the cab and followed
+it.
+
+"Allez!" he commanded.
+
+"But, monsieur,--the--the--where to?"
+
+"Pont de Solferino, to Boulevard St. Germain. An extra franc, my lad!"
+
+Having vaguely started the cabby, Jean had time to think. He knew the
+prejudices most people entertain concerning the dead. Especially the
+prejudices of Paris police agents and cabmen. To give the Rue de
+Médecine would set the man to speculating. To mention Le Petit Rouge
+would be to have him hail the first man in uniform.
+
+As to Jean Marot, medical student, du Quartier Latin, in his fourth
+year, a lifeless body was no more than a bag of sand. It was merely a
+"subject."
+
+"The chief benefit conferred upon society and humanity by a large
+proportion of our population," he would have cynically observed to any
+caviller, "is by dying and becoming useful 'subjects.'"
+
+He considered himself fortunate, however, in having a close cab, out
+of deference to those who might differ with him. They crossed the Pont
+de Solferino, where a momentary halt gave a couple of alert agents a
+chance to scrutinize him a little more sharply than was comfortable,
+and turned down Boulevard St. Germain.
+
+At the École de Médecine Jean stopped the cab, as if struck with a new
+idea.
+
+"Cocher!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur?"
+
+"Drive to 12 Rue Antoine Dubois."
+
+"How then!"
+
+"I said--drive--to--No. 12--Rue Antoine Dubois! You know where that
+is?"
+
+"Oh, yes, monsieur,--only--er--it is right over there opposite
+the----"
+
+The man was so excited he found difficulty in expressing himself.
+
+"École Pratique,--that's right," said Jean.
+
+Hardened sinner that he was, the old Paris coachman crossed himself
+and, as he entered the uncanny neighborhood, felt around for the
+sacred amulet that every good Frenchman wears next to the skin.
+
+"I must get some instruments there before taking this lady home," Jean
+added.
+
+The Rue Antoine Dubois is a short street connecting the Rue et Place
+de l'École de Médecine with the Rue de Monsieur le Prince. One side of
+it is formed by the gloomy wall of the École Pratique, where more
+"subjects" are disposed of annually than in any other dozen similar
+institutions in the world; the other by various medical shops and
+libraries, over which are "clubs," "laboratories," "cliniques," and
+student lodgings. At the Rue de Monsieur le Prince the street ends in
+a great flight of steps. It therefore forms an impasse, or a pocket
+for carriages, and is little used. It was now deserted.
+
+The coachman drew up before a dark court entrance, a sickly light
+shining upon him through the surgical appliances, articulated
+skeletons, skulls, and other professional exhibits of the nearest
+window.
+
+"Let us see; I'll take her up-stairs and make a more careful
+examination."
+
+"You--you're a doctor, monsieur?"
+
+"Yes,--there!" He gave the man a five-franc piece. "No,--never mind
+the change."
+
+"Merci, monsieur!"
+
+"Better wait--till I see how she is, you know."
+
+Jean bore his burden very carefully till out of sight; then threw it
+over his shoulder and felt his way up the half-lighted stairs. He knew
+quite well that the man would not wait; believed that the overpayment
+would induce him to get away as quickly and as far as possible.
+
+"It's a stiff, sure!" growled the nervous cabman, and he drove out of
+the place at a furious rate.
+
+Jean threw his "subject" on the floor and hunted around for a light.
+
+"Le Petit Rouge"--its frequenters were medical students and political
+extremists--was replete with books, bones, and anatomical drawings,
+black-and-white and in colors. Two complete skeletons mounted
+guard,--one in the farther corner, one behind the door. There were
+tables and instrument-cases, and surgical saws and things in racks.
+There were easy-chairs, pipes, etc. A skull, with the top neatly sawed
+off to serve as cover, formed a tobacco receptacle.
+
+But the chef-d'oeuvre was from Jean's ingenious hand. It was the
+bow-backed skeleton behind the door, which had been cleverly arranged
+as and was called "Madame la Concierge." The skeleton had been arrayed
+in a short conventional ballet skirt and scanty lace cap, and held a
+candle in one hand and a bottle marked "Absinthe" in the other. The
+skirt was to indicate her earlier career, the cap and candle gave an
+inkling of her later life, while the bottle told the probable cause of
+her decease. This skeleton was so controlled by wires and cords that
+it could be made to move out in front of the open door and raise the
+candle above the head, as if to see who asked for admission. When the
+room was in semi-darkness Madame la Concierge of Le Petit Rouge was
+charmingly effective, and had been known to throw some people into
+spasms.
+
+Placing his lamp in a favorable position, Jean Marot pulled off his
+coat, removed his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and proceeded to
+extend his subject upon what young Armand Massard facetiously called
+"the dressing-table."
+
+"Good God!" he exclaimed, falling back a step. "Why, it's the
+demoiselle of the Place de la Concorde!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+And so it was.
+
+Fouchette had been thrown from the voiture in the conflict, and had
+been run over by the mob and trampled into the mud of the gutter. So
+covered with the filth of the street was she, so torn and bruised and
+bedraggled, that she would have been unrecognizable even to one who
+had seen her more often than had her present examiner.
+
+There was something in the girl's face, however, that had left an
+impression on the mind of Jean Marot not easily effaced. It was too
+indistinct and unemotional, this impression, to inspire analysis, but
+it was there, so that, under the lamp, Jean had at once recognized the
+young woman of the carriage.
+
+"It's murder, that's what it is," he soliloquized,--"victim of 'Vive
+l'armée.'"
+
+A most careful examination showed there were no bones broken, though
+the young body was literally black and blue.
+
+The face was that of a prize-fighter's after a stubborn battle.
+
+Inspection of the clothing developed no marks of recognition. Her
+pocket lining showed that she had been robbed of anything she may have
+possessed. The coarse character and general appearance of the clothing
+indicated her lowly condition of charity scholar.
+
+Although rigor mortis had not yet set in, the medical student, armed
+with a basin and sponge, proceeded to prepare the body for the
+scalpel.
+
+"This ought to suit George Villeroy," he mused. "And George has
+always said I was no good except on a lark. He has always pined for a
+fresh subject----"
+
+He was attracted by the quality and peculiar color of the hair, and
+washing the stains from the head, examined the latter attentively.
+
+"I never saw but one woman with hair like that, and she--wonder what
+the devil is in Lerouge, anyhow!--I suppose--hold on here! Let us
+see."
+
+He had found a terrible gash in the scalp. Hastily obtaining his
+instruments, he skilfully lifted a bit of crushed skull.
+
+As he did so he fancied there was a slight tremor in the slender body.
+He nervously tested the heart, the nostrils, the pulse, then breathed
+once more.
+
+"Dame! It is imagination. That break would have killed an ox!"
+
+Yet he took another careful look at the wound, cutting away some of
+the fair hair in order to get at the fracture. Then he made another
+experiment.
+
+"Pardieu! she's alive," he whispered, hoarsely. "What's to be done?
+They're right. Jean! Jean! you'll never be a doctor! Never be anything
+but a d----d fool!"
+
+But Jean Marot, if not a doctor, was a young man of action and
+resources. Even as he spoke he grabbed a sheet and a blanket from a
+cot in the corner, snatched a hat belonging to Massard's grisette from
+the wall, bundled the girl's clothes around the body the best he
+could, and ran to the window.
+
+As he had anticipated would be the case, the cabman had disappeared.
+
+He was fully aware of the risk he now ran; but above his sense of
+personal danger rose his sympathy and anxiety for the young girl.
+
+He realized that his first step must be to get her out of this place;
+next to get her under the care of a regular practitioner. French law
+is severe in such a contingency. Without hesitation he again
+shouldered his burden,--this time with infinite gentleness.
+
+At first he had thought of depositing it in the court below until he
+had secured a cab in the Rue et Place de l'École de Médecine; but he
+saw an open voiture passing along the elevated horizon of the Rue de
+Monsieur le Prince and gave a shrill whistle.
+
+The cab stopped.
+
+Jean bounded up the steps as one endowed with superhuman strength.
+Placing his charge within, he mounted by her side.
+
+"Faubourg St. Honoré!" he commanded. "And good speed and safe arrival
+is worth ten francs to you, my man!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If Jean had followed his first idea and turned to the left instead of
+to the right he would have met some of his late revolutionary comrades
+returning, in boisterous spirits, to Le Petit Rouge.
+
+"Parbleu!" exclaimed Villeroy, throwing himself into a chair, "but I
+believe every police agent in Paris has trodden on my corns this day!"
+
+"For my part," said young Massard, a thin, pale, indolent young man
+scarcely turned twenty-one, "I don't see much fun in being hustled,
+shoved, kicked, pounded----"
+
+"But, Armand," interrupted the third man, "think of the fun you have
+afforded the other fellow!"
+
+This speaker was known as the double of Jean Marot, only some people
+could not see the slightest resemblance when the two were
+together,--Lerouge being taller, darker, more athletic in appearance,
+and more serious of temper.
+
+"I say, Lerouge, I don't think your crowd of Dreyfusardes got much
+pleasure out of us to-day," put in Villeroy, dryly.
+
+"We got some of it out of the police, it is true," said Lerouge. Henri
+Lerouge was half anarchist, socialist, and an extremist generally, of
+whom French politics presents a formidable contingent.
+
+Armand Massard thoughtfully helped himself to a pipe of tobacco from
+the grim tabatière on the table. Politics was barred at Le Petit
+Rouge, and Lerouge was known to be rather irritable. On the subject of
+the police these young fellows were unanimous. The agents were
+considered fair game in the Quartier Latin.
+
+"I've had enough of them for this once, George," yawned Massard.
+
+"And they've had enough of us probably," suggested Villeroy.
+
+"It is lively,--too much,--this continued dodging the police----"
+
+"Together with one's creditors----"
+
+A loud double rap startled them.
+
+"Mordieu!" exclaimed that young man, leaping to his feet, "that's one
+now! Don't open!"
+
+Again the peremptory raps, louder than before. There was also a clank
+of steel.
+
+"Police agents or I'm a German!" said Villeroy.
+
+Henri Lerouge, a contemptuous smile on his handsome face, arose to
+admit the callers.
+
+"Wait!" whispered Massard,--"one moment! Madame la Concierge shall
+receive them."
+
+This idea tickled the young men exceedingly. They had little to fear
+from the police, unless it was the chance identification on the Place
+de la Concorde. But these things are rarely pushed.
+
+Madame la Concierge was quickly arranged, her candle lighted. Then the
+other light was turned down.
+
+When the door was slowly opened four police officers, headed by the
+commissary of the quarter, entered.
+
+But they stopped abruptly on the threshold. The hideous skeleton with
+the candle confronted them. A sepulchral voice demanded,--
+
+"Who knocks so loudly at an honest door?"
+
+It is no impeachment of the courage and efficiency of the Paris police
+to say that the men recoiled in terror from this horrible apparition.
+So suddenly, in fact, that the two agents in the rear were
+precipitated headlong down the short flight. The other two vanished
+scarcely less hastily. A fifth man, who had evidently been following
+the agents at a respectful distance, received the full impact of the
+falling bodies, and with one terrified yell sank almost senseless on
+the stair.
+
+This man was the cabman who had brought Jean Marot to Le Petit Rouge.
+
+The veteran commissary, however, flinched only for an instant. Having
+served many years in the Quartier Latin, he was no stranger to the
+pranks and customs of medical students. The next instant he had his
+foot in the doorway, to retain his advantage, and was calling his men
+a choice assortment of Parisian names. To emphasize this he entered
+and gave Madame la Concierge a kick that caused her poor old bones to
+rattle.
+
+"For shame!" cried young Massard, laughingly, turning up the light.
+"To kick an old woman!"
+
+"Now here, gentlemen, students,--you are a nice lot!"
+
+"Thanks! Monsieur le Commissaire," replied Lerouge, with a polite bow.
+
+"You are quite aware, gentlemen," continued the stern official, "that
+you are responsible at this moment for any injury to my men?"
+
+"No, monsieur," retorted Lerouge in his dry fashion; "but, if any
+bones are broken we'll set 'em."
+
+"Free of charge," added Villeroy.
+
+"I want none of your impudence, monsieur! What's your name?"
+
+"George Villeroy, 7 Rue du Pot de Fer, medical student, aged
+twenty-four, single, born at Tours."
+
+Well these young roysterers knew the police formula! Armand Massard
+gave in his record at a nod. The veteran commissary wrote the replies
+down.
+
+"And what is your name, monsieur?"
+
+"Henri Lerouge, Monsieur le Commissaire."
+
+"Ah! I think we have had the pleasure of meeting before this,"
+observed the official. "A hundred francs that this is our man," he
+added under his breath. Then, turning to his men, who had stolen in,
+shamefaced, one by one,--
+
+"Dubat!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur." A keen-eyed agent stepped forward and saluted
+military fashion.
+
+"Do you recognize one of these gentlemen as the man who crossed the
+Pont de Solferino this evening with something----"
+
+"Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire,"--pointing promptly to Henri
+Lerouge,--"that's the man!"
+
+"So. You may step aside, Dubat. Now where is that--oh! Monsieur
+Perriot?"
+
+"Monsieur le Commissaire," responded the unhappy cabman, who had
+scarcely recovered from his mishap in the stairway. He limped
+painfully to the front.
+
+"Now, Perriot, do you----"
+
+"There he is, Monsieur le Commissaire," anticipated the cabman. "I'd
+know him among a thousand."
+
+"Ah! And there we are. I thought so!" said the police official. "Now,
+Monsieur Lerouge," facing the latter with a catlike eye, "where's the
+body?"
+
+The young man looked puzzled, very naturally, while his companions
+were speechless with astonishment.
+
+The veteran police officer took in every detail of this and mentally
+admitted that it was clever, deucedly clever, acting.
+
+"I say, _where is the body_?" he repeated.
+
+"And I say," retorted Lerouge, with a calmness of tone and steadiness
+of eye that almost staggered the old criminal catcher, "that I do not
+understand you, and am very patiently awaiting your explanation."
+
+"Search the place!" curtly commanded the officer.
+
+A clamorous protest arose from all three of the students. But the
+commissary of police waved them aside.
+
+"It means that this man, Henri Lerouge, between six and seven o'clock
+this evening, carried a dead body from the Rue St. Honoré----"
+
+"Faubourg St. Honoré, Monsieur le Commissaire," interrupted the
+cabman, feebly.
+
+"----Faubourg St. Honoré, crossed the Pont de Solferino, where he was
+seen by Agent Dubat, and was brought here in a voiture of place, No.
+37,420, driven by Jacques Perriot. That, arriving in front of this
+building, the said Lerouge paid the cabman and dismissed----"
+
+"Pardon, Monsieur le Commissaire," again put in the coachman,--who
+was evidently trying to do his duty under unfavorable
+circumstances,--"pardon, monsieur, but he told me to wait."
+
+"Oh, he told you to wait, did he? And why didn't you say that at the
+Commissariat, you stupid brute?" The officer was furious. "But he paid
+you, then?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"He paid you five francs and expected you to wait!" sarcastically.
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He said he might want me, monsieur."
+
+"Might want you. And why didn't you wait, you old fool?"
+
+"Here? In the Rue Antoine Dubois, after dark, monsieur? And for
+a--a--'stiff'? Not for a hundred francs!"
+
+The students roared with laughter. As the agents had returned a report
+meanwhile to the effect that there were no signs of any "subject"
+immediately in hand, the commissary was deeply chagrined.
+
+"Now, gentlemen," he began, in a fatherly tone, "it is evident that a
+body has been taken from the street and brought here instead of being
+turned over to the police for the morgue and usual forms of
+identification. That body is possibly unimportant in itself, and would
+probably fall to your admirable institution eventually. But the law
+prescribes the proper course in such cases. We have traced that body
+to this place and to one of your number. Far be it from me to find
+fault with the desire of young gentlemen seeking to perfect their
+knowledge of anatomy for the benefit of humanity; but we must know
+where that body went from here."
+
+The last very emphatically, with a stern gaze at Henri Lerouge.
+
+"And on our part," answered the latter, with ill-subdued passion, "we
+say there is no body here, that none has been brought here to-night,
+that we have been together all day, and that we had but just arrived
+here before this unwarrantable intrusion; in short, that your petits
+mouchards there have lied!"
+
+It was impossible not to believe him. Yet the evidence of the cabman,
+corroborated circumstantially in part by Agent Dubat, seemed equally
+positive and irresistible.
+
+The commissary was nonplussed for a minute. He looked sternly at
+Monsieur Perriot. The latter was nervously fumbling his glazed hat.
+Somebody had lied. The commissary decided that it was the unlucky
+cabman.
+
+"Monsieur Perriot?"
+
+"Y-yes, Monsieur le Commissaire."
+
+"Have you got a five-franc piece about you?"
+
+"Y--n--no--er----"
+
+"Let me see it."
+
+Now, the poor cabman had lost no time fortifying himself with an
+absinthe or two upon leaving his fare in the terrible Rue Antoine
+Dubois. He had changed the piece given him by Jean Marot.
+
+"I haven't got----"
+
+"You said this man gave you a five-franc piece, didn't you? Now, did
+you, or did you not? Answer!"
+
+"Yes, Monsieur le----"
+
+"Where is it? You said you came straight to the Commissariat,--you
+haven't had time to get drunk. Show me the piece! Come!"
+
+"I drove to--I----"
+
+"Come! Out with it!"
+
+"But, Monsieur le Commissaire----"
+
+"You haven't got a five-franc piece. Come, now; say!"
+
+"No, monsieur. I----"
+
+"Lie No. 2."
+
+"But, monsieur, I stopped at the wine-shop of----"
+
+"Then you didn't drive straight to the Commissariat?"
+
+"I went----"
+
+"Did you, or did you not? Yes or no!"
+
+"No, monsieur."
+
+"So! Lie No. 3."
+
+The commissary got up full of wrath, and grasping the unfortunate
+cabby by the shoulder, spun him around with such force as to make the
+man's head swim.
+
+"Dubat!"
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"Take this idiot to the post. I'll enter a complaint against him
+before the Correctionnelle in the morning. He shall forfeit his
+license for this amusement. Gentlemen, pardon me for this unnecessary
+intrusion. Either this fool Perriot has lied or has led us to the
+wrong number. I'll give him time to decide which. Allons!"
+
+Led by the irate official the squad departed, Monsieur Perriot being
+hustled unceremoniously between two agents.
+
+The young men left behind looked at each other for a minute without
+speaking, then broke into a chorus of laughter.
+
+It was such a good one on the police.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Villeroy, "if we only had that stiff here for a fact!"
+
+"This joke on the agents must be got into the newspapers," said
+Lerouge. "It's too good to keep all to ourselves."
+
+"Fact!" cried Massard, who had thrown himself on the cot.
+
+"The joke is on Monsieur Perriot, I think," observed Villeroy.
+
+"Whoever it is on," put in young Massard, "it is a better joke than
+you fellows imagine." And Massard went off into a paroxysm of laughter
+by himself.
+
+"Que diable?"
+
+"Oh! oh! oh!" roared Massard.
+
+He had discovered the missing sheet and blanket and the grisette's
+hat. His companions regarded him attentively. But the young man merely
+went into fresh convulsions of merriment.
+
+Lerouge suddenly raised his hand for silence. There was a low,
+half-timid rap at the door. It created the impression of some woman of
+the street.
+
+"Come in!" cried Villeroy.
+
+"Let her in," said Lerouge.
+
+By which time the door had been opened and a tall, thin gentleman
+entered and immediately closed the door behind him.
+
+"In-Inspector Loup!" ejaculated Lerouge.
+
+"What! more police?" inquired Villeroy, sarcastically. "We are too
+much honored to-night."
+
+"Excuse me, young gentlemen," observed the official, somewhat stiffly,
+but with a polite inclination of his lank body, "but I must be
+permitted to make an examination here--yes, I know; but Monsieur le
+Commissaire is rather--rather--you know--they will wait until I see
+for myself where the error is. Yes, error, I'm sure."
+
+During this introduction the keen little fishy eyes searched the
+table, the floor, the walls, the cot in the corner whereon Massard now
+sat seriously erect, and, incidentally, every person in the room. They
+wound up this lightning tour of inspection by resting with the last
+equivocal sentence upon some object on the floor under the table.
+
+"Pardon me," he added, stepping briskly forward and grasping the lamp.
+
+He brought the light to bear upon the object which had appeared to
+fascinate him, the wondering eyes of the three students becoming
+riveted to the same spot.
+
+It was a wisp of light flaxen hair just tinted with gold.
+
+The inspector replaced the lamp upon the dissecting-table and examined
+the lock of hair. It was still moist, and there were distinct traces
+of blood where it had been cut off from the head.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The world of satisfaction in that ejaculation was not communicated to
+the students, who were speechless with astonishment.
+
+"Yes," said the inspector, as if he were continuing an unimportant
+conversation, "Monsieur le Commissaire is rather--rather--show me the
+rest of the place, please," and without waiting for formal permission
+proceeded, lamp in hand, on his own account.
+
+"So! One sleeps here?"
+
+"Occasionally, monsieur."
+
+He looked under the cot.
+
+"Then you must have the rest of the bed; where is it?"
+
+His quick eye had discovered the inconsistency of the mattress,--as,
+indeed, Massard himself had already done,--and his fertile brain
+jumped at once from cause to effect.
+
+"Probably to wrap the body in. Where's the sink?"
+
+In the little antechamber, redolent with the peculiar and
+indescribable odor of human flesh and its preservatives, was a long
+ice-chest, a big iron sink, an old-fashioned range, pots, pans,
+shelves with bottles, etc.
+
+Massard hurriedly opened the chest, as if half expecting to see a
+human body there.
+
+But Inspector Loup scarcely glanced at this receptacle for "subjects."
+His eyes sought and found the metal basin such as doctors use during
+operations.
+
+The basin was still wet, and minute spots of red appeared upon its
+rim. A sponge lay near. It had recently been soaked. The inspector
+squeezed the sponge over the basin and obtained water stained with
+red.
+
+"Blood," said he.
+
+"Blood!" echoed the alarmed students.
+
+"She's alive," said the inspector, more to himself than to his
+dumfounded auditors,--"alive, probably, else whoever brought her here
+would have kept her here."
+
+He returned abruptly to the other room, and depositing the lamp,
+turned to Lerouge,--
+
+"Were you expecting anybody else here to-night, monsieur?"
+
+"Why, yes; Jean Marot----"
+
+The possibility flashed upon the three young men at once, but it
+seemed too preposterous. The inspector had turned to the window and
+blown a shrill whistle.
+
+"Pardon me, young gentlemen, but I'll not disturb you any longer than
+I can help. What is Jean Marot's address? Good! I will leave you
+company. You will not mind? Dubat will entertain you. It is better
+than resting in the station-house, eh?"
+
+With this pleasantry Inspector Loup hurried away, snatched a cab, and
+was driven rapidly to the address in the Faubourg St. Honoré.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jean Marot was the son of a rich silk manufacturer of Lyon, and
+therefore lived in more comfortable quarters than most students, in a
+fashionable neighborhood on the right bank of the Seine. He had
+reached his lodgings scarcely three-quarters of an hour before
+Inspector Loup. But in that time he had stampeded the venerable
+concierge, got his still unconscious burden to bed and fetched a
+surgeon. The concierge had protested against turning the house into a
+hospital for vagrant women; but Jean was of an impetuous nature, and
+wilful besides, and when he was told that the last vacant chamber had
+been taken that day, he boldly carried the girl to his own rooms and
+placed her in his own bed. And when the concierge had reported this
+fact to Madame Goutran, that excellent lady, who had officiated as
+Jean's landlady for the past four years, shrugged her shoulders in
+such an equivocal way that the concierge concluded that her best
+interests lay in assisting the young man as much as possible.
+
+Dr. Cardiac was not only one of the best surgeon-professors of the
+École de Médecine but Jean's father's personal friend. The young man
+felt that he could turn to the great surgeon in this emergency, though
+the latter was an expert not in regular practice.
+
+    [Illustration: HIS STILL UNCONSCIOUS BURDEN]
+
+The appearance of Inspector Loup threw the Goutran establishment into
+a fever of excitement. The wrinkled old concierge who had declined
+to admit the stranger was ready to fall upon her knees before the
+director of the Secret Service. Madame Goutran hastened to explain why
+she had not reported the affair to the police department as the law
+required. She had not had time. It was so short a time ago that the
+case had been brought into her house,--in a few minutes she would have
+sent in the facts,--then, they expected every moment to ascertain the
+name of the young woman, which would be necessary to make the report
+complete.
+
+Madame Goutran hoped that it would not involve her lodger, Monsieur
+Jean Marot, who was an excellent young man, though impulsive. He
+should have had the girl sent to the hospital. It was so absurd to
+bring her there, where she might die, and in any case would involve
+everybody in no end of difficulties, anyhow.
+
+To a flood of such excuses and running observations Inspector Loup
+listened with immobile face, tightly closed lips, and wandering fishy
+eyes, standing in the corridor of the concierge lodge. He had not
+uttered a word, nor had he hurried the good landlady in her
+explanations and excuses. It was Inspector Loup's custom. He assumed
+the attitude of a professional listener. Seldom any one had ever
+resisted the subtle power of that silent interrogation. Even the most
+stubborn and recalcitrant were compelled to yield after a time; and
+those who had sullenly withstood the most searching and brutal
+interrogatories had broken down under the calm, patient,
+philosophical, crushing contemplation. Questions too often merely
+serve to put people on their guard,--to furnish a cue to what should
+be withheld.
+
+"And your lodger, madame?" he inquired, after Madame Goutran had run
+down, "can I see him?"
+
+"Certainly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Pardon! I have detained you too
+long."
+
+"Not at all, madame. One does not think of time in the presence of a
+charming conversationalist."
+
+"Oh, thank you, monsieur! This way, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."
+
+Inspector Loup gained the apartment of Jean Marot shortly after the
+united efforts of Dr. Cardiac and his amateur assistants had succeeded
+in producing decided signs of returning consciousness. The patient was
+breathing irregularly.
+
+The police official entered the chamber, and, after a silent
+recognition of those present, looked long and steadily at the slight
+figure on the bed.
+
+He then retired, beckoning Jean to follow him. Once in the petit
+salon, the inspector motioned the young man to a chair and looked him
+over for about half a minute. Whereupon Jean made a clean breast of
+what his listener practically already knew, and what he did not know
+had guessed.
+
+"Bring me her clothing," said the inspector, when Jean had finished.
+
+The young man brought the torn and soiled garments which had been
+removed from the girl.
+
+Inspector Loup examined them in a perfunctory way, but apparently
+discovered nothing beyond the fact that they were typical charity
+clothes, which Jean had already decided for himself.
+
+"Be good enough to ask Monsieur le Docteur to step in here a few
+moments at his leisure," he finally said.
+
+As soon as Jean had his back turned the inspector whipped out a knife,
+slit the lining of the bosom of the little dress, and taking therefrom
+the letter addressed to himself, noted at a glance that the seal was
+intact, tore it open, saw its contents and as quickly transferred the
+missive to his pocket.
+
+"Well, doctor," he gravely inquired, "how about your young patient?"
+
+"Uncertain, monsieur, but hopeful."
+
+"She will recover, then?"
+
+"I think so, but it will be some time. She must be removed to a
+hospital."
+
+"Yes, of course,--of course. But you will report to me where she is
+taken from here, Monsieur le Docteur?"
+
+"Oh, yes,--certainly. Though perhaps the girl's friends----"
+
+"She has no friends," said the inspector.
+
+"What! You know her, then?"
+
+"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"A nobody's child, eh?" asked the doctor.
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette is the child of the police," said Inspector
+Loup.
+
+He slowly retired down-stairs, through the court and passage-way,
+reaching the street. Then as he walked away he drew from his pocket
+the letter he had extracted from the little dress.
+
+"So! Sister Agnes is prompt and to the point. These Jesuitical
+associations are hotbeds of treason and intrigue! They are
+inconsistent with civil and religious liberty. We'll see!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+When Fouchette opened her eyes it was to see three strange faces at
+her bedside,--the faces of Dr. Cardiac, Jean Marot, and a professional
+nurse.
+
+But she had regained consciousness long before she could see, her eyes
+being in bandages, and had passively listened to the soft goings and
+comings and low conversations and whispered directions, without saying
+anything herself or betraying her growing curiosity.
+
+These sounds came to her vaguely and brokenly at first, then forced
+themselves on her attention connectedly. Surely she was not at Le Bon
+Pasteur! Then where was she? And finally the recollection of recent
+events rushed upon her, and her poor little head seemed to be on the
+point of bursting.
+
+Things finally appeared quite clear, until her eyes were free and she
+saw for the first time her new surroundings, when she involuntarily
+manifested her surprise.
+
+It certainly was not a hospital, as she had imagined the place. The
+sunny chamber, with its tastefully decorated walls hung with pictures,
+the foils over the door,--through which she saw a still more lovely
+room,--the voluptuous divan and its soft cushions, the heavy Turkish
+rugs, the rich damask hangings of her bed,--no; it certainly was not a
+hospital.
+
+It was the most beautiful room Fouchette had ever seen,--such as her
+fancy had allotted to royal blood,--at least to the nobility. To
+awaken in such a place was like the fairy tales Sister Agnes had read
+to her long ago.
+
+"Well, mademoiselle," said the old surgeon, cheerily, "we're getting
+along,--getting along, eh, Monsieur Marot?"
+
+"Admirably!" said Jean.
+
+Fouchette glanced from one to the other. The doctor she had long
+recognized by voice and touch; but this young man, was he the prince
+of this palace?
+
+The eyes of the pair rested upon each other for the moment
+inquiringly.
+
+Both Fouchette and Jean concluded this examination with a sigh.
+
+Fouchette had recognized in him the young man who marched by her side
+in the Place de la Concorde,--only a rioter. He could not live here.
+
+Jean Marot, who thought he had seen something in this girl besides her
+hair to remind him of the woman he loved, acknowledged himself in
+error. It had been a mere fancy,--he dismissed it.
+
+He turned away and stood looking gloomily into the street. But the
+young man saw nothing. He was thinking of the unfortunate turn of
+political events in France that had arrayed friend against friend,
+brother against brother.
+
+It was social revolution--anarchy!
+
+Now his friend Lerouge and he had quarrelled,--exchanged blows. They
+had wrangled before, but within the bounds of student friendship.
+Blows had now changed this friendship to hatred. Blows from those whom
+we love are hardest to forgive,--they are never forgotten.
+
+Yet it was not this friendship in itself that particularly concerned
+Jean Marot. Through it he had calculated on reaching something more
+vital to his happiness.
+
+Henri Lerouge had introduced him to Mlle. Remy. It was in the Jardin
+du Luxembourg. They had met but for a brief minute. The presentation
+had been coldly formal,--reluctant. Yet in that time, in the midst of
+the usual conventionalities, Jean had looked into a pair of soulful
+blue eyes that had smiled upon him, and Jean was lost.
+
+His hope of meeting her again lay in and through Lerouge,--and now
+they had quarrelled; and about a Jew!
+
+The fine blonde hair and slender figure of this girl--this "child of
+the police"--had reminded Jean of Mlle. Remy. She possessed the same
+kind of hair. It was this mental association that prompted him to
+carry the unknown to his own lodgings as described. This impulse of
+compassion and association was strengthened by his narrow escape from
+being her slayer. In fact, it was the best thing to have done under
+all the circumstances.
+
+Now that the causes and the impulse had disappeared together, he began
+to feel bored. The "child of the police" was in his way,--the police
+might look after her. Jean Marot had troubles of his own.
+
+As for Fouchette, she silently regarded the motionless figure at the
+window, wondering, thinking, on her part, of many things. When it had
+disappeared in the adjoining room she beckoned to the doctor.
+
+"The young man, Monsieur Marot?" she asked, feebly. "Is this his----"
+
+"It is his apartment, mademoiselle," the doctor anticipated.
+
+"Tell me----"
+
+"Monsieur Marot found you in the street near by, after the riot of the
+25th of October, and brought you here,--temporarily, you know."
+
+"Monsieur Marot is very good," she murmured.
+
+"Excellent young man!" said the doctor. "A trifle obstinate, but still
+a very excellent young man, mademoiselle."
+
+The girl was silent for a minute, as if lost in thought.
+
+"Is this his--his bedchamber, doctor?"
+
+"Yes, mademoiselle."
+
+"I must be moved," she said, promptly. "You understand? I must be
+removed at once. Take me to a hospital, please!"
+
+"Oh, don't excite yourself about it, my child. Soon enough--when you
+are able."
+
+"What day of the month is----"
+
+"This? The 5th of November."
+
+"Ten days! Ten days!"
+
+"Yes,--you have had a narrow call, mademoiselle."
+
+"And I owe my life to you, doctor."
+
+"To Monsieur Marot, mademoiselle."
+
+"Ah! but you----"
+
+"If it hadn't been for him I would never have seen you, child."
+
+He spoke very gently and in a subdued voice that reached only her ear.
+Another pause.
+
+"It is all the more important that I should not trouble him,--disturb
+him any longer than necessary. You understand?"
+
+"Very truly, mademoiselle," replied he; "very thoughtful of you,--very
+womanly. It does you credit, Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"What? You, then, know my name?"
+
+"Certainly." The doctor observed her surprise with a genial smile.
+
+"I am very grateful,"--that they should know her for what she was and
+yet have been so good to her moved her deeply,--"I am very grateful,
+monsieur. But how did you know it was me, Fouchette?"
+
+"Well, there is one man in Paris who knows you----"
+
+"Inspector Loup?" she asked, quickly.
+
+"Inspector Loup," said he.
+
+"And he knows where I am,--certainly, for he knows
+everything,--everything!"
+
+"Not quite, possibly, but enough."
+
+"I must see Inspector Loup, doctor; yes, I must see him at once. When
+was he here?"
+
+"Within the hour in which you were brought," said the doctor.
+
+He was not disposed to be communicative on the subject of the Secret
+Service, or about its director, having a healthy contempt for the
+system of official espionage deemed necessary to any sort of French
+government, Royalist, Napoléonic, or Republican. And he wondered what
+mysterious band could unite the interests of this charity child with
+the interests of the government of France.
+
+"Where are my clothes, doctor?" she suddenly inquired, half raising
+herself on her elbow.
+
+"Oh! là, là! Why, you can't go now! It is impossible! The inspector
+can come and see you here, can't he?"
+
+"But where are my clothes? Are they----"
+
+"They're here, all right."
+
+"Let me see them, please."
+
+"Very good; but don't get excited,--nobody will run away with them;
+bless my soul! Nobody has had them except--except the nurse and
+Inspector Loup."
+
+"He?"
+
+"Yes, mademoiselle,--for identification."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+Fouchette was nervous. She had been reminded of the letter by the
+first mention of the inspector's name. Had anybody found the letter?
+Was it there still? Supposing it had been lost! What was this letter,
+anyhow? It must be very important, or the senders would have mailed it
+in the regular way. She felt that she dared not betray its presence by
+pushing the demand for her clothing.
+
+"It is very curious, too," added the doctor, "how that man could
+identify you by means of clothing he had never before seen. He
+probably had information from where you came, with your description."
+
+"Y-yes, monsieur,--I----"
+
+Fouchette had never thought of that. It did not comfort her, as may
+well be imagined.
+
+"I'll speak to the nurse about the clothes----"
+
+"Pardon! but it is unnecessary, doctor. I only wanted to know if they
+were--were safe, you know. No; never mind. I thank you very much. I
+shall need them only when I am removed, which I hope will be soon."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Rue St. Jacques stands an old weather-stained, irregular pile
+of stone, inconspicuous in a narrow, crooked street lined with similar
+houses. The grim walls retreat from the first floor to the roof, in
+the monolithic style of the Egyptian tomb. Beneath the first floor is
+the usual shop,--a rôtisserie patronized by the scholars of two
+centuries,--famed of Balzac, de Musset, Dumas, Hugo, and a myriad
+lesser pens.
+
+The other houses of the neighborhood are equally oblivious to modern
+opinion. They consent to lean against each other while jointly turning
+an indifferent face to the world, like a man about whose ugliness
+there is no dispute. No two run consecutively with the walks, and all
+together present a sky-line that paralyzes calculation.
+
+The historic street at this point is a lively market during the
+business day. Its sidewalks being only wide enough for the dogs to
+sun themselves without danger from passing vehicles, it is necessary
+for the passers to take that risk by walking in the roadway. Those
+who do not care to assume any risks go around by way of Rue
+Gay-Lussac,--especially after midnight, when the street enjoys its
+personal reputation. The Panthéon is just around the corner, and the
+ancient Sorbonne, Louis le Grand, and the College of France line the
+same street on the next block, and have stood there for some hundreds
+of years; but, all the same, timid people certainly prefer to reach
+them by a roundabout way rather than by this section of Rue St.
+Jacques.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had accepted a home in the Rue St. Jacques and in this
+particular building because other people did not wish to live there,
+which made rooms cheap.
+
+If you had cared to see what Mlle. Fouchette proudly called "home" you
+might have raised and let fall an old-fashioned iron knocker that sent
+a long reverberating roar down the tunnel-like entrance, to be lost in
+some hidden court beyond. Then a slide would slyly uncover a little
+brass "judas," disclosing a little, black, hard eye. Assuming that
+this eye was satisfied with you, the slide would be closed with a
+snap, bolts unshot, bars swung clear, and the heavy, iron-clamped door
+opened by a rascally-looking man whose blouse, chiefly, distinguished
+him from the race orang-outang.
+
+Once within, you would notice that the door mentioned was ribbed with
+wrought iron and that two lateral bars of heavy metal were used to
+secure it from within. It dates from the Reign of Terror.
+
+Having passed this formidable barrier, you would follow the tunnel to
+a square court paved with worn granite, enter a rear passage, and
+mount a narrow stone stairway, the steps of which are so worn as to
+leave an uncertain footing. If it happens to be in the night or early
+morning, the brass knobs in the centre of the doors will be ornamented
+with milk-bottles. There are four of these doors on every landing, and
+consequently four "appartements" on each floor; but as each wing seems
+to have been built in a different age from the others, and no two
+architects were able to accurately figure on reaching the same level,
+the effect is as uncertain as the stairs.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's "home" consisted of but a single square room
+fronting on the court by two windows with bogus balconies. The
+daylight from these windows showed a fireplace of immense size, and
+out of all proportion to the room, a bed smothered in the usual alcove
+by heavy curtains, a divan improvised from some ancient article of
+furniture, a small round table, and an easy-chair, and two or three
+others not so easy. There was one distinguished exception to the
+general effect of old age and hard usage, and this was a modern
+combination bureau, washstand, and dressing-table with folding mirror
+attachment, which when shut down was as demure and dignified as an
+upright piano.
+
+The effective feature of a place the entire contents of which might
+have been extravagantly valued at twenty-five dollars was the
+exquisite harmony of colors. This effect is common to French
+interiors, where there is also a common tendency to over-decoration.
+The harmony began in the cheap paper on the walls, extended to bed and
+window draperies, and ended in the tissue-paper lamp-shade that at
+night lent a softened, rhythmical tone to the whole. This genial color
+effect was a delicate suggestion of blue, and the result was a
+doll-like daintiness that was altogether charming.
+
+The autographic fan mania had left its mark over the divan in the
+shape of a gigantic fan constructed of little fans and opening out
+towards the ceiling. A few pen-and-ink and pencil sketches and
+studies, apparently the cast-off of many studios, were tacked up here
+and there. The high mantel bore an accumulation of odds and ends
+peculiar to young women of low means and cheap friendships. That was
+all. But a French girl can get the best results from a room, as she
+can from a hat, with the least money.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had reached all of this private magnificence through a
+singular concatenation of circumstances.
+
+_First_, Inspector Loup.
+
+That distinguished penologist had laid his hands upon Mlle. Fouchette
+in no uncertain way.
+
+An order of arrest was at this very moment lying in a certain
+pigeon-hole at the Préfecture. She had seen it. The name of "Mlle.
+Fouchette" appeared in the body thereof in big, fat, round letters,
+and a complete description, age, height, color of hair and eyes, and
+other particulars appeared across the back of this terrible paper,
+which was duly signed and ready for service.
+
+A tap of the bell,--a push of an electric button,--and Mlle. Fouchette
+would be in prison.
+
+There were five distinct counts against her, set forth in ponderous
+and damning legal phraseology and briefed alphabetically with a
+precision that carried conviction:
+
+"A.--Vagrant--no home--supposed to have come from Nantes.
+
+"B.--Consort of thieves--confession of life convict called 'le
+Cochon,' drawer 379, R.M.L. 29.
+
+"C.--Go-between of robbers of the wood of Vincennes and receivers of
+stolen goods. Confession of M. Podvin, wine merchant, now serving
+term of twenty-one years for highway robbery, drawer 1210, R.M.L. 70.
+
+"D.--Fugitive from State institution, where sent by lawful authority.
+See Le Bon Pasteur, Nancy. R.I. 2734.
+
+"E.--Lost or destroyed public document addressed to the Préfecture and
+confided to her care under her false representation of being an
+authorized agent of that department of the government."
+
+The service of this dreadful order of arrest, behind which crouched
+these crimes ready to rise and spring upon her, was suspended by
+Inspector Loup. For which tenderness and mercy Fouchette was merely to
+report to the Secret Service bureau in accordance with a preconcerted
+arrangement.
+
+_Second_, Madeleine.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had scarcely ceased to bless Inspector Loup for his
+forbearance and kind consideration and was crossing the Pont au Change
+towards the right bank when she encountered a familiar face. She was
+somewhat startled at first. Her catalogue of familiar faces was so
+limited that it was a sensation.
+
+It was the face she had seen through the iron gate on the road to
+Charenton long, long ago!
+
+Somewhat fuller, somewhat redder, with suspicious circles under the
+lustrous eyes, yet, unmistakably, the same face. The plump figure
+looked still more robust, and the athletic limbs showed through the
+scant bloomer bicycle suit.
+
+The owner of this face and figure did not recognize in the other the
+petite chiffonnière de Charenton. That would have been too much to
+expect.
+
+"Pardon! but, mademoiselle----"
+
+Fouchette boldly accosted her nevertheless.
+
+"Pardon! You don't remember me? I'm Fouchette!"
+
+"Fouchette?"
+
+"Yes, mademoiselle. You do not remember the poor little ragpicker of
+Charenton? But of course not,--it was long ago, and I have changed."
+
+The other stared at her with her big black eyes.
+
+"I was hungry,--you gave me a nice sandwich; it was kind,--and I do
+not easily forget, mademoiselle,--though I'm only Fouchette,--no!"
+
+"What! Fouchette--the--dame! it is impossible!"
+
+"Still, it is true, mademoiselle," insisted Fouchette, laughing.
+
+"Ah! I see--I know--why, it is Fouchette! 'Only Fouchette'--oh! sacré
+bleu! To think----"
+
+She embraced the girl between each exclamation, then held her out at
+arm's length and looked her over critically, from head to feet and
+back again, then kissed her some more on both cheeks, laughing merrily
+the while, and attracting the amused attention of numerous passers.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette realized, vaguely, that the laugh was not that of the
+pretty garden of years ago; she saw that the flushed cheeks were toned
+down by cosmetics; she noted the vinous smell on the woman's breath.
+
+"Heavens! but how thin and pale you are, petite!" exclaimed the
+bicycliste.
+
+"It is true. I have just come out of the hospital--only a few
+days----"
+
+"Pauvrette! Come! Let us celebrate this happy reunion," said the
+other, grasping Fouchette's arm and striding along the bridge. "You
+shall tell me everything, dear."
+
+"But, Mademoiselle--er----"
+
+"Madeleine,--just Madeleine, Fouchette."
+
+"Mademoiselle Madeleine----"
+
+"I live over here,--au Quartier Latin. It is the only place--the place
+to see life. It is Paris! C'est la vie joyeuse!"
+
+"Ah! then you no longer live at----"
+
+"Let us begin here, Fouchette," interrupted Mlle. Madeleine, gravely,
+"and let us never talk about Charenton,--never! It cannot be a
+pleasant subject to you,--it is painful to me."
+
+"Oh, pardon me, mademoiselle, I----"
+
+"So it is understood, is it not?"
+
+"With all my heart, mademoiselle!" said Fouchette, not sorry to
+conclude such a desirable bargain.
+
+"Very good. We begin here----"
+
+"Now."
+
+"Yes, and as if we had never before seen or heard of each other."
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"Good! Now, what are you doing for a living, Fouchette?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Good! So am I."
+
+They laughed quite a great deal at this remarkable coincidence as they
+went along. And when Mlle. Fouchette protested that she must do
+something,--sewing, or something,--Mlle. Madeleine laughed yet more
+loudly, though Mlle. Fouchette saw nothing humorous in the situation.
+
+"Nobody works in the Quartier Latin," said Madeleine. "C'est la vie
+joyeuse."
+
+"But one must eat, mademoiselle----"
+
+"Very sure! Yes, and drink; but----"
+
+Mlle. Madeleine scrutinized her companion closely,--evidently Mlle.
+Fouchette was in earnest. Such naïveté in a ragpicker was absurd,
+preposterous!
+
+"Well, there are the studios," suggested Madeleine.
+
+"The--the studios?"
+
+"Yes,--the painters, you know; only models are a drug in the market
+here----"
+
+"Models?"
+
+"Yes; and, then, unless one has the figure----" she glanced at
+Fouchette doubtfully. "I'm getting too stout for anything but Roman
+mothers, Breton peasants, etc. You're too thin even for an angel or
+ballet dancer."
+
+"I'm sure I'd rather be a danseuse than an angel," said
+Fouchette,--"that is, if I've got any choice in the matter."
+
+"But one hasn't. You've got to pose in whatever character they want.
+Did you ever pose?"
+
+"As a painter's model? Never."
+
+Having ensconced themselves in a popular café restaurant on Boulevard
+St. Michel, the pair ordered an appetizing déjeuner, and Madeleine
+proceeded to enlighten Fouchette on the subject of the profession,--the
+character and peculiarities of various artists, their exactions of
+models, the recompense for holding a certain pose for a given time, the
+difficulty and art of resuming exactly the same pose, the studios for
+classes in the nude, the students generally and their pranks and
+games,--especially upon this latter branch of the business.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette listened to all this with breathless interest, as may
+be imagined. For it was the opening up of a new world to her. The
+vivid description of the dancing and fun at the Bal Bullier filled her
+with delight and enthusiasm. She mentally vowed Madeleine as charming
+and condescending as ever. The girl had volunteered, good-naturedly,
+to make the rounds of the studios with her and get her "on the list."
+When Madeleine offered to engineer Fouchette's début at the Bullier
+the latter cheerfully paid for the repast the other had rather
+lavishly ordered.
+
+The mere chance rencontre had changed Fouchette's entire plan of life.
+She had bravely started for the grand boulevards with the idea of
+securing employment among the myriad dressmaking establishments of
+that neighborhood, and thus putting to practical use her industrial
+knowledge gained at Le Bon Pasteur.
+
+Fortunately for her, Monsieur Marot's generous liberality had placed
+her beyond immediate need. A matron had equipped her with a new though
+simple costume and had given her a sum of money as she left,--merely
+saying that she acted according to instructions; but Fouchette felt
+that it was from her prince.
+
+It was on the advice of Madeleine that Fouchette had secured this
+place in the Rue St. Jacques.
+
+"It will make you independent and respected," said the practical
+grisette. "You've got the money now; you won't have it after a while.
+Take my advice,--fix the place up,--gradually, don't you know? You'll
+soon make friends who will help you if you're smart; and one must have
+a place to receive friends, n'est-ce pas? And the hotels garnis rob
+one shamefully!"
+
+And, while Mlle. Fouchette did not dream of the real significance of
+this advice, she took it. The details were hers. She knew the value of
+a sou about as well as any woman in Paris, and no instructions were
+required on the subject of expenditures. She collected, piece by
+piece, at bottom prices, those articles which had to be purchased;
+made, stitch by stitch, such as required the needle.
+
+To Mlle. Fouchette the simple, cheaply furnished and somewhat tawdry
+little room in the Rue St. Jacques was luxury. She was proud of it.
+She was perfectly contented with it. It was home.
+
+With the confidence of one who has seen the worst and for whom every
+change must be for the better, Fouchette had succeeded where others
+would have been discouraged. This confidence to others often seemed
+reckless indifference, and consequently carried a certain degree of
+conviction.
+
+Among a certain class of wild young men and confirmed Bohemians
+Fouchette had quickly achieved a sort of vogue which attaches to an
+eccentric woman in Paris. She was eccentric in that she danced
+eccentric dances, was the most reckless in the sportive circle, the
+highest kicker at the Bullier, and, most of all, in that she had no
+lovers. Unlike the Mimi Pinsons of the Murger era of the quarter,
+Fouchette was the most notorious of grisettes without being a
+grisette. At the fête of the student painters at the Bullier she had
+been borne on a palanquin clad only in a garland of roses amid
+thousands of vociferous young people of both sexes. The same night she
+had kicked a young man's front teeth out for presuming on liberties
+other girls of her set would have considered trifling.
+
+Fouchette at once became the reigning sensation of "la vie joyeuse."
+Having had little or no pleasure in the world up to her entrée here,
+she had plunged into the gayety of the quarter with an abandon that
+within two short months had made the Bohemian tales of Henri Murger
+tame reading.
+
+Her pedal dexterity in a quarrel had won for her the sobriquet of "La
+Savatière."
+
+The "savate" as practised by the French boxer is the art of using the
+feet the same as the hands, and it is a means of offence not to be
+despised. It is the feline art that utilizes all four limbs in combat.
+Fouchette acquired it in her infancy,--in the fun and frequent
+scrimmages of the quarter she found occasion to practise it. Mlle.
+Fouchette's temper was as eccentric as her dances.
+
+On the wall of Mlle. Fouchette's room hung a rude crayon of that
+damsel by a prominent caricaturist. It was a front view of her face,
+in which the artist had maliciously accentuated, in a few bold
+strokes, the feline fulness of jaws, the half-contracted eyelids, the
+alert eyes, and general catlike expression,--to be seen only when
+Mlle. Fouchette was in anger. It was the subtle touch of the master,
+and was labelled "La Petite Chatte."
+
+"Ah, cè!" she would say to curious visitors,--"it is not me; it is the
+mind of Léandre."
+
+As Mlle. Fouchette stood tiptoeing before a little folding mirror on
+the high mantel, the reflection showed both front and sides of a face
+that betrayed none of these characteristics. In fact, the blonde hair,
+smoothed flat to the skull and draping low over the ears, after the
+fashion set by a popular actress of the day, gave her the demure look
+of a young woman who might shriek at the sight of a man in his
+shirt-sleeves. Which shows that it is exceedingly unsafe to judge by
+appearances,--of a woman, especially. The slender figure showed that
+the physical indications in the delicately rounded arm, the taper
+fingers, and shapely feet were justified by the proportionate
+development of the rest of her anatomy. Nature had been gentle rather
+than generous. Mlle. Fouchette was in demand for angels and ballet
+dancers.
+
+Her face, evidently, did not suit Mlle. Fouchette, since she was at
+this moment in the act of touching it up and making it over with
+colors from an enamelled box,--a trick of the Parisienne of every
+grade.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had scarcely put the finishing touches to her artistic
+job when her door vibrated under a vigorous blow.
+
+She paused, hesitated, flushed with symptoms of a rising temper. One
+does not feel kindly towards persons hurling themselves thus against
+one's private door. But the noise continued, as if somebody beat the
+heavy planking with the fist, and Mlle. Fouchette threw the door open.
+
+Mlle. Madeleine staggered into the room.
+
+"How's this? melon!"
+
+"Oh! so you're here,--you are not there!" gasped the intruder, falling
+into a seat and fixing her black eyes sullenly upon the other.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette closed the door with a snap and confronted her visitor
+with a hardening face.
+
+"I thought it was you, Fouchette!"
+
+"Madeleine, you're drunk!"
+
+"No, no, no, no! I have had such a--a--turn, deary,--pardon me! But
+she had the same figure,--the same hair,--mon Dieu!"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Oh! I don't know, Fouchette,--the woman with him, you know,--with
+Henri, Fouchette!"
+
+The speaker seemed overcome with mingled terror and anger. She stopped
+to collect her thoughts,--to get her breath.
+
+"What a fool you are, Madeleine! I wouldn't go on that way for the
+best man living! No!"
+
+And Fouchette thought of Jean Marot, and mentally included him.
+
+"Oh! Fouchette, dear, you do not know! You cannot know! You never
+loved! You cannot love! You are calm and cold and indifferent,--it is
+your nature. Mine! I am consumed by fire,--it grips my very vitals!
+Ah! Fouchette!"
+
+"Bah! Madeleine, it is absinthe," said Fouchette, only half
+pityingly.
+
+"No, no, no, no!" moaned the other, covering her face with her hands.
+
+"So this Lerouge has disappeared, eh? Well, then, let him go, fool!
+Are there not others?"
+
+"Mon Dieu! Fouchette, how you talk!"
+
+"Who is this lucky woman?"
+
+"I do not know,--I do not know! Pardon me for thinking it, Fouchette,
+but I was half crazy,--I thought but just now that it was--was you!"
+
+"Idiot!"
+
+"Yes, I know; but one does not stop to reason where one loves."
+
+"As if I would throw myself into the arms of any man! You sicken me,
+Madeleine. But I thought this Lerouge, whoever he is,--I never even
+saw him,--had disappeared----"
+
+"From his place in the Rue Monge, yes. Fouchette, why should he run
+away?"
+
+"With a girl he likes better than you? What a question! All men do
+that, you silly goose!"
+
+"He said it was his sister. Bah! I know better, Fouchette. Her name's
+Remy,--yes, Mademoiselle Remy. And a little, skinny, tow-headed thing
+like--oh! no, no, no! Fouchette, pardon me! I didn't mean that! I'm
+half crazy!"
+
+"I believe you," said Fouchette.
+
+"Yes, Monsieur Marot told me----"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had started so perceptibly that the speaker stopped.
+Mlle. Fouchette had carefully guarded her own secrets, but this sudden
+surprise was----
+
+"Well, melon!" she snapped.
+
+"I--why, I didn't know you----"
+
+"What did Monsieur Marot tell you?" demanded the other.
+
+"That her name was Remy."
+
+"Oh!" said Mlle. Fouchette, coldly.
+
+"So you know Monsieur Marot? They say he resembles Lerouge, but I
+don't think so. Anyhow, he's in love with Mademoiselle Remy."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's steel-blue eyes flashed fire.
+
+"You lie!" she screamed, in sudden frenzy. "You lie! you drunken
+gossip!"
+
+Mlle. Madeleine was on her feet in an instant, but Fouchette's right
+foot caught her on the point of the chin, and the stout grisette went
+down like a log.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Madeleine came to her senses to find her antagonist bending over her
+with a wet towel and weeping hysterically.
+
+They immediately embraced and wept together.
+
+Then Mlle. Fouchette rummaged in the deep closet in the wall and
+brought forth a bottle of cognac. Whereupon Madeleine not only
+suddenly dried her tears but began to smile. Half an hour later she
+had forgotten all unpleasantness and went away leaving many
+endearments behind her.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was scarcely less astonished at her own outburst than
+had been her friend Madeleine, when she had time to think of it.
+
+What could Jean Marot be to her, Fouchette? Nothing.
+
+Suppose he did love this Mlle. Remy, what of it? Nothing.
+
+Monsieur Marot was a being afar off, inaccessible, almost
+intangible,--like the millionaire employer to his humble workman,
+covered with sweat and grime, at the bottom of the shop.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette thought of him it was only in that way, and she
+would have no more thought of even so much as wishing for him than she
+would have wished for the moon to play with. She had met him, by
+accident, twice since her departure from his roof, and the first time
+he had a hurried, uneasy air, as if he feared she might presume to
+detain him. The second time he had gone out of his way to stop her and
+talk to her and to inquire what she was doing and how she was getting
+along,--condescendingly, as one might interest himself for the moment
+in a former servant.
+
+In the mean time Jean Marot had held himself aloof from "la vie
+joyeuse" and from the reunions at "Le Petit Rouge." It attracted the
+attention of his associates.
+
+"First Lerouge, now it's Jean," growled Villeroy. "Comes of loafing
+along the quais nights,--it's malaria."
+
+"He's greatly changed," remarked another student.
+
+"It's worry," said another.
+
+"Probably debts," observed young Massard, thinking of his chief
+affliction.
+
+"Bah! that kind of worry never pulls you down like this," retorted a
+companion.
+
+"Now, don't get personal; but debts do worry a fellow,--debts and
+women."
+
+"Put women first; debts follow as a necessary corollary."
+
+"He ought to hunt up Lerouge. What the devil is in that Lerouge,
+anyhow?"
+
+"More women," said Massard.
+
+"And debts, eh?"
+
+"Oh, well," continued Massard, "if she is a pretty woman----"
+
+"She's more than pretty," cut in George Villeroy,--"she's a beauty!"
+
+"Hear! hear! Très bien!"
+
+But the student turned to the "subject" on the "dressing-table,"
+humming a gay chanson of Musset:
+
+    "'Nous allons chanter à la ronde,
+      Si vous voulez.
+    Que je l'adore, et qu'elle est blonde
+      Comme les blés!'"
+
+"A man never should neglect his lectures for anything, and that's what
+both Lerouge and Jean are doing," remarked a serious young man,
+looking up from his book.
+
+"Yes, and the first thing our comrade Marot will know, he'll be
+recalled by his choleric father. He's taken to absinthe, too----"
+
+"Which is worse."
+
+"_The_ worst----"
+
+"And prowling----"
+
+"And moping off alone."
+
+"What's the lady's name?"
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"What! the wild, untamed----"
+
+"La Savatière? Nonsense!"
+
+"Here's a lock of her hair in evidence," remarked Massard, going to a
+drawer and taking out a bit of paper. "It is as clear to my mind as it
+was to the police that Monsieur Marot had that girl, or some other
+like her, up here that night."
+
+"Let me see that," said Villeroy.
+
+"I found it on the floor the next day,--the inspector took away quite
+a bunch of it," continued the young man, as the other examined the
+lock.
+
+"There are two women who have hair like that," said
+Villeroy,--"Fouchette and the girl who goes with Lerouge. Now, which
+is it?"
+
+"Her name is Remy,--Mademoiselle Remy," observed Massard; "and, as
+George says, she's a beauty----"
+
+"Which cannot be said of La Savatière."
+
+"No; and yet----"
+
+"Lerouge keeps his beauty mighty close," interrupted Massard. "I never
+saw her but once, and she reminded me of that little devil, Fouchette,
+who stands in with the police, or she would have been locked up a
+dozen times."
+
+"Very likely," observed Villeroy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was now Mardi Gras, and the whole Ville Lumière was en fête. The
+left bank of the Seine, the resort of nearly twenty thousand students,
+was especially joyous.
+
+There was one young man, however, who chose to be alone, and he stood
+apart from the world, leaning over the worn parapet of the Pont Neuf,
+gazing idly on the rushing waters of the Seine.
+
+Jean Marot loved the noble span that for more than three hundred years
+had connected the ancient Isle de la Cité with the mainland. A long
+line of kings, queens, emperors, princes, princesses, and noblemen of
+every degree had lived and passed the Pont Neuf. Royal knights, stout
+men-at-arms, myriads of mailed warriors and citizen soldiers,
+countless multitudes of men and women, had come and gone above these
+massive stone arches of three centuries.
+
+Yet the young man thought not of these. His mind was occupied by one
+little, slender, fair-haired woman, and that one unattainable. Had he
+analyzed his new mental condition, he might have marvelled that the
+little winged god could have aimed so straight and let fly so
+unexpectedly. True love, however, does not come of reasoning, but
+rather in spite of it. And, to do Jean's Latin race justice, he never
+thought of doing such a thing, and thus spared his love being reduced
+to a palpable absurdity. The bronze shadow of that royal Latin lover,
+Henri IV., looked down upon the modern Frenchman approvingly.
+
+A sharp shower of confetti and the laughter of young girls roused the
+young man from his revery and brought his thoughts down to date.
+
+"Monsieur has forgotten that Boulevard St. Michel is en fête," said a
+rich contralto voice behind him.
+
+He turned to receive a handful of confetti dashed smartly in his face
+and to look into a pair of bold black eyes.
+
+"Mon Dieu! It is Monsieur Marot!"
+
+"Hello! Madeleine,--you, Fouchette?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur," replied the latter gayly. "And you,--is it a day to
+dream of casting one's self into the Seine?"
+
+Meanwhile, the object of this raillery was busily extracting bits of
+colored paper from his eyebrows and neck,--a wholly useless
+proceeding, for both girls immediately deluged him with a fresh
+avalanche.
+
+Madeleine was in her costume à la bicyclette, her sailor hat tipped
+forward to such a degree that it was necessary for her to elevate her
+stout chin in order to see anything on a level. Mlle. Fouchette
+affected the clinging, fluffy style of costume best suited to her
+figure, while her rare blonde hair à la Merode was her distinguishing
+feature. She dominated the older and stouter girl as if the latter
+were an irresponsible junior.
+
+Jean Marot knew very well the type of grisette indigenous to the
+Quartier Latin.
+
+The day justified all sorts of familiarity, and his black velvet béret
+and flowing black scarf were an invitation to fraternity, good
+fellowship, and confidence.
+
+Both young women were in high spirits and carried in bags of fancy
+netting with tricolor draw-strings their surplus stock of confetti,
+and an enormous quantity of the surplus stock of other manifestants in
+their hair and clothing. As fast as Jean picked out the confetti from
+his neck Mlle. Madeleine playfully squandered other handfuls on him,
+winding up by covering the young man with the entire contents of her
+bag at a single coup.
+
+"Ah! Madeleine!"
+
+"Monsieur will buy us some more," replied that young woman.
+
+"How foolish!" said Mlle. Fouchette, affecting a charming modesty. She
+had a way of cocking her fair head to one side like a bird.
+
+"Never mind, mes enfants," said Jean. "Come along."
+
+The three linked arms and passed off the bridge and up the Rue
+Dauphine and Rue de Monsieur le Prince for Boulevard St. Michel, the
+lively young women distributing confetti in liberal doses and taking
+similar punishment in utmost good humor, Jean not sorry for the time
+being at finding this temporary distraction. He had generously
+replenished the pretty bags from the first baraque, though they were
+quickly emptied again in the narrow Rue de Monsieur le Prince, where a
+hot engagement between students and "filles du quartier" was in
+progress.
+
+Mlle. Madeleine was fairly choking with laughter. She had just caught
+a young man with his mouth open, by a trick of the elbow; and as he
+mutely sputtered confetti her petite blonde companion caught her long
+skirt aside and kicked his hat off. This "coup de pied" was
+administered with such marvellous grace and dexterity that even the
+victim joined in the roar of laughter that followed it. A thin smile
+spread over her pale face as Jean looked at her.
+
+"La Savatière,--bravo!" cried a youth.
+
+"C'est le lapin du Luxembourg," said another.
+
+"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"There, monsieur," remarked Fouchette, slyly, "you see I'm getting
+known in the quarter."
+
+"I don't wonder," said Jean, laughing.
+
+They found seats beneath the awnings at the Taverne du Panthéon. The
+rain of confetti was getting to be a deluge. He asked them what they
+would have.
+
+"Un ballon, garçon," said Mlle. Fouchette, promptly.
+
+This designated a small glass of beer, served in a balloon-shaped
+glass like a large claret glass.
+
+Madeleine also would take "un ballon," Jean contenting himself with
+the usual "bock,"--an ordinary glass of beer.
+
+Each covered the beer with the little saucer, to protect it from the
+occasional gust of confetti that even found its way to the extreme
+rear of the half a hundred sidewalk sitters.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had been studying the young man from the corners of
+her eyes. She saw him greatly changed. His handsome face betrayed
+marks of worry or dissipation,--she decided on the latter. What could
+a young man in his enviable position have to worry about? Was it
+possible that----
+
+"Monsieur," she began at once, with the air of an ingénue, "they say
+you strongly resemble one Lerouge,--that you are often taken one for
+the other. Is it so?"
+
+He glanced at her inquiringly, while Madeleine patted the ground with
+her foot.
+
+"Have you ever seen Henri Lerouge?" he asked.
+
+"No, never," replied Fouchette.
+
+"Does he look like me, Madeleine?"
+
+"Not much, monsieur," responded that damsel. "Have you seen him,--have
+you seen Lerouge lately?"
+
+"No,--no," said he.
+
+"From what I learn," remarked Mlle. Fouchette, with a precision and
+nonchalance that defied suspicion, "Monsieur Lerouge is probably off
+in some sweet solitude unknown to vulgar eye enjoying his honeymoon."
+
+Madeleine shot one furious glance at the speaker; but not daring to
+trust her tongue, she suddenly excused herself and disappeared in the
+throng.
+
+Jean saw that she had been cut to the quick, and her abrupt action
+served for the moment to dull the pain at his own heart. He concealed
+his resentment at this malicious--but, after all, this "child of the
+police" could not know. He shifted the talk to Madeleine.
+
+"You seem to have offended her, mademoiselle."
+
+"Bah! Madeleine is that jealous----"
+
+"What? Lerouge?"
+
+"Of Lerouge. Can't you see?"
+
+"No,--that is, I didn't know that she had anything in common with
+Lerouge."
+
+"Ah, ça! When she flies into a rage at the mention of him and another
+woman? Monsieur is not gifted with surprising penetration."
+
+"But Mademoiselle Madeleine is rather a handsome girl," he observed,
+tentatively. While he mentally resolved not to be robbed of his own
+secret he was not averse to gaining any information this girl might
+possess.
+
+"Perhaps," said she,--"for those who admire the robust style. But you
+should see the other; she's an angel!"
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+It was hard to put this in a tone of indifference, and he felt her
+eyes upon him.
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"I'd like to see her. You know angels are not to be seen every day."
+
+"Monsieur Lerouge can be trusted, I suppose, to render these visions
+as fleeting and rare as possible."
+
+He winced perceptibly.
+
+"But Madeleine has magnificent eyes," he suggested.
+
+"This other has the eyes of heaven, monsieur."
+
+"And as for figure----"
+
+"Chut! monsieur is joking,--the form of a Normandie nurse!
+Mademoiselle Remy is the sculptor's dream!"
+
+Jean Marot laughed. This unstinted praise of the girl who had
+fascinated him,--who had robbed him of his rest,--who had without an
+effort, and unconsciously, taken possession of his soul,--it was
+incense to him. Truly, Mlle. Fouchette had an artistic eye,--a most
+excellent judgment. It extracted the sting----
+
+"Yes," continued Mlle. Fouchette, looking through him as if he were so
+much glass, "a great artist said to me the other day----"
+
+"Pardon! but, mademoiselle, does your new beauty,--the 'sculptor's
+dream,' you know,--does she do the studios of the quarter?"
+
+"No! Why should she?"
+
+He was silent. Would she have another drink?
+
+"Thanks! Un ballon, garçon," repeated Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+They looked at the crowd in silence for a while.
+
+The scene was inspiriting. With the shades of evening the joyous
+struggle waxed more furious. The entire street was now taken up by the
+merrymakers, who made the air resound with their screams and shrieks
+of laughter. The confetti lay three or four inches deep on the walks,
+where street gamins slyly scraped it into private receptacles for
+second use. The haze of dust hung over the broad Boulevard St. Michel
+like a morning fog over a swamp. Mlle. Fouchette watched the scene for
+a few minutes without a word. Both were thinking of something else.
+
+"She'll soon get over it, never fear."
+
+"I suppose so," he said, knowing that she still spoke of Madeleine,
+and somewhat bored at her reappearance in the conversation.
+
+"A woman does not go on loving a man who never cares for her,--who
+loves another."
+
+"'Loves another,'" he repeated, absently.
+
+"But if Madeleine meets them just now,--oh! look out, monsieur! She's
+a tiger!"
+
+He shuddered. He was unable to stand this any longer; he rose
+absent-mindedly and, with scant courtesy to the gossipper,
+incontinently fled.
+
+"Ah! what a handsome fellow he is! Yet he is certainly a fool about
+women. A pig like Madeleine! But, then, all men are fools when it
+comes to a woman."
+
+With this bit of philosophy Mlle. Fouchette buried her dainty nose in
+the last "ballon." She quenched a rising sigh by the operation. For
+some reason she was not quite happy. As she withdrew it her face
+suddenly became all animation.
+
+"Ah!" she muttered, "I'd give my last louis now if that melon,
+Madeleine, could only see that."
+
+Directly in front of her and not ten feet distant a young man and a
+young girl slowly forced a passage through the conflicting currents of
+boisterous people. The man was anywhere between twenty-five and
+thirty, of supple figure, serious face, and sombre eyes that lighted
+up reluctantly at all of this frivolity. It was only when they were
+turned upon the sweet young face of the girl at his side that they
+took on a glow of inexpressible sweetness.
+
+"Truly!" said Mlle. Fouchette to herself, "but she is something on my
+style."
+
+Which is perhaps the highest compliment one woman can pay another. It
+meant that her "style" was quite satisfactory,--the right thing. Yet
+Mlle. Fouchette really needed some fifty pounds of additional flesh to
+get into the same class.
+
+If the rippling laughter, the shining azure of her eyes, the
+ever-changing expression of her mobile mouth, and now and then the
+rapt look bestowed upon her companion were indications, she certainly
+was a happy young woman. Her right hand rested upon his arm, her left
+shielded her face from the too fierce onslaughts of confetti. Neither
+of them took an active part in the fun. That, however, did not deter
+the young men from complimenting her with a continuous shower of
+confetti. The girl laughingly shook it out of her beautiful blonde
+hair.
+
+"Allons donc! She has my hair, too!" thought Mlle. Fouchette. It is
+impossible not to admire ourselves in others.
+
+With the excitement of an unaccustomed pleasure mantling her neck and
+cheeks the girl was certainly a pretty picture. The plain and simple
+costume was of the cut of the provinces rather than that of Paris, but
+it set off the lithe and graceful figure that needed no artificiality
+of the dressmaker to enforce its petite perfection.
+
+"That must be Lerouge," thought Mlle. Fouchette. "He does look
+something like--no; it is imagination. He is not nearly so handsome as
+Monsieur Marot. But she is sweet!"
+
+The couple were forced over against the chairs by the crowd and Mlle.
+Fouchette got a good look at them. The eyes of Mlle. Remy met
+hers,--they sought the face of her companion, and returned and rested
+curiously upon Mlle. Fouchette. The glance of her escort followed in
+the same direction. And even after they had passed he half turned
+again and looked back at the girl sitting alone amid the crowd under
+the awning.
+
+Jean Marot had plunged into the throng to try and shake off the
+unpleasant suggestions of Mlle. Fouchette. While he felt instinctively
+the feminine malice, it was none the less bitter to his taste. It was
+opening a wound afresh and salting it. He felt that the idea suggested
+by "La Savatière" was intolerable,--impossible. He paced up and down
+alone in the Luxembourg gardens until retreat was sounded. Then he
+re-entered the boulevard by the Place de Médicis, dodged a bevy of
+singing grisettes in male attire, to suddenly find himself face to
+face with the object of his thoughts.
+
+How beautiful, and sweet and pure and innocent she looked! The
+laughing eyes, the profusion of hair with its tint of gold, now
+sparkling with confetti, the two rows of pearls between their rich
+rims of red,--it surely was an angel from the skies and not a woman
+who stood before him! And his knees trembled with the desire to let
+him to the earth at her feet.
+
+The young girl regarded him first in semi-recognition, then with blank
+astonishment,--as well she might. She shrank closer to her protector.
+
+Henri Lerouge had at first looked at his former friend with a dark and
+scowling face; but Jean had seen only the girl, and therefore failed
+to note the expression of satisfaction that swiftly succeeded.
+
+"Pardon! but, monsieur, even Mardi Gras does not excuse a boor." And
+Lerouge somewhat roughly elbowed him to one side.
+
+The insult from Lerouge was nothing. Jean never thought of that. She
+had come, she had ignored him, she had gone,--the woman he loved!
+
+He stood speechless for a moment, then staggered away, his self-love
+bleeding.
+
+Unconsciously he had taken the direction they had gone, slowly groping
+his way rather than walking, next to the iron fence of the Luxembourg
+gardens, past the great School of Mines, along the Boulevard St. Michel
+towards the Observatory. Like a drunken man he stuck close to the walls,
+and thus crossed the obtuse angle into Rue Denfert-Rocherau. Hesitating
+at the tomb-like buildings that mark the entrance to the catacombs at
+the end of that street, he leaned against the great wrought-iron grille
+and tried to collect his thoughts.
+
+He remembered now; this was where he had gone down one day to view the
+rows and stacks of boxes and vaults of mouldering bones. Yes, he even
+recalled the humorous idea of that day that there were more Parisians
+beneath the pavements of Paris than above them, and that they slept
+better o' nights.
+
+The cold wind stirred the branches, and they grated against the fence
+with a dismal, sighing sound.
+
+"Loves another!"
+
+Was it not that which it said?
+
+"Loves another!" in plain and well-measured cadence.
+
+And the word "l-o-v-e-s" was long and sorrowfully drawn out, and
+"another" came sharply decisive.
+
+He wandered on, aimlessly, yet in the general direction of Montrouge.
+Fouchette,--yes, she had told the truth. He--where was he?
+
+The streets up here were practically deserted, the entire population,
+apparently, having gone to the boulevards. Here and there some
+rez-de-chaussée aglow showed the usual gossippers of the concierges.
+Now and then isolated merrymakers were returning, covered with
+confetti, having exhausted themselves and the pleasures of the day
+together.
+
+Rue Hallé,--he remembered now, though he scarcely noted it.
+
+All at once his heart gave a bound. His mind came down to vulgar
+earth. It was at the sight of a solitary woman who sped swiftly round
+the corner from the Avenue d'Orléans and came towards him. Her stout
+figure between him and the electric light cast a long shadow down the
+street,--the shadow of a woman in bloomer costume, with a hat perched
+forward at an angle of forty-five degrees.
+
+It was Mlle. Madeleine.
+
+What could she be doing here at this hour,--she, who lived in Rue
+Monge?
+
+Before he could answer this question she was almost upon him. But she
+was so absorbed in her own purposes that she saw him not, merely
+turning to the right up the Rue Hallé with the quick and certain step
+of one who knows. Her black brows were set fiercely, and beneath them
+the big dark eyes glittered dangerously. Her full lips were tightly
+compressed; in the firmness of her tread was a world of determination.
+
+Jean had obtained a good view of her face as she crossed the street,
+and he shuddered. For in it he saw reflected the state of his own
+tempestuous soul. He had read therein his own mind distempered by love
+and doubt and torn by jealousy, disappointment, and despair.
+
+He recalled the warning of Mlle. Fouchette, and he trembled for the
+woman he loved. Well he comprehended the French character where love
+and hatred are concerned.
+
+At Rue Bezout the girl turned to the left, crossed over, and ran
+rather than walked towards Avenue Montsouris. Jean ran until he
+reached the corner, then cautiously peeped around it. Had he not done
+so he would have come upon her, for she had stopped within two metres
+and fumbled nervously with a package. He could hear her panting and
+murmuring in her deep voice. She tore the string from the package with
+her teeth and threw the paper wrapper on the ground.
+
+It was a bottle of bluish liquid.
+
+His heart stood still as he saw it; his legs almost failed him. If he
+had seen the intended victim of this diabolical design approaching at
+that moment he felt that he would scarcely have the strength to cry
+out in warning, so overwhelmed was he with the horror of it.
+
+What should he do? Would they come this way, or by Montsouris? He
+might fall upon her suddenly,--overpower her where she stood!
+
+Jean softly peeped once more around the angle of the wall. She was
+trying to extract the cork from the bottle with a pair of tiny
+scissors, but, being half frantic with haste and passion, she had only
+broken one point after the other.
+
+A sweet and silvery laugh behind him sent his heart into his throat.
+It was Lerouge and Mlle. Remy coming leisurely along the Rue Hallé. It
+was now or----
+
+But a second glance over his shoulder showed that they had turned down
+the narrow Rue Dareau. Madeleine had made a mistake.
+
+Almost at the same instant a piercing shriek of agony burst upon the
+night. The scream seemed to split his ears, so near was it, so deep
+the pain and terror of it.
+
+And there lay the miserable woman writhing on the walk, tearing out
+great wisps of her dark hair in her intolerable suffering, and filling
+the air with heart-rending cries of distress.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Jean Marot was not, as has been seen, an extraordinary type of his
+countrymen. Sensitive, sympathetic, impulsive, passionate, extreme in
+all things, he embodied in method and temperament the characteristics
+of his race.
+
+His first impulse upon realizing what had befallen the misguided girl
+of Rue Monge was the impulse common to humanity. But as he flew to her
+succor he saw others running from various directions, attracted by her
+cries and moved by the same motive.
+
+To be found there would not only be useless but dangerous,--for the
+girl as well as for himself. Therefore he discreetly took to his
+heels.
+
+Flight at such a moment is confession of guilt. So it followed quite
+naturally that a comprehension of what had happened sent a
+considerable portion of the first-comers after the fleeing man.
+
+"Assassin!"
+
+"Vitrioleur!"
+
+"Stop him!"
+
+These are very inspiring cries with a clamorous French mob to howl
+them. To be caught under such circumstances is to run imminent risk of
+summary punishment. And the vitriol-thrower is not an uncommon feature
+of Parisian criminal life; there would be little hesitation where one
+is caught, as it were, red-handed.
+
+Jean ran these possibilities through his mind as he dashed down a side
+street into the Avenue Montsouris. Fear did not exactly lend him
+wings, but it certainly did not retard his flight. And he had the
+additional advantage that he was not yelling at every jump and lost no
+time in false direction. He doubled by way of Rue Dareau, cut into Rue
+de la Tombe-Issoire over the net-work of railway tracks, and then
+dropped into a walk. But not so soon that he escaped the observation
+of a police agent standing in the shadow in the next narrow turning
+towards the railway station. The officer heard his panting breath long
+before Jean got near him, and rightly conjectured that the student was
+running away from something. To detain him for an explanation was an
+obvious duty.
+
+"Well, now! Monsieur seems to be in a hurry," said he, as he suddenly
+stepped in front of the fugitive.
+
+This official apparition would have startled even a man who was not in
+a hurry, but Jean quickly recovered his self-possession.
+
+"Yes, monsieur; I go for a doctor. A sick----"
+
+"Pardon! but you have just passed the hospital. That won't do, young
+man!"
+
+The agent made a gesture to seize his suspect, but at that moment Jean
+saw two other agents in the distance walking rapidly to join their
+comrade. He upper-cut the man sharply, catching him squarely on the
+point of the chin and sending him to grass with a mangled and bleeding
+tongue.
+
+There appeared to be no help for it, but the young man now had two
+fresh pursuers. At any rate, he was free. It would be to his shame, he
+thought, if he could not distance two men in heavy cowhide boots,
+encumbered with cloaks and sabres. So he started down the Rue de la
+Tombe-Issoire with a lead of some two hundred yards. He saw lights and
+a crowd and heard music in the Place St. Jacques, and knew that he was
+saved.
+
+The Place St. Jacques was en fête. A band-stand occupied the spot long
+sacred to the guillotine, up to its last removal to La Roquette. The
+immediate neighborhood of Place St. Jacques would have preferred the
+guillotine and an occasional execution as a holiday enjoyment, but
+next to witnessing the sanguinary operation of the "national razor," a
+dance was the popular idea of amusement. And the Parisian populace
+must be amused. The government considers that a part of its duty, and
+encourages the "bal du carrefour" by the erection of stands and
+providing music at the general expense. It was the saturnine humor of
+Place St. Jacques to dance where men lost their heads. However, it
+would be difficult to find a street crossing in Paris big enough to
+dance in that had not been through the centuries soaked with human
+blood.
+
+It was a little fresher in Place St. Jacques, that was all.
+
+The band-stand being on the exact place marked in the stone pavement
+for the guillotine, it gave a sort of peculiar piquancy to the
+occasion. While the proprietors of the adjacent wine-shops and "zincs"
+grumbled at the new order of things, the young people were making the
+best of Mardi Gras in hilarious fashion.
+
+Though Place St. Jacques presented a lively scene beneath its
+scattered lights, it was one common enough to Jean Marot, who now only
+saw in the romping crowd and spectators the means of shaking off his
+police pursuers. Among the hundred dancers he made his way to the most
+compact body of lookers-on, where the indications were that something
+unusually interesting was in progress. Here the blown condition of a
+student would not be noticed.
+
+Yells of delight from those in his immediate vicinity awoke his
+curiosity to see what was the particular attraction. At the end of the
+figure this expression grew enthusiastic.
+
+"Bravo! bravo!" came in chorus.
+
+"Très bien! très bien!"
+
+"It is well done, that!"
+
+"Yes,--it is the Savatière!"
+
+Jean was startled for the instant, since it brought vividly back to
+him the beginning of his bitter day.
+
+So it was Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+She made, with another girl of her set, a part of a quadrille, and the
+pair were showing off the agile accomplishments of the semi-professionals
+of the Bullier and Moulin Rouge. These consisted of kicking off the
+nearest hats, doing the split, the guitar act, the pointed arch, and
+similar fantasies. Having forced his way in, Jean was instantly
+recognized by Mlle. Fouchette, who shook the confetti out of her blonde
+hair at every pose. Then, as she executed a pigeon-wing on his corner,
+she whispered,--
+
+"Hold, Monsieur Jean,--wait one moment!"
+
+"Will monsieur be good enough to take my place for the last figure?"
+
+Her partner, a thin, serious-looking young man, had approached Jean
+hat in hand and addressed him with courtly politeness.
+
+Jean protested with equal politeness,--yet the offer served his turn
+admirably,--no! no!--and the mademoiselle, monsieur?
+
+"Come, then!" cried that damsel, as the last figure began, and she
+seized Jean by the arm and half swung him into position.
+
+The polite monsieur immediately disappeared in the crowd.
+
+The French are born dancers. There are young Frenchmen here who would
+be the admiration of the ballet-master. Frenchmen dance for the pure
+love of motion. They prefer an agile partner of the softer sex, but it
+is not essential,--they will dance with each other, or even alone, and
+on the pavements of Paris as well as on the waxed floor of a
+ball-room.
+
+Jean Marot was, like many students of the Quartier Latin, not only a
+lover of Terpsichore, but proficient in the art of using his legs for
+something more agreeable than running. There were difficult steps and
+acrobatic feats introduced by Mlle. Fouchette which he could execute
+quite as easily and gracefully. And thus it happened that the young
+man who three minutes before had been fleeing the police was now swept
+away into the general frivolity of Place St. Jacques. In fact, he had
+already absolutely forgotten that he had come there a fugitive.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had just joyously challenged him to make the "arc aux
+pieds" with her,--which is to pose foot against foot in midair while
+the other dancers pass beneath,--when Jean noticed a keen-eyed police
+agent looking at him attentively.
+
+    [Illustration: SHE SEIZED JEAN BY THE ARM]
+
+"Look out!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, impatiently, and up went his
+foot against the neat little boot, and the other six passed merrily
+beneath.
+
+When he had finished the figure there were three agents, who whispered
+together earnestly; but they made no effort to molest him. His alibi
+stood.
+
+Nevertheless the police agents openly followed the couple as they
+walked down the Rue St. Jacques. He saw there was no attempt at
+concealment.
+
+"How, then, monsieur!" cried the girl, banteringly; "still thinking of
+Madeleine?"
+
+Jean shivered. Poor Madeleine!
+
+"What a fool a girl is to run after a man who doesn't care for her!"
+
+"And when a man runs after a girl who doesn't care for him?" he asked,
+half seriously.
+
+"Oh, then he's worse than a fool woman,--he's a man, monsieur."
+
+They reached her neighborhood.
+
+"Come up, monsieur, will you? It is but a poor hospitality I can
+offer, but an easy-chair and a pipe are the same everywhere, n'est-ce
+pas?"
+
+"Good!" said he. "I'll accept it with all my heart, mademoiselle."
+
+Jean had again noted the police agents, and he mentally concluded to
+let them wait a bit. Besides, he was very tired.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette had arranged her shaded lamp, drawn up the
+easy-chair and settled the young man in it, she flung her hat on the
+bed and bustled about to get some supper. She pulled out a small round
+oil-stove and proceeded to light the burners. He looked at her
+inquiringly.
+
+"It is Poupon," said she.
+
+"Oh! it's Poupon, is it?"
+
+"Yes. It's a darling, isn't she?"
+
+"It--she--is."
+
+"You see, when I want a cup of tea, there!"
+
+She removed the ornamental top with a flourish. Under it was a single
+griddle. Mlle. Fouchette regarded the domestic machine with great
+complacency, her blonde head prettily cocked on one side.
+
+"It certainly is convenient," said Jean, feeling that some comment was
+demanded of him.
+
+"When I cook I put it in the chimney."
+
+"But you have other fire in winter?"
+
+"Fire? Never! Wood is too dear,--and then, really, one goes to the
+cafés every night, and to the studios every day. They roast one at the
+studios, because of the models."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur," she went on. "Now, Poupon is most generally a
+warm-hearted little thing, and then one can go to bed, in a pinch. And
+I can have tea, or coffee, or hot wine. Do you like hot wine,
+monsieur? With a bit of lemon it is very good. And look here," she
+continued rapidly, without giving him time to say anything, "it is
+quite snug and comfortable, is it not?"
+
+She had thrown open a door next to the mantel and proudly exploited a
+cupboard containing various bits of china and glassware. The cupboard
+was in the wall and closed flush with the latter, the door being
+covered with the same paper. There were a few cooking utensils below.
+
+"Yes, to be sure, mademoiselle, it is all very nice indeed," said he,
+"but--but have you got a bit to eat anywhere about the place?"
+
+"Oh, pardon, monsieur! Oh, yes! Have we anything to eat, Poupon?
+Monsieur shall see."
+
+She pinned up her skirt in a business-like manner, grabbed the little
+oil-stove, and placed it in the fireplace.
+
+Jean watched her mechanically without thinking of her. He heard her
+without comprehending clearly what she said. And yet, somehow, he
+seemed to lean upon her as something tangible, something to keep his
+mind from sinking into its recent despondency.
+
+"Tiens! but, mademoiselle," he cried, starting up all at once, "you
+are not going to try to cook on that thing!"
+
+"What? Hear him, then, Poupon, chérie! To be called 'that thing!' Oh!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette affected great indignation on the part of herself and
+domestic friend,--the worst that could be said of which friend was
+that it emitted a bad odor of a Pennsylvania product,--but it did not
+interfere with her act of successfully rolling a promising omelette.
+She had already prettily arranged the table for two, on which were
+temptingly displayed a litre of Bordeaux, a loaf of bread, and a dish
+of olives.
+
+"But----"
+
+"Now, don't say a word, monsieur, or I'll drop something."
+
+"You need not have cooked anything," he protested. "A bit of bread and
+wine would have----"
+
+"Poor Poupon! So monsieur thinks you are pas bon! Perhaps monsieur
+thinks you and I don't eat up here, eh? Non? Monsieur is in love----"
+
+"Mademoiselle!"
+
+"Oh, I talk to Poupon, whom you despise,--and--now, the omelette,
+monsieur. Let me help you."
+
+They had drawn chairs to the table, and the girl poured two glasses of
+wine. She watched him drain his glass and then refilled it, finally
+observing, with a smile,--
+
+"It can't be Madeleine----"
+
+"Oh! to the devil with----" but he checked himself by the sudden
+recollection of the terrible misfortune that had overtaken Madeleine.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette shrugged her shoulders, but she lost no point of his
+confusion.
+
+"Is it necessary, then," he asked, cynically, "that I should be in
+love with some one?" He laughed, but his merriment did not deceive
+her.
+
+"Ah! Anybody can see, monsieur, you love or you hate--one."
+
+"Both, perhaps," he suggested. "For instance, I love your omelette and
+I hate your questions."
+
+"You hate Monsieur Lerouge, therefore you love where he is concerned."
+
+He was silent. It was evident that he did not care to discuss his
+private affairs with Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+The girl was quick to see this and changed the conversation to
+politics. But Jean had no mind for this either. He began to grow
+impatient, when she opened a box on the mantel and showed him an
+assortment of pipes.
+
+"Oho! You keep a petit tabac?"
+
+"One has some friends, monsieur."
+
+"A good many, I should judge,--each of whom leaves a pipe, indicating
+an early and regular return."
+
+"I don't find yours here yet, monsieur," she replied, demurely.
+
+"But you will," said he. "And I'll come up and smoke it occasionally,
+if you'll let me."
+
+"With pleasure, monsieur, even if you had not saved my life----"
+
+"There! Stop that, now. Let us never speak of that, mademoiselle. You
+got me into a scrape and got me out again, so we are quits."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Say no more about it, mademoiselle."
+
+"I may _think_ about it, I suppose," she suggested, with affected
+satire.
+
+"There,--tell me about the pipes."
+
+"Oh, yes. Well, you know how men hate to part with old pipes? And they
+are, therefore, my valuable presents, monsieur."
+
+"Truly! I never thought of that."
+
+"No?"
+
+"And the pictures?"
+
+"Scraps from the studios."
+
+He got up and examined the sketches on the walls. They were from pen,
+pencil, and brush, from as many artists,--some quite good and showing
+more or less budding genius. He paused some time before the head of
+his entertainer.
+
+"It is very good,--admirable!" he said.
+
+"You think so, monsieur?"
+
+"It is worth all the rest together, mademoiselle."
+
+"So much? You are an artist, Monsieur Jean?"
+
+"Amateur,--strictly amateur,--yet I know something of pictures. Now, I
+should say that bit is worth, say, one hundred francs."
+
+"Nonsense! The work of five minutes of--amusement; yes, making fun of
+me one day. Do you suppose he would give me one hundred francs?"
+
+"The highest effects in art are often merest accident, or the result
+of the spirit of the moment,--some call it inspiration."
+
+"But if you didn't know who did it, monsieur----"
+
+"It is not signed."
+
+"N-no; but, monsieur, every one must know his work."
+
+"Yes, and every one knows that some of it is bad."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"And this is----"
+
+"Bad too, monsieur," she laughingly interrupted. "When any one offers
+me fifty francs for that thing, Monsieur Jean, it goes!"
+
+"Then it is mine," said Jean.
+
+"No! You joke, monsieur," she protested, turning away.
+
+"Not at all," said he, tendering her a fresh, crisp billet de banque
+for fifty francs. "Voilà! Is that a joke?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette colored slightly and drew back.
+
+"Monsieur likes the picture?"
+
+"Why, certainly. If I didn't----"
+
+"Then it is yours, monsieur, if you will deign to accept it as
+a--present----"
+
+"No, no!"
+
+"As a souvenir, monsieur."
+
+"Nonsense! I will not do it," he declared. "Come, mademoiselle, you
+are trying to back out of your offer of a minute ago. Here! Is it mine
+or is it not? Say!"
+
+"It is yours, monsieur, in any case," she said, in a low voice,
+"though you would have done me a favor not to press me with money.
+Besides, 'La Petite Chatte' is not worth it."
+
+"I differ with you, mademoiselle; I simply get a picture cheap."
+
+Which was true. There was no sentiment in his offer, and she saw it as
+she carefully folded the bank-note and put it away with a sigh. It was
+a great deal of money for her, but still----
+
+There was a great noise at the iron knocker below. This had been
+repeated for the third time.
+
+"My friends below are growing impatient," he thought.
+
+Jean had that inborn hatred of authority so common to many of his
+countrymen. It often begins in baiting the police, and sometimes ends
+in the overthrow of the government.
+
+"Whoever that is," observed the girl, "he will never get in,--never!"
+
+"Good!" said Jean.
+
+"He won't get in," she repeated, listening. "Monsieur Benoit will
+never let anybody in who makes a racket like that."
+
+"Not even the police?"
+
+"No,--he will not hear them."
+
+"Oh! ho! ho! ho!" roared Jean; "not hear that!"
+
+"I mean he would affect not to know that it was the police."
+
+She went to a window and listened at the shutter. Then, returning to
+her guest, who was placidly smoking,--
+
+"It is the police, sure."
+
+"I knew it."
+
+"Now, what do you suppose the agents want at this hour?" It was one
+o'clock by the little bronze timepiece on the mantel.
+
+"Me," said Jean.
+
+"You!" She glanced at him with a smile of incredulity.
+
+"Yes, petite."
+
+He puffed continuous rings towards the ceiling, wondering whether he
+had better explain.
+
+Presently came a tap at the door. The girl hastened to answer it,
+while Jean refilled his pipe thoughtfully. When she came back she was
+more excited. She whispered,--
+
+"Monsieur Benoit, le concierge, he wants to see you,--he must let them
+in!"
+
+"Well, let them in!" exclaimed the young man.
+
+He had thought of Madeleine, chiefly, and the effect of his arrest
+upon her. A hearing must inevitably lead to her exposure, if not to
+his. But it was useless to endeavor to escape. He felt that he was
+trapped. Being in that fix, he may as well face the music.
+
+"But he wants to see you personally," said the girl.
+
+Jean went to the door, where the saturnine Benoit stood with his
+flaring candle. The man cautiously closed the inner vestibule door.
+
+"S-sh! It is a souricière, monsieur, as I suspected when you came in
+with that little she-devil! The agents were at your heels. Now,
+Monsieur Lerouge, do you wish to escape or do you----"
+
+"I intend to remain right here. There is no reason that I should
+become a fugitive."
+
+"As you please, monsieur," replied the concierge, with an expressive
+shrug. And the clack of his sabots was soon heard on the stone stair.
+
+"Funny," said Jean, re-entering, "but he takes me for Lerouge. There
+is some sort of understanding between them. He would have aided me to
+escape."
+
+"And why not have accepted, monsieur?" asked Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"I would rather be a prisoner as Jean Marot than escape as Henri
+Lerouge," replied the young man.
+
+"Anyhow," muttered the girl, "perhaps the police have made the same
+mistake."
+
+"I'm afraid not," said Jean.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette regarded the young man admiringly from the corner of
+her eye. He was so calm and resolute. He had resumed the easy-chair
+and pipe.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was not able to veil her feelings under this cloak of
+indifference. Her highly nervous organization was sensibly disturbed.
+One might have easily presumed that she was in question instead of
+Jean Marot. She had hastily cleared the little table and replaced the
+lamp, when her unwelcome visitors announced themselves. Mlle.
+Fouchette promptly confronted them at the door.
+
+"Well, gentlemen?"
+
+"Mademoiselle, pardon. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I am after the
+body of one M. Lerouge."
+
+"Then why don't you go and get him?" snapped the girl.
+
+"Pardieu! that is precisely why we are here, mon enfant. He----"
+
+"He is not here."
+
+"Come, now, that will not do, mademoiselle. At least he was here a few
+moments ago.--Where is that dolt Benoit?"
+
+"M. Lerouge is not here, I tell you; never was here in his life!"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+It was M. Benoit, the concierge. His astonishment was undoubtedly
+genuine; possibly as much at her brazen denial as at his own error in
+believing her a police decoy.
+
+"Mademoiselle ought to know," he added, in reply to official inquiry.
+
+"Let us see," exclaimed the man, thrusting the girl aside and entering
+the room. He was followed by two of his men and the concierge. A
+rear-guard had detained a curious assortment of half-dressed people on
+the stairs.
+
+The eyes of the agents fell upon the young man with a pipe
+simultaneously. Monsieur Benoit saw him also, and flashed an indignant
+look at the girl. He had concluded that she had found means to conceal
+her visitor.
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Lerouge," began the sous-brigadier.
+
+"Bah! you fools!" sneered Mlle. Fouchette, "can't you see that it is
+not Monsieur Lerouge?"
+
+"There! no more lies, mademoiselle. Your name, monsieur?"
+
+"Jean Marot."
+
+"Oh! so it is Jean Marot?" said the officer, mockingly, while he
+glanced alternately at Mlle. Fouchette, at M. Benoit, and at his men.
+"Very well,--I'll take you as Jean Marot, then," he angrily added.
+
+"Nevertheless," said Jean, now amused at police expense, "I am not
+Lerouge. There is said to be some resemblance between us, that is
+all."
+
+The face of M. Benoit was that of a positive man suddenly overwhelmed
+with evidence of his own stupidity. Mlle. Fouchette laughed outright.
+The sous-brigadier frowned. One of his men spoke up,--
+
+"Oho! now I see----"
+
+"Dubat, shut up!"
+
+"But, mon brigadier," persisted the man designated, "it is not the man
+we took that night at Le Petit Rouge,--non!"
+
+"Ah! là, là, là!" put in Mlle. Fouchette, growing tired of this. "I
+know M. Lerouge and M. Marot equally well, monsieur, and this is
+Marot. He has been with me all the evening. We danced in the Place St.
+Jacques and came directly here; before that we were at the Café du
+Panthéon. He has not left here. And they do look alike, monsieur; so
+it is said."
+
+"That is very true," muttered the concierge,--"and I have made the
+mistake too; though, to be sure, I know M. Lerouge but slightly and
+had never seen this man before, to my knowledge."
+
+Meanwhile, the girl had made a sign to the sous-brigadier that at
+once attracted that consequential man's attention.
+
+"Then, mademoiselle," he concluded, after a moment's thought, "you can
+give us the address of this Monsieur Lerouge?"
+
+"Oh, yes. It is Montrouge, 7 Rue Dareau,--en quatrième."
+
+M. Benoit gave the girl informer a vicious look, which had as much
+effect upon her as water might have on a duck's back.
+
+Jean did not require a note-book and pencil to fix this street and
+number in his own mind. He turned to the sous-brigadier as the latter
+rose to take his departure,--
+
+"Pardon, monsieur; may I ask what charge is made against Monsieur
+Lerouge that you thus hunt him down in the middle of the night?"
+
+"It is very serious, monsieur," replied the man, respectful enough
+now; "a young woman has been blinded with vitriol."
+
+"Horrible!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I don't believe Lerouge could
+have ever done that! No, never!"
+
+"Nor I," said Jean.
+
+The police officer merely raised his eyebrows slightly and observed,--
+
+"It was in the Rue Dareau, monsieur."
+
+"And the woman? Do they know----"
+
+"One named Madeleine, mademoiselle."
+
+"Madeleine!" cried the girl, with a white face. "Madeleine! Mon Dieu!
+You hear that, Monsieur Jean? It was Madeleine!"
+
+"Courage, mademoiselle; Lerouge never did that," said Jean, calmly.
+"It is a mistake. He could not do that."
+
+"Never! It is impossible!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette wrung her hands and sought his eyes in vain for some
+explanation. She seemed overcome with terror.
+
+"Parbleu!" exclaimed the police officer, in taking his leave.
+"Mademoiselle, there is nothing impossible in Paris."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+The first instinct of Jean Marot had been to kill Henri Lerouge.
+
+Revenge is the natural heritage of his race. Revenge is taught as a
+sacred duty in the common schools of France. Revenge keeps the fires
+aglow under the boilers of French patriotism. Revenge is the first
+thought to follow on the heels of private insult or personal injury.
+
+It had been that of the ignorant human animal called Madeleine. How
+the horrible design of Madeleine had chilled his blood! He was sorry
+for the unhappy girl with a natural sympathy; yet he would have torn
+her to pieces had she successfully carried her scheme of revenge into
+execution.
+
+Jean took to haunting Montrouge day and night, invariably passing down
+Rue Dareau and contemplating No. 7, keeping his eye on the
+porte-cochère and the fourth floor, as if she might be passing in or
+out, or show herself at a lighted window. But he never saw her,--never
+saw Lerouge. He never seemed to expect to see them.
+
+He had ceased to attend classes. What were books and classes to him
+now? He took more absinthe than was good for him.
+
+His father's friend, Dr. Cardiac, visited him, remonstrated with him,
+readily diagnosed his case, then wrote to Monsieur Marot the elder.
+The result of this was a peremptory call home. To this summons Jean as
+promptly replied. He refused to go. An equally prompt response told
+him he had no home,--no father,--and that thenceforth he must shift
+for himself,--that he had received his last franc.
+
+Ten days later he unexpectedly encountered Mlle. Fouchette on
+Boulevard St. Michel. It was Saturday evening, and all the student
+world was abroad. But perhaps of that world none was more miserable
+than Jean Marot.
+
+"Ah! Then it is really you, monsieur?" There was a perceptible
+coldness in her greeting. However, his condition was apparent. The
+sharp blue eyes had taken his measure at a glance. She interrupted his
+polite reply.
+
+"Là! là! là! Then you are in trouble. You young men are always in
+trouble. When it isn't one thing it is another."
+
+"It is both this time, I'm afraid," he said, smiling at the heavy
+philosophy from such a light source.
+
+They crossed over and walked along the wall of the ancient College
+d'Harcourt, where there were fewer people. The dark circles under his
+handsome eyes seemed to soften her still further.
+
+"I am sorry for you, monsieur."
+
+"Thank you, mademoiselle."
+
+"And poor Madeleine----"
+
+"You have seen her, then?"
+
+"Oh, of course!"
+
+"Of course," he repeated.
+
+"But, monsieur, you may not know that you were suspected of----"
+
+"Go on," seeing her hesitation. "Of having something to do with it?"
+
+"Precisely."
+
+"I knew that."
+
+To avoid the crowd and curious comment, Jean turned into the
+Luxembourg garden.
+
+"Well," he resumed, "you said I was suspected first by the police,
+then----"
+
+"By me," she said, promptly.
+
+"By you!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"And what, my dear mademoiselle, had I done to merit so distinguished
+an honor?"
+
+"Dear me! monsieur, it was chiefly what you hadn't done; and then the
+circumstantial evidence, you must confess, was strong."
+
+"I realized that, also that in France it is not easy to get out of
+prison, once in it, innocent or guilty."
+
+"So you kept out. Very wisely, monsieur. But you know the papers next
+morning spoke of Madeleine's lover, and talked of the lost clue of the
+Place St. Jacques, where we met."
+
+"It certainly would have been suspicious under some circumstances," he
+admitted. "Now, if I had been her lover, for instance----"
+
+"There! I went to the hospital. And don't you know, she would not
+betray the man who did it, though she suffered horribly. She will lose
+one of her eyes, poor girl!"
+
+"Great heavens! What a misfortune!"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"And she would not betray her assailant?"
+
+"Not a word!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I never believed Madeleine
+could rise to that."
+
+"Nor I," said Jean.
+
+"And the police did worry that Lerouge," continued the girl.
+
+"Oh, they did?"
+
+"Yes; but he easily proved that he was not only not Madeleine's lover,
+but that he was out somewhere with his--his----"
+
+"Mistress, eh?" he said, bitterly. "Why not say it?"
+
+"With his friend," she added, her eyes on the ground.
+
+"Ugh!"
+
+"But you, monsieur,--you have not yet told me your troubles. Your love
+goes badly, I suppose, eh?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"It is the same old thing. I wonder how it is to be loved thus. Very
+nice, no doubt."
+
+"And has no one ever loved you, mademoiselle?" he asked.
+
+"Non!"
+
+"You astonish me! And the world is so full of lovers, too."
+
+"I mean no man."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Very sure, monsieur. Could one be loved like that and not know it?"
+
+"That is what I ask myself every day." He said this to himself rather
+than to his wondering companion.
+
+"Why, monsieur!----"
+
+"But there are other things just now,--to-day," he said, abruptly
+changing the subject; "and the worst thing----"
+
+"The worst thing is money," she interrupted. "I have had 'the worst
+thing.' It happens every now and then. You need not hesitate."
+
+"Worse yet," he continued, smiling in spite of himself at her
+conclusion.
+
+"I can tell it in advance. It is the old story. Your love is not
+reciprocated,--you neglect your classes,--you fail in the exams,--you
+take to absinthe. Ah, çà!"
+
+"Still worse, mon enfant."
+
+"Ah! You play----"
+
+"No. I never play. You are wrong only that once, mademoiselle."
+
+He told her the truth. And she listened with the sage air of one who
+knows all about it and was ready with her decision.
+
+"Monsieur Marot,"--she paused a second,--"you think I'm a bad
+girl----"
+
+"Oh, don't be too sure of that. I----"
+
+"Ah, çà!" impatiently waving his politeness aside; "but I owe you
+much, and I would do you a service if possible."
+
+"I thank you, mademoiselle."
+
+"You think it impossible? Perhaps. I am nothing. I am only a poor
+little woman, monsieur,--alone in the world. But I know this world,--I
+have wrestled with it. I have had hard falls,--I got up again.
+Therefore my experience has been bitter; but still it is experience."
+
+"Sad experience, doubtless."
+
+"Yes; and it ought to have taught me something, even if I were the
+most stupid and vicious, eh?"
+
+"Surely," he said.
+
+"And my counsel ought to have some value in your eyes?"
+
+"Why, yes; certainly, mademoiselle."
+
+"At least it is disinterested----"
+
+"Sure!"
+
+"Go home!"
+
+"But----"
+
+She interrupted him sharply, nervously grasping his passive hand.
+
+"Go home, Monsieur Jean,--at once!"
+
+She trembled, and her voice grew low and softly sweet, and almost
+pleading.
+
+"Go home, Monsieur Jean! Leave all of this behind,--it is ruin!"
+
+"Never! I cannot do that, mademoiselle. Besides, it is too late,--it
+is impossible! I have no home, now. Never!"
+
+"There!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette rose abruptly, shrugging her narrow shoulders with the
+air of having done what she could and washing her hands of the
+consequences. Her smile of half pity, half contempt, for the weakness
+of a strong man clearly indicated that she had expected nothing and
+was not disappointed. As he still remained absorbed in his own
+miserable thoughts, she returned to the attack in a lively manner.
+
+"So that is out of the way," she said. "Now let us see what you are
+going to do. You probably have friends?"
+
+"A few."
+
+"Do not trust to friends, monsieur; it will spare you the humiliation
+of finding them out. What are your resources?"
+
+"I have none," he replied.
+
+"How much money have you?"
+
+"Nothing!"
+
+"Ah, monsieur,"--she now sat down again, visibly softened,--"if you
+will come and dine with me and petite Poupon we can talk it all over
+at leisure, n'est-ce pas? I can make a bien joli pot-au-feu for a
+franc,--which means soup, meat, and vegetables; and I know a petite
+marchande de vins where one can get a litre of Bordeaux for cinquante,
+which, with a salade at two sous and cheese for two more, will round
+out a very good dinner for two. Ah! le voilà!"
+
+She wound up her rapid summary of culinary delights with the charming
+eagerness of a child, bringing forth from the folds of her dress a
+small purse, through the netting of which glistened some silver coin,
+and causing it to chink triumphantly.
+
+Jean Marot, suddenly lifted out of himself by this impulsive
+good-nature, was at first embarrassed, then stupefied. He was unable
+to utter a word. He was ashamed of his own weakness; he was
+overwhelmed by the sense of her impetuous good-will and practical
+human sympathy. He silently pressed the thin hand which had
+unconsciously crept into his.
+
+"No, it is nothing," she said, lightly, withdrawing her hand. "I have
+plenty to-day,--you will have it some other day; and then you can give
+me a petit souper, monsieur, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+"Very well. On that condition I will accept your invitation,
+mademoiselle. We will dine with petite Poupon."
+
+He had not the heart to tell her that his "nothing" meant a few
+hundred francs to his credit and a few louis in his pocket at that
+moment,--more than she had ever possessed at any one time in her life.
+
+As it was, she walked along by his side with that feeling of
+camaraderie experienced by those in the same run of luck as to the
+world's goods, and with that buoyancy of spirit which attends a good
+action. The few francs and odd sous in the little purse were abundant
+for to-day,--the morrow could take care of itself.
+
+They turned up the narrow Rue Royer-Collard, where she stopped for the
+litre of Bordeaux, responding gayly to the wayside queries and
+comments. Reaching the Rue St. Jacques, there were the salad and the
+cheese to add to the necessary part of the French meal; and the bit of
+beef and the inevitable onions brought up the rear of purchases.
+
+"I have some potatoes and carrots," she said, reflectively,--"so much
+saved. Let us see. It is not so bad,--quatre-vingt-cinq, dix,
+cinquante,--un franc quarante-cinq."
+
+She made the calculation as they went up the worn stairway after the
+passage of the tunnel.
+
+"Not half bad," said he, compelled to admire her cleverness.
+
+Reaching her chamber, she deposited the entire evening investment on
+the hearth, proceeding to the preliminary features of preparation. She
+threw her hat on the bed, then pulled off the light bolero and sent it
+after the hat, and then she began slipping out of her skirt by
+suddenly letting it fall in a ring about her feet.
+
+"Oh!" said Jean.
+
+"Excuse me, will you? I can't risk my pretty skirt for appearances.
+You won't mind, monsieur? Non!"
+
+"That's right," he said,--"a skirt is only a skirt."
+
+He watched her with a half-amused expression as she flitted nervously
+about, more doll-like than ever she was, in the short yellow silken
+petticoat with its terminating ruffles, or cheap lace balayeuse, her
+blonde hair loosely drooping over her ears and caught up behind in the
+prevailing fashion of the quarter. She kept up a continual chatter as
+she opened drawers, prepared the potatoes, and arranged the little
+table.
+
+Poupon was already singing in the chimney-place. Her conversation, by
+habit, was mostly directed to her little oil-stove, as if it were a
+sentient thing, something to be encouraged by flattery and restrained
+by reproach. It was the camaraderie of loneliness.
+
+But to Jean, who was quick to fall back into his own reveries, her
+voice died away into incomprehensible jargon. Once he glanced at the
+sketch still on the wall and thought of her purring over her work like
+a satisfied cat, then the next instant again forgot her. Now and then
+she bestowed a keen glance on him or a passing word, but left him no
+time to answer or to formulate any distinct idea as to what it was
+about. Suddenly she pounced upon him with,--
+
+"Monsieur Marot?"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You still live----"
+
+"Faubourg St. Honoré."
+
+"Mon Dieu! How foolish!"
+
+"Yes,--now," he admitted.
+
+"You must change. What rent do you pay?"
+
+"Fourteen hundred----"
+
+"Dame! And the lease?"
+
+"Two years yet to run," said he.
+
+"Peste! What a bother!"
+
+"But the rent is paid."
+
+"Oh, very well. It can be sold. And the furniture?"
+
+"Mine."
+
+"Good! How much?"
+
+"It cost about three thousand francs."
+
+"It's a fortune, monsieur," she exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. "And
+here I thought you were--purée!"
+
+"Broke?"
+
+"Yes,--that you had nothing."
+
+"It is not much to me, who----"
+
+"No; I understand that. I once read of a rich American who committed
+suicide because he was suddenly reduced to two hundred and fifty
+thousand francs. That was very drôle, was it not?"
+
+"To most people, yes; but it would not be funny for one who had been
+accustomed to twice or five times that much every year."
+
+"No,--I forgot," she said, reflectively, "about your affairs,
+monsieur. It is very simple."
+
+"Is it?" He laughed lugubriously.
+
+"You simply accept conditions. You give up your present mode of
+living; you sell your lease and furniture; you take a small place here
+somewhere, get only what is necessary, then find something to do. Why,
+you will be independent,--rich!"
+
+"Only, you omit one thing in the calculation, mademoiselle."
+
+She divined at once what that was.
+
+"One must arrange for the stomach before talking about love. And how,
+then, is a young man to provide for a girl when he can't provide for
+himself? Let the girl alone until you begin to see the way. Don't be
+ridiculous, Monsieur Jean. No woman can love a man who is ridiculous.
+Jamais!"
+
+Love is not exactly a synonyme for Reason. To be in love is in a
+measure to part company with the power of ratiocination. Nevertheless,
+Jean saw in an absent-minded way that Mlle. Fouchette, for whom he had
+never entertained even that casual respect accorded by the Anglo-Saxon
+to womanhood in general, spoke the words of sense and soberness. His
+intolerant nature, that would never have brooked such freedom from a
+friend, allowed everything from one who was too insignificant to
+excite resentment or even reply. In the same fashion Jean was touched
+by the exhibition of human interest and womanly sympathy in this waif
+of civilization. And he was of too gentle a heart not to meet it with
+a show of appreciation. It gave her pleasure and did not hurt him. The
+fact that she was probably abandoned and vicious in no wise lessened
+this consideration,--possibly increased his confidence in her
+disinterested counsel.
+
+In Paris one elbows this species every day,--in the Quartier Latin
+young Frenchmen come in contact with it every night,--and without that
+sense of self-abasement or disgust evoked by similar association in
+the United States. The line of demarcation that separates
+respectability from shame is not rigidly drawn in Paris; in the
+Quartier Latin, where the youth of France and, to a considerable
+extent, of the whole world are prepared for earth and heaven, it
+cannot be said to be drawn at all.
+
+By his misfortunes Jean Marot had unexpectedly fallen within her
+reach. With her natural spirit of domination she had at once
+appropriated the position of mentor and manager. The precocious
+worldliness of her mentality amused while it sometimes astonished him.
+This comparatively ignorant girl of eighteen had no hesitation in
+guiding the man of more mature years, and succeeded through her
+naïveté rather than by force of character. The weakest of women can
+dominate the strongest of men.
+
+"Doctors never prescribe for themselves," she said, by way of
+justifying her interest in him. "Is it not so, Monsieur Jean?"
+
+"No; but they call in somebody of their own profession," he replied.
+
+"Not if he had the same disease, surely!" she retorted.
+
+"So you think love a disease?" he laughingly asked.
+
+"Virulent, but not catching," said she, helping him to some soup.
+
+There were no soup-plates and she had dipped it from the pot with a
+teacup and served it in a bowl; but the soup was just as good and was
+rich with vegetable nutrition. He showed his appreciation by a
+vigorous onslaught.
+
+"And if it were a disease and catching?" he remarked presently.
+
+"Then you would not be here," she replied. "You see, I'd run too much
+risk. As it is--have some more wine?--But who understands love better
+than a woman, monsieur?"
+
+"Oh, I surrender, mademoiselle,--that is, provided she has loved and
+loves no longer."
+
+"Been sick and been cured, eh?" she suggested. "But that is more than
+you require of the medical profession."
+
+"True----"
+
+He paused and listened. She turned her head at the same moment. There
+were two distinct raps on the wall. He had heard, vaguely, the sound
+of persons coming and going next door; had distinguished voices in the
+next flat. There was nothing strange about that. But the knock was the
+knock of design and at once arrested his attention.
+
+The young girl started to her feet, her finger on her lips.
+
+"He wants me," she said.
+
+"That is evident, whoever 'he' may be," replied Jean, significantly.
+
+"Oh, it is only Monsieur de Beauchamp. A sitting, perhaps," she added.
+
+She slipped out of the room without deeming it necessary to resume her
+overskirt. The feminine inhabitants of Rue St. Jacques were so
+extremely unconventional,--they not infrequently went down into the
+street for rolls and other articles attired in this charming negligée
+of the bedroom boudoir. And would, perhaps, have extended this
+unconventionality to the neighboring cafés, only the proprietaires
+had to draw a line somewhere, and had unanimously drawn it at hats
+and skirts, or full street dress.
+
+Jean began to think himself entirely deserted, when Mlle. Fouchette
+burst rather than walked into the room conducting her next-door
+neighbor.
+
+Jean saw before him a man scarcely older than himself, rather spare of
+figure and pale of face, in the garb of a provincial and with an air
+of the Jesuit enthusiast rather than the student of art. His long,
+dark hair was thick and bushy and worn trimmed straight around the
+neck after the fashion of Jeanne d'Arc's time. It completely hid his
+ears and fell in sprays over his temples. His face was the typical
+Christ of the old masters, the effect being heightened by the soft,
+fine, virgin beard and moustache of somewhat fairer color, and by the
+melancholy eyes, dark and luminous, with their curled and drooping
+lashes. These eyes gave rather a suggestion of sadness and inward
+suffering, but when animated seemed to glow with the smouldering fire
+of centuries.
+
+"Pardon, Monsieur de Beauchamp," said Jean, upon being introduced to
+him, "but mademoiselle appears to have forgotten me for art."
+
+"Ah! and as if there were no art in making a salad!" exclaimed the
+painter, as he shook hands with the other.
+
+"Oh! là, là, là!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, wresting the dish from Jean's
+grasp; "there would be precious little art in this if you made it!"
+And she proceeded with the salad on her own account, using the two
+bowls that had but recently served them for soup.
+
+Monsieur de Beauchamp and Jean discussed the student "manifestations"
+planned for the next day. The Dreyfusardes--a term by which all who
+differed from the military régime were known--had announced a public
+meeting, and a counter-demonstration had been called to not only
+prevent that meeting but to publicly chastise such as dared to take
+part in it.
+
+No attempt was made to conceal these patriotic intentions from the
+police. The walls blazed with flaming revolutionary posters. The
+portrait of the Duc d'Orléans appeared over specious promises in case
+of Restoration. The Royal Claimant was said to be concealed in Paris.
+At any rate, his agents were busy. They were in league with the
+Bonapartists, the Socialists, the Anti-Semites, against the things
+that were, and called the combination Nationalists. They were really
+Opportunists. The republic overthrown, they agreed to fight out their
+rival claims to power between themselves.
+
+The unfortunate Jew merely served them as a weapon. They were the real
+traitors to their country. With the most fulsome adulation and the Jew
+they courted the army and sought to lead it against the republic.
+
+And the republic,--poor, weak, headless combination of
+inconsistencies,--through a tricky and vacillating Ministry and a
+bitter, factional Parliament, greatly encouraged the idea of any sort
+of a change.
+
+Popular intolerance had, after a farcical civil trial overawed by
+military authority, driven the foremost writer of France into exile,
+as it had Voltaire and Rousseau and many thousands of the best blood
+of the French before him.
+
+The many noble monuments of the Paris carrefours, representing the
+élite of France, the heroes, the apostles of letters and liberty, who
+were murdered, exiled, denied Christian burial or dragged through the
+streets after death by Frenchmen, stand morally united in one grand
+monumental fane commemorative of French intolerance.
+
+Wherever is reared a monument to French personal worth, there also is
+a mute testimonial of collective French infamy.
+
+"Dans la rue!" was now the battle-cry.
+
+All of these student "manifestations" were seized upon by the worst
+elements of Paris. The estimable character of these elements found in
+the Place Maubert and vicinity may be surmised from the fact that a
+few days previous to the event about to be herein recorded twenty men
+of the neighborhood were chosen to maintain its superiority to the
+Halles Centrales against a like number selected by the latter.
+
+The contending factions were drawn up in order of battle in Place
+Maubert, on Boulevard St. Germain, in broad afternoon, each man being
+armed with a knife, and precipitated an engagement that required one
+hundred police reserves to quell.
+
+"If we could only keep that pestiferous gang out of our
+manifestations," said Jean now to Monsieur de Beauchamp,--"they
+disgrace us always!"
+
+"Oh, but they are good fighters; and there is to be fighting pretty
+soon," observed the artist.
+
+"Vive l'armée!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, flourishing a salad-spoon.
+Mlle. Fouchette had a martial spirit.
+
+"Whenever a student is arrested he turns out to be one of the roughs
+of Place Maubert or a hoodlum of Rue Monge, or a cutthroat of Rue
+Mouffetard. It is disgraceful!"
+
+"But it shows the discretion of our police, Monsieur Marot," said the
+artist, with his sweet smile. "You see the police are with us. We must
+not be too particular who fights on our side, my friend. We can't
+afford to quarrel with anybody just now going in our direction. They
+are but means to an end, let us remember, and that end the ancient
+prestige and glory of France."
+
+"À bas les Juifs!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, without looking up.
+
+The godlike face of the painter glowed with the enthusiasm that
+consumed his soul. He now turned his grand eyes upon the girl with
+inexpressible sadness.
+
+"That is a question that does not concern us," said he, "except as
+another means to an end. Innocent or guilty, shall the pleasure or
+pain of one man stand between the millions of our countrymen and the
+welfare and perpetuity of France?"
+
+"Never!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, in her excitement bringing down the
+salad-bowl with a crash that sent the pieces flying about the room.
+
+"Parbleu!" exclaimed Jean, laughing heartily; "there goes my salad!"
+
+"No; the salad is here. There goes my pretty bowl!"
+
+"Very well, then, let us turn out to-morrow, Monsieur Marot, and do
+our duty. Au revoir."
+
+In parting the artist nodded his head in cold recognition of the
+existence of Mlle. Fouchette. The latter turned on her dainty heel
+with a glance at Jean that spoke volumes. But she began arranging the
+little table slowly, absent-mindedly, without a word. He thought she
+was lamenting the loss of the salad-bowl.
+
+"I'll buy you a pretty one," he said.
+
+"A pretty--er--a what?"
+
+"Salad-bowl."
+
+"Oh, dame! I was not thinking of the salad-bowl."
+
+"Something more serious?"
+
+"Yes. Don't go to-morrow, Monsieur Jean!"
+
+Her voice was earnest, but sunk to a whisper. He regarded her with
+astonishment.
+
+"Don't go, Monsieur Jean!" she repeated. "Have nothing to do with
+them! There will be two thousand hired roughs from La Villette, the
+killers from the abattoirs, and----" She stopped short.
+
+"How now, mon enfant? How----"
+
+But she had clapped her small hand over his mouth in a half-vexed,
+half-frightened way, with a definite gesture towards the next room.
+
+"Have a care, monsieur," she whispered in his ear, then laughingly
+resumed her bantering tone. "How do you like my salad? Is it not
+capital?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Jean Marot found Mlle. Fouchette interesting but incomprehensible.
+
+Jean believed himself to be a sincere and true republican,--and he
+was, in fact, quite as logical in this as were many of the so-called
+republicans of the French Parliament, who, like their familiar
+political prototypes in the United States, talked one way and voted
+another. He had participated in the street disturbances as a protest
+against the Ministry and for the pure love of excitement, not against
+the republic.
+
+As to the Dreyfus case, he had been satisfied, with most of his
+countrymen, upon the statement of five successive ministers of war.
+
+After all, in a country where so many have always stood ready to sell
+their national liberty for the gold of the stranger, it came easy to
+believe in one Judas more.
+
+The United States has had but one Benedict Arnold; France counts her
+traitors by the thousands. They spring from every rank and are
+incidental to every age. The word Treachery is the most important word
+in French domestic history.
+
+And when honest men doubted the justice of a council of war, they were
+silenced by the specious reasoning of men like M. de Beauchamp. Had
+Jean been invited to assist in overturning the republic and to put
+Philippe d'Orléans on the throne, he would have revolted. His
+political ideals would have been outraged. Yet every act committed by
+him and by his blind partisans tended directly, and were secretly
+engineered by others, to that end.
+
+Jean Marot in this was but a fair type of tens of thousands of his
+intelligent but headstrong and misguided countrymen.
+
+"In the street!"
+
+Once in the street the following day, Jean forgot his serious
+reflections of the previous night. It was Sunday, the chosen day of
+battle by sea and land,--a day consecrated to violence and bloodshed
+by the Paris mob. The students gathered at the divided rendezvous of
+the Place Panthéon and the Place de l'Odéon. Many of them wore the
+white boutonniére of the Jeunesse Royalistes, the tricolor, the red
+rose of communism, or other badge of particular political belief, and
+all carried canes, some of which were loaded and some of the sword
+variety. Their leaders excitedly harangued them while the heavy squads
+of police agents distributed in the vicinity watched the proceedings
+without interference.
+
+Indeed, the royalists and their allies had abundant reason to believe
+the police force of Paris, officers and men, civil and military, in
+sympathy with their movement against the republic. Not one of the many
+street disturbances of the year past had been the spontaneous outburst
+of popular anger that is the forerunner of revolution. On every
+occasion they had been, as they were in this instance, the publicly
+prearranged breaches of the peace in which the worst elements of the
+Paris world were invited or hired to join. This was well known to the
+government. It would have been easy and perfectly legal and wise to
+have anticipated them by governmental authority. Acting under that
+authority, a score or two of police agents could have dispersed all
+preliminary gatherings. Under the eye of such a police force as we
+have in New York any one of the numerous riots which disgraced the
+streets of Paris during the pendency of the "Affaire" would have been
+impossible.
+
+The police of Paris, however, are French,--which is to say that they
+are incapable of seeing their duty from a strictly impersonal point of
+view, but are lax to the utmost indifference and partiality or brutal
+to the extreme of cruelty and fiendishness.
+
+But perhaps the severest censure of the Paris police agent lies in the
+fact that no just magistrate accepts his unsupported testimony, and
+that at least two-thirds of his riot arrests are nullified at once by
+setting the victims at liberty. As the police agent is the creature of
+the general government and is not responsible to the municipality, he
+can only be brought to book when he makes the mistake of offending
+some high personage. To the complaint of an ordinary citizen he would
+probably reply by drawing his cloak around him and expectorating
+viciously.
+
+"Qu'est-ce que ça me fiche?"
+
+The students assembled at the Place du Panthéon easily avoided the
+shadowy blue barrier drawn up across the Rue Soufflot. They howled a
+good deal in unison, then suddenly disappeared down Rue Cujas, and,
+pouring into Boulevard St. Michel, joined forces at the foot of Rue
+Racine with their comrades from the Place de l'Odéon. Like all student
+manifestations of any sort, the procession made a great noise, sticks
+were brandished, and the air rent with cries of "Vive l'armée! À bas
+les traitres!"
+
+The peaceful shopkeepers came to their doors and regarded the young
+men indulgently. "Ah! la jeunesse n'a q'un temps!"
+
+Some four hundred young men from the great schools were joined at the
+Place St. Michel by numerous hoodlums and roughs from the purlieus of
+Rue St. Severin, Place Maubert, and the equally delectable region of
+Rue de la Hutchette. These patriot soldiers of fortune "émeuted" for
+the low rate of forty sous per day, and were mostly armed with
+bludgeons, wherewith to earn their meagre salary. It mattered little
+whom they served, though it was just now the noble Duc d'Orléans.
+
+The police saw this addition with a knowing eye. They barred the
+entrance to the Pont St. Michel. It was a half-hearted effort, and
+with cries of "Vive la liberté!" "En avant!" the mob of young men
+swept the thin files out of the way and gained the bridge. Not,
+however, without some kicks and blows, broken canes, and bleeding
+faces. A lusty gold-laced brigadier rolled in the dust, desperately
+clinging to two coat-collars, and won the coveted cross by allowing
+himself to be kicked and stamped almost out of human resemblance by
+the infuriated mob of rescuers.
+
+By this time the head of the mob had reached the other end of the
+bridge, where a double barrier of agents was drawn up across the
+street. A gray-haired commissaire of long and distinguished police
+service walked calmly forward alone to meet them. His resolute step,
+his pose, bespoke his dignity and courage. He raised his left hand
+with the air of authority accustomed to being obeyed.
+
+His keen eyes at once sought and found and held the eyes of the
+leaders.
+
+"You must go back,--you cannot cross here,--you must disperse----"
+
+"Sacré!" growled the crowd, moving forward threateningly. "We have a
+right to cross anywhere! We are citizens of Paris and have the rights
+of any other citizen,--the same as you, Monsieur le Commissaire!"
+
+A dozen such protests on the instant. But the wily veteran was ready.
+He knew that when a mob stops to parley the battle is half won.
+
+"Oh, yes, messieurs,--singly, or as other good citizens, you are
+right; but not as----"
+
+A young man reached over his comrades' shoulders and struck the old
+commissaire in the face with his cane.
+
+"For shame!" cried Jean Marot, indignantly. "What foolishness!" And he
+broke the cane across his knee and threw the fragments to the ground.
+
+In the same moment the old commissaire dashed into the crowd and
+single-handed dragged his youthful assailant to the front and clear of
+his companions.
+
+"The guard! the guard! Look out, comrades! here comes the guard!"
+
+The cry ran along the line and through the ranks hushed by the wanton
+blow delivered unnecessarily upon a respected official. A company of
+the Garde Républicaine à pied had filed out across the Boulevard du
+Palais from behind the Préfecture; another company à cheval debouched
+into the quai from the other corner, and now rode slowly down towards
+the bridge.
+
+"Bayonets in front and sabres on the flank!" said Jean to those around
+him. "It were wise to get out of this."
+
+"Good advice, young man,--get out! It won't do, you see. You must
+cross singly, or as other citizens. Never mind your hot-headed young
+friend," added the old man, kindly, as he wiped the blood from his
+face. "We won't be hard on him. Only, you must go back at once!"
+
+He talked to them as if they were little children. But they needed no
+further urging. The rear-guard had already turned tail at the sight of
+the troops and were in full retreat. Before the last man had cleared
+the bridge the only one who had been arrested was set at liberty,
+though he had richly earned six months in jail.
+
+And thus terminated the harebrained attempt to march five hundred
+riotous men through the city directly in front of the Préfecture,
+where lay unlimited reserves, civil and military, under arms. The
+royalists had somewhat overstrained the complaisance of the
+authorities.
+
+Acting at once on the hint of the police official, the crowd broke up
+into small groups. "À la Concorde! À la Concorde! Concorde!" they
+cried.
+
+This revolutionary rendezvous was prearranged to mean Place du
+Carrousel, conditional on police interference. It was to deceive the
+authorities, the main object being to form a junction with the
+anticipated hordes from Montmartre and La Villette.
+
+But a mob broken into scattered groups is no longer a mob, and being
+no longer a mob, there is no longer courage or cohesion of purpose.
+Instead of some four hundred students and about a hundred roughs, not
+more than fifty of the former responded at the foot of the Gambetta
+monument, while the latter class had gathered strength by the way.
+
+This discrepancy, though painfully apparent to Jean Marot and his
+friends, in no wise dampened their ardor. Their chosen speakers lashed
+them into fresh furors of patriotism while they waited. The eloquent
+young man who quoted the words of Gambetta engraved on his monument
+wrung tears from his sympathetic auditors. These words of wisdom and
+patriotism had no pertinence whatever to the work in hand,--which was
+to break up a meeting organized by some distinguished philanthropists,
+scholars, and their friends in the interests of civil liberty and the
+perpetuity of human rights,--but everything serves as fuel to a flame
+well started.
+
+Carried away by the spirit of exaltation, Jean Marot clambered upon
+the monument itself, and ascending the heroic figure of Gambetta amid
+the wild plaudits of the mob, kissed the mute stone lips. His hat had
+fallen to the ground, and now the hysterical crowd tore it into bits
+and scrambled for the pieces, which they pinned on their breasts as
+precious souvenirs of the occasion.
+
+When Jean reached the earth it was to be frantically embraced on every
+side. A great, broad-shouldered, big-bearded man in a cap and the
+blouse of the artisan crowned this exciting ceremony by kissing the
+young student full on the mouth.
+
+A score of hats were tendered, but Jean accepted the cap of the
+stalwart workman, who immediately brandished his club and shouted "En
+avant!" He unwound his soiled red sash as he started, and, making it
+deftly into a sort of turban, constituted himself Jean's special
+body-guard for the day.
+
+The strong force of police posted in the neighborhood of the Louvre
+had regarded this street drama with stoical indifference. When the
+noisy crowd surged into the Rue de Rivoli it passed between the
+mounted videttes of the Garde Républicaine. Farther on, in the Rue St.
+Honoré, a squad of dismounted cuirassiers stood listlessly holding the
+bridles of their horses. The afternoon sun flashed electric rays from
+the plates of burnished steel.
+
+"Vive l'armée!" burst from the mob.
+
+A subaltern on the curb touched his glittering casque in military
+salute without stirring a muscle of his armored body.
+
+Now recognized leader, Jean directed the march up the narrow Rue de
+Richelieu, observing to his bearded aide that it was more direct and
+safe, though shouts of "Avenue de l'Opéra! l'Opéra!" rose from his
+followers. Jean paid no attention to these cries.
+
+"You are right, my boy!" said the man in the blouse, patting Jean on
+the shoulder approvingly. "The broad streets are to the agents and
+military. The cuirassiers can there trample men like flies! Ah! with a
+regiment of cavalry and a battery of three quick-firers one could hold
+Paris at the Place de l'Opéra against the world!"
+
+"Yes, my friend," answered Jean, with a smile, "always provided the
+world agreed not to drop thousand-pound melinite shells on one from
+Mont Valérien or Montmartre, or from some other place."
+
+"Yes, yes, yes,--you are right, my boy," admitted the other. "En
+avant!"
+
+This man had the voice of a Stentor. He was also a Hercules of
+strength. Here and there the narrow street seemed blocked with
+vehicles; but when he did not terrorize the drivers into immediate
+flight at the sound of his voice and the sight of his club he would
+calmly lift the encumbrance and set it to one side.
+
+"En avant!" he would then roar.
+
+Where possible, however, all vehicles promptly fled the street save
+the omnibuses. From the imperiale of one of these came the cry,--
+
+"Vive la république!"
+
+"Vive l'armée!" yelled the mob.
+
+"Vive la république!" came the response.
+
+A dash was made for the omnibus. While four or five men held the
+horses a dozen or more clambered over the wheels and up the narrow
+steps behind. There were sixteen persons on top, seven of whom were
+women. The latter shrieked. Two fainted away. The assailants sprang
+upon the men and demanded the one who had dared to consider the health
+of the republic without the army. No one could or would point him out.
+On the apparently well established French principle that it is better
+that ten innocent should suffer punishment rather than that one guilty
+person should escape the patriotic young men assaulted everybody. A
+white-haired old man who protested was slapped in the face, another
+man was quieted by a brutal kick in the abdomen that doubled him up,
+a couple of foreigners who could neither understand the language nor
+comprehend what it was all about were roughly handled, a half-grown
+boy was cuffed,--everybody but the driver came in for blows and
+insults; and this driver of the omnibus was in all probability the
+real villain.
+
+"En avant!"
+
+This lesson was administered en route, and without stopping the main
+body of manifestants pressed on into the grand boulevard, to be
+swallowed up in the resistless human current that now flowed down upon
+the Place de l'Opéra.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+A formidable proportion of the grand concourse which filled the
+fashionable boulevards from curb to curb this beautiful Sunday
+afternoon was composed of the so-called "boulevardiers," "flâneurs,"
+and "badauds," who invariably appear on occasion offering excitement.
+For the Parisian world loves to be amused, and to have the pulse
+quickened by riot and bloodshed is to very many the highest form of
+amusement. It is better than a bull-fight.
+
+To most of this very large class of Parisians it is immaterial what
+form of government they live under, provided that in some way or
+another it furnish plenty of excitement. No other country in the
+civilized world, unless Spain is to be included under this head,
+produces this peculiar class, the unseen influence of which seems to
+have escaped the brilliant French writers who have recorded the
+turbulent history of France.
+
+The cardinal characteristic of the French individually and as a people
+is love of and admiration for theatrical display. This finds such
+ample illustration in all of their known domestic as well as
+international affairs that even the mere statement seems unnecessary.
+It permeates every social rank, and it enters into the performance of
+the simplest private as well as public duties. In higher governmental
+affairs it was accurately represented by the late President of the
+republic, Felix Faure, who went among his countrymen in a coach and
+four preceded by trumpeters and accompanied by a regiment of
+cuirassiers, and who required of his entourage all of the formalities
+of royalty. The hundreds of thousands who enjoyed his kingly funeral
+would have been equally entertained by a public execution.
+
+In the French nature, as has been said, is implanted a keen zest for
+excitement. The Frenchman is ravenous for the theatrical situation,--a
+perfect gormandizer of the dramatic event. Whatever or whoever lacks
+this gilded framework is neither remembered nor noted. The supply
+invariably follows the demand; without spectators there would be no
+spectacle,--just as there is no sound where there are no ears.
+
+Any Frenchman, therefore, who has any theatrical novelty to offer,
+whether as a political mountebank, or a bogus hero, or a peculiarly
+atrocious crime, is sure of a large audience. For there is a wide
+range of appreciation in that mercurial nature which, according to
+Voltaire, is half monkey and half tiger.
+
+The evident pleasure with which vast Parisian crowds view riots and
+revolution and the various phases of alternate anarchy and absolutism
+may be easily and naturally accepted by the actors in these living
+dramas as tacit if not positive approval. The professional patriot
+does not perform to empty seats, and the few hundred hired assassins
+of the public peace and private liberty would be out of a job but for
+the hundred thousand passive and more or less amused spectators who
+scramble for the best places to witness and make merry over the show.
+
+That this curious crowd is greatly swelled by what in other lands is
+recognized as the gentler or softer sex increases its responsibility.
+The civilization which has produced so many women of the heroic type,
+so many of the nobler masculine brain and hand, has also generated a
+vast brood which poisons the germs of human life and hands down
+bigotry, intolerance, revengefulness, cruelty, and love of turbulence
+and bloodshed from generation to generation.
+
+Of the performers before this audience Jean Marot and his stalwart
+companion found themselves particularly observed from their début. The
+red turban was conspicuous enough, and gave a theatrical aspect to the
+man who wore it. There was that in his ensemble which recalled the
+great Revolution and the scarcely less sanguinary conflicts of '71. By
+his side and contrasting strangely with the coarse brute features of
+this muscular humanity was the finely chiselled face of the student
+under the rough cap of the workman. A picturesque pair, they were
+greeted on all sides with all sorts of cries and comments:
+
+"That red cap is very appropriate."
+
+"It is the head-dress of the barricades."
+
+"Sure!"
+
+"Of la Villette, hein?"
+
+"The man is mad!"
+
+"Ah! look at that!"
+
+"There goes a good rascal."
+
+"A young man and his father perhaps."
+
+"No!"
+
+"Long live the students!"
+
+"En avant!" roared the man in the red turban.
+
+"Vive l'anarchie!" shouted an individual on the curb whose eyes were
+glazed from absinthe.
+
+The crowd laughed. Some applauded,--not so much the sentiment as the
+drunken wit. The people were being entertained.
+
+"We certainly have the street this day," observed Jean to his
+companion.
+
+"Right you are, my boy!"
+
+Both noted the squadron of cuirassiers drawn up in front of the Opéra,
+the police agents massed on either side, and the regiment of the line
+under arms in the Rue 4 Septembre close at hand. In the middle
+distance a squadron of the Garde de Paris came leisurely up the Avenue
+de l'Opéra.
+
+"You see, my friend," said Jean, smiling, "the government is looking
+sharply after its strategic position."
+
+"Vive l'armée!"
+
+The man in the red turban swung his bâton, and his resounding cry was
+caught up by the manifestants. It was the voice of flattery and
+conciliation extended to the army, through which the royalist party
+hoped to win a throne.
+
+But they were not alone there. From several quarters came sharp
+rejoinders of "Vive la justice!" "Vive la république!" "Vive la
+France!"
+
+While these cries seemed harmless if not proper, they were judged
+seditious by the police, who made a dash for those who uttered them.
+In another instant the man with the red turban would have saved the
+agents the trouble of arresting the nearest person had not Jean
+grasped the bâton. The brute face had taken on a flush of red
+ferocity. His blow restrained, the man spat in the face of his
+intended victim and strode on.
+
+"Not yet, my friend!" exclaimed the student leader. "What! precipitate
+a fight here! Madness! We should be ridden down within three minutes!
+The government will be sure to protect the Opéra."
+
+"Yes; you are always right, mon enfant," growled the man.
+
+Meanwhile, the unfortunate Parisian who wanted "justice" got it; being
+dragged off by two police agents, who took turns in kicking and
+cuffing their prisoner on the way to the dépôt. There he was charged
+with uttering seditious cries calculated to lead to a breach of the
+peace.
+
+Gathering confidence from immunity, however, the manifestants soon
+ceased to observe this respect for public opinion. In Boulevard
+Haussmann they got out from the eye of the military. They began to
+hustle those who happened to get in their way. Those who were not
+sufficiently explicit in their views were compelled to cry "Vive
+l'armée;" whoever refused was promptly knocked on the head.
+
+"Monsieur Front de Boeuf," said Jean Marot to his companion, who had
+narrowly missed spattering the young leader with the brains of a
+misguided Dreyfusarde, "if you will strike less heavily you will
+longer remain with us, and possibly for a time escape the guillotine.
+Let us do no murder, mon ami. Your stick is heavy."
+
+"That's so; but it is a lovely stick all the same," replied the man,
+with a satisfied air, as he wiped the blood from his hands upon his
+blouse.
+
+Then for the first time Jean noticed that this blouse bore many old
+stains of the same sanguinary color. Undoubtedly it was blood. Human?
+Faugh!
+
+Jean saw around him other men of the same type, red-faced and
+strong-limbed, mentally as well as physically saturated with the
+brutality of their calling. He thought of Mlle. Fouchette. It was
+true, then, that these human brutes from the abattoirs were here. That
+other type, the "camelot,"--he of the callous, cadaverous face, thinly
+clad body, cunning eyes, husky lungs,--was more familiar.
+
+But these butchers of La Villette, why were they royalists? What
+special interest had the killers of cattle in the restoration of the
+monarchy? They had emphasized their devotion to the Duc d'Orléans by
+re-electing his parliamentary leader, the Comte de Sabran, by an
+overwhelming vote. From the rich and influential wholesaler to the low
+hind whose twelve hours a day were passed in knocking bullocks on the
+head or in slitting throats with precision the butchers stood three to
+one for the royal régime. Men may be hired for certain services, but
+in such a case as this there must exist some natural sentiment at
+bottom. This sentiment was perhaps only the common French intolerance
+of existing things.
+
+Jean Marot's train of thought had not reached that far, owing to fresh
+differences of opinion between some of his followers and the
+spectators, in which it became necessary for a dozen men to kick one
+helpless fellow-man into insensibility.
+
+They were now nearing the proposed place of meeting, and the hitherto
+scattered cries of "Vive la justice!" "Vive la liberté!" "Vive la
+France!" and "Vive la république!" had developed into well-defined
+opposition. Personal collisions, blows, objurgations, came thicker and
+faster.
+
+Finally, from the "terrasse" of a fashionable café in the Boulevard
+Malesherbes came very decided expressions of dissent. They were
+followed by a general assault on the place. Not less than thirty of
+the usual respectable Sunday afternoon "consommateurs" occupied the
+chairs, and, though not more than half a dozen of these could have
+offended, the mob came down upon them like a living avalanche,
+throwing the entire Sunday party of both sexes promiscuously among the
+débris of tables, chairs, glasses, and drinks.
+
+The women shrieked, the men cursed loudly, and everybody struggled in
+the general wreck. While the male portion were kicked and stamped
+where they lay, the feminine part of the café crowd fought tooth and
+nail to escape in any direction.
+
+There were three dissatisfied beings, however, who objected to this
+summary treatment, and who, having regained a footing, courageously
+defended themselves with the nearest weapons at hand. These were empty
+beer-glasses, which, being fraudulently double thick at the bottom,
+were admirably designed for that particular use. But when three
+beer-glasses conflict with twenty loaded canes the former, however
+valiantly wielded, must succumb to the rule of the majority. Among the
+latter, too, was the particularly heavy stick of the patriot from the
+abattoirs of La Villette. He had received a blow from a glass that
+laid his cheek open and had jumped upon his assailant.
+
+"Death!" he roared.
+
+The man sank without a groan amid the broken glass, beer, and blood.
+The savage aimed a terrific blow of the boot at the upturned face,
+but was jostled out of his aim. Again, and with the snarl of a wild
+beast; but a woman had thrown herself across the prostrate figure and
+encircled the still form with her protecting arm. The butcher would
+have planted his iron-shod heel upon her, but at this critical
+juncture another woman--a slender, pale, weak-looking thing whose
+blonde hair fell loosely over her rouged cheeks--flew at him with a
+scream half human, half feline,--such as chills the blood in the
+midnight of the forest. With one hand she tore out great bunches of
+beard by the roots, with the other she left red furrows on his face
+like the paths of a garden-rake. Quick as lightning-flashes, again and
+again, and with each successive stroke of her claws came the low,
+hysterical whine of the wild beast.
+
+It was Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+Her catlike jaws were distended and quivering,--the white teeth
+glistened,--the eyes of steel seemed to emit sparks of fire,--the
+small, lithe body swayed and undulated like that of an angry puma.
+
+"Yes!--so!--death!--yes!--death!--you!--beast!--you devil!"
+
+With each energetic word went a wild sweep of the claws or came a wisp
+of beard.
+
+The man bellowed with pain. The unexpected fury of her onslaught, the
+general mêlée of close quarters, the instinct of protection,
+contributed to prevent the man from simply braining her with his
+"casse-tête." He was a lion against a hornet, powerless to punish his
+puny assailant. As he finally broke away, she suddenly whirled and
+delivered beneath the arm that shielded his eyes a kick that half
+choked him with his own teeth.
+
+Blinded with blood and howling with pain, the wretch plunged headlong
+through the café front amid a crash of falling glass.
+
+In the mean time, while this little curtain-raiser had been getting
+under way, there was still another and more important drama in active
+preparation.
+
+The police, as if to lend such material aid to the royalist cause as
+lay in their power, and to assist in the punishment of those misguided
+Frenchmen who took the words "Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité," inscribed
+over the doors of the public hall, in a too literal sense, had
+violently closed those doors against the latter and by cunningly
+arranged barriers driven the unsuspecting Dreyfusardes down upon their
+armed enemies. It was a most admirably arranged plot to destroy the
+public peace, and reflected credit upon the clerico-royalist-military
+council that had planned it.
+
+Before the indignant republicans had begun to realize the character of
+the trap set for them they found themselves hemmed in on three sides
+by the police and attacked by the combination of hostile forces on the
+other side.
+
+The latter had been quietly assembled in the vicinity in anticipation
+of this dénouement. They were led by Senators and Deputies wearing the
+official scarf of their high legislative function. This at once
+afforded the latter reasonable immunity from arrest, and served to
+encourage and assure those accustomed to look for some shadow of
+authority to conceal or excuse the evil of their deeds.
+
+The French Senator or Deputy who leads street rioters against a
+peaceable assemblage of his fellow-citizens one day and serenely sits
+in national legislative deliberation the next day is the faithful
+representative of a constituency as far removed from the American type
+of citizenship as the French legislator is from our national
+legislator.
+
+With shouts of "Vive l'armée!" "À bas les vendus!" "Vive France aux
+Français!" "À bas les Juifs!" the waiting combination, or
+"nationalistes," fell upon their victims with fist, heel, and club.
+This was not as a body, the assailants being cleverly scattered
+everywhere through the crowd, and assaulting individually and
+supporting each other where resistance was encountered. As many were
+mere spectators, they were compelled to declare themselves or come in
+for a share of the drubbing, though this opportunity for escape was
+not always offered or accepted.
+
+The pure love of fighting is strong in the French as in the Irish
+breast, and once roused the Frenchman is not too particular whose head
+comes beneath his bâton.
+
+It naturally happened, therefore, that on this occasion the innocent
+curious of all opinions received impartial treatment, often without
+knowing to which side they were indebted for their thumping. Every man
+thus assaulted at once became a rioter and began the work on his own
+particular account. Within a brief period not less than a hundred
+personal combats were going on at the same moment. As far as the eye
+could reach the broad boulevard was a surging sea of scuffling
+humanity, above which rose a cloud of dust and a continuous roar of
+angry voices. To the distant ear this was as one voice,--that of
+terrible imprecation.
+
+Having thus ingeniously united the conflicting currents in one
+tempest, the police precipitated themselves on the whole.
+
+Had any additional element been required to bring things to the
+highest stage of combativeness this would have answered quite well. As
+interference in family affairs almost invariably brings the wrath of
+both parties down on the peacemaker, so now the police began to
+receive their share of the public attention.
+
+The Parisian population have not that docile disposition and
+submissive respect for authority characteristic of our Americans. The
+absence of the night-stick and ready revolver must be supplied by
+overwhelming physical force. Even escaping criminals cannot be shot
+down in France with impunity.
+
+Though deprived of both clubs and sabres and not trusted with
+revolvers, these police agents make good use of hands and feet. Not
+being bound by the rules of the ring, their favorite blow is the blow
+below the belt. It is viciously administered by both foot and knee.
+Next to that is the kick on the shins, which, delivered by a heavy,
+iron-shod cowhide boot, is pretty apt to render the recipient hors de
+combat. Supplemented by a quick fist and directed by a quicker temper,
+the French police agent is no mean antagonist in a general row. In
+brutality and impulsive cruelty he is but the flesh and blood of
+those with whom he has mostly to deal.
+
+The battle now raged with increasing violence, the combatants being
+slowly driven down upon the approaching manifestants from the Quartier
+Latin, Montmartre, and La Villette. It had become everybody's fight,
+the original Dreyfusardes having been largely eliminated by
+nationaliste clubs and police arrests. The ambulances and cellular
+vans, playfully termed "salad-baskets," thoughtfully stationed in the
+side streets, were being rapidly filled, and as fast as filled were
+driven to hospital and prison respectively.
+
+The reverberating roar of human voices beat against the tall
+buildings, rising and falling in frightful diapason, as if it were the
+echo from a thousand savage creatures of the jungle clashing their
+fangs in deadly combat.
+
+Jean Marot and his immediate followers had scarcely turned from the
+scene at the café before they were swallowed up in the vortex that now
+met them. Indeed, Jean had not witnessed either the horrible brutality
+of the butcher or his punishment. The cries of "Les agents! à bas les
+agents!" had suddenly carried him elsewhere on the field of battle. He
+found himself, fired by the fever of conflict, in the middle of the
+broad street so closely surrounded by friends and foes that sticks
+were encumbrances. A short arm blow only was now and then effective. A
+dozen police agents were underfoot somewhere, being pitilessly stamped
+and trampled by the frantic mob. The platoon that had charged was
+wiped out as a platoon. Those who were hemmed in fought like demons.
+Men throttled each other and swayed back and forth and yelled
+imprecations and fell in struggling masses and got upon their feet
+again and twisted and squirmed and panted, like so many monsters, half
+serpent and half beast, seeking to bury their fangs in some vital part
+or tear each other limb from limb.
+
+Suddenly Jean saw rise before him a face that drove everything else
+from his mind. It was that of one who saw him at the same instant. And
+when these bloodshot eyes of passion met a fierce yell of wrath burst
+from the two men.
+
+It was Henri Lerouge.
+
+He was hatless and his clothes were in shreds and covered with the
+grime of the street. His hair was matted with coagulated blood,--his
+lips were swollen hideously. A police agent in about the same
+condition held him by the throat.
+
+When Henri Lerouge saw Jean Marot he seemed imbued with the strength
+of a giant and the agility of a cat. He shook off the grip of the
+agent as if it were that of a child and at a bound cleared the
+struggling group that separated him from his former friend.
+
+They grappled without a word and without a blow, and, linked in the
+embrace of mortal hatred, rolled together in the dust.
+
+The cruel human waves broke over them and rolled on and receded, and
+went and came again, and eddied and seethed and roared above them.
+
+These two rose no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+When the police, supported by the Garde de Paris, had finally swept
+the boulevard clear of the mob, they found among the human débris two
+men locked in each other's grasp, insensible. The imprint on two
+throats showed with what desperate ferocity they had clung to each
+other. Indeed, their hands were scarcely yet relaxed from exhaustion.
+Their faces were black and their tongues protruded.
+
+In the nearest pharmacy, where ambulances were being awaited by a
+dozen others, Jean Marot quickly revived under treatment. The case of
+Henri Lerouge, however, was more serious. He had received a severe cut
+in the head early in the row and the young surgeon in charge feared
+internal injuries. Artificial means were required to induce
+respiration. This was restored slowly and laboriously. At the first
+sign of life he murmured,--
+
+"Andrée! Sister! Ah! my poor little sister!"
+
+Jean roused himself. The sounds of voices and wheels came to him
+indistinctly. Everything merged in these words,--
+
+"Andrée! Sister!"
+
+Then again all was blank.
+
+When he revived he was first of all conscious of a gentle feminine
+touch,--that subtle something which cools the fevered veins and
+softens the pangs of suffering, mind and body.
+
+He felt it rather as if it were a dream, and kept his eyes closed for
+fear the dream would vanish. The hand softly bathed his head, which
+consciously lay in a woman's lap. He remembered but one hand--his
+mother's--that had soothed him thus, and the sweet souvenir provoked a
+deep sigh.
+
+"Ah! mon Dieu!" murmured the voice of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"L'hôpital ou dépôt?" inquired the nearest agent.
+
+"Dépôt," said the sous-brigadier.
+
+"Oh! no! no!" exclaimed the girl, indignantly. "See, messieurs; he is
+wounded and weak, and----"
+
+"One moment!"
+
+A young surgeon knelt and applied his ear to the heaving breast, while
+the police agents whispered among each other.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette caught the words, "It is La Savatière," and smiled
+faintly, but was at once recalled to the situation by a pair of open
+eyes through which Jean Marot regarded her intently.
+
+"So! It--it is only Mademoiselle Fouchette. I----"
+
+He saw the cloud that rose upon her face and heard the gentle humility
+of her reply,--
+
+"Yes, monsieur, it is only Fouchette. How do you find yourself,
+Monsieur Jean?"
+
+She put a flask of brandy to his lips and saw him swallow a mouthful
+mechanically. Suddenly he raised himself to a sitting posture and
+looked anxiously about.
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"Who? Where is who, monsieur?"
+
+"Lerouge. Why, he was here but now. Where is he?"
+
+"Lerouge! That wretch!" cried the girl, with passion. "I could
+strangle him!"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no!" he interposed. "It is a mistake. His sister,
+Fouchette----"
+
+His glance was more than she could bear. She would have drawn him back
+to her as a mother protects a sick child, only a rough hand
+interposed.
+
+"See! he raves, messieurs."
+
+"Let him rave some more," said the sous-brigadier. "This is our
+affair. So it was Monsieur Lerouge, was it? Very good! Henri Lerouge,
+medical student, Quartier Latin, anarchist, turbulent fellow,
+rascal,--well cracked this time!"
+
+Jean looked from the girl to the man and laid himself back in her arms
+without a word.
+
+"Make a note," continued the police official,--"bad characters, both.
+This man goes to dépôt!"
+
+"For shame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"And hear this!" added the sous-brigadier in an angry voice,--"if this
+grisette of Rue St. Jacques gives you any of her guff run her in!"
+
+"But--no, monsieur, that you will not! My business is here,--my
+authority above your authority,--and here I will remain!"
+
+"Show it!" demanded the official.
+
+She regarded him wrathfully.
+
+"Very well, mademoiselle," said he, choking back his anger. "I know my
+duty and will not be interfered with by----"
+
+"Gare à vous!" she interrupted, threateningly.
+
+"Don't!" whispered Jean. "It is nothing. But tell me quickly,--has
+Lerouge gone to prison?"
+
+"Hôtel Dieu," she replied.
+
+"Good! Go to his place, 7 Rue Dareau, you know,--tell
+her,--Mademoiselle Remy,--his sister, Fouchette----"
+
+She bent lower over his head, hiding her face from his sight.
+
+"Ah! what a fool I have been, Fouchette! Tell her gently--that he is
+injured--slightly, mind--and where he is. That's a good girl,
+Fouchette,--good girl that you are!"
+
+He could not see her face for the hair that fell over the bowed
+head,--the living picture of the repentant Magdalen. But he felt her
+warm breath upon his cheek, and, was it a tear that splashed hotly on
+his neck?
+
+But she merely pressed his hand for a reply and, disengaging her
+dress, darted from the place.
+
+Threading her way rapidly among the arriving and departing vans and
+ambulances, the scattered remnants of the mob and the swarms of
+shifting police agents, Mlle. Fouchette finally reached a street open
+to traffic.
+
+It was only at rare intervals that she indulged herself in a cab. This
+was one of the times. Hailing the first-comer, she jumped in and
+called out to the fat cabby, "Place Monge."
+
+He drove thoughtfully as far as the next corner and then inquired over
+his shoulder where Place Monge was. She stood up behind him and fairly
+screamed in his ear,--
+
+"Square Monge, espèce de melon! Quartier Latin!"
+
+The bony horse started up at the sound of her voice as from the lash.
+Evidently, Mlle. Fouchette was not in good temper. She had no relish
+for the work of good-will cut out for her. She was disgusted at the
+weakness of man. If she had been driver at that moment she would have
+run down a few of them en route. Still, her cocher did his best.
+
+At Place du Parvis Notre Dame she called out to him to stop. Getting
+out, she bade him wait near by, and started down along the quai in
+front of the Préfecture de Police. The man seemed suspicious and kept
+a sharp eye on his fare. Just as he was about to follow the girl he
+saw her start back, as if she had changed her mind.
+
+She began to walk very rapidly towards him, looking neither to the
+right nor to the left. A man in a soft hat who had just left the
+Préfecture crossed the street in the opposite direction and, curiously
+enough, though there was an empty desert of space in the vicinity, the
+two jostled each other almost rudely and exchanged angry words.
+
+After which the girl retook her place in the fiacre and said "Allons!"
+in a subdued tone that strongly contrasted with her former acerbity.
+
+"Sure!" said the cabby to himself,--"she's drunk." And he looked
+forward to the near future rather gloomily.
+
+His suspicion seemed more than justified when she again said Place
+Monge instead of Square Monge, the former being nearly half a mile
+farther. He almost collapsed when she finally got down and not only
+handed him the legal fare without dispute but double the usual
+pourboire.
+
+"Toujours de même ces femmes-là!" he growled, philosophically. Which
+meant that women were pretty much alike,--you never could tell what
+one of them would do.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, quite indifferent at any time to the private judgment
+of the cab-driving world, now silently and swiftly pursued the uneven
+tenor of her thoughts, not yet manifest. She hurried along the sombre
+walls of the giant caserne de la garde on the Rue Ortolan, plunged
+across the crowded Rue Mouffetard, and entered the picturesque little
+wine-shop on the corner.
+
+It was a low, grim, two-story affair in time-worn stone, the door and
+windows heavily grilled in the elaborate and artistic wrought-iron
+work of the middle ages. A heavy oaken door supplemented the big
+barred gate and added to the ancient prison-like appearance of the
+place. Against the grilles of the Rue Mouffetard hung specimens of the
+filthy illustrated Paris papers, either the pictures or text of which
+would debar them from any respectable English-speaking community. Over
+the door opening into the Rue du Pot de Fer and below a lamp of that
+exquisite iron-work which is now one of the lost arts was displayed a
+small bush, intimating that, in spite of the strong improbability,
+good wine was to be had inside.
+
+While a casual glance showed that the rooms above could not be high
+enough of ceiling for an ordinary individual to stand upright, the
+flowers in the little square recessed and grilled windows showed that
+this upper portion was inhabited. It was connected with the wine-shop
+below by a narrow and very much worn stone staircase, which ascended
+"à tire-bouchon," or corkscrew fashion, like the steep steps of a
+light-house.
+
+As to the general reputation of the neighborhood, Mlle. Fouchette knew
+it to be "assez mauvaise,"--tolerably bad,--though it was not this
+knowledge that induced her to complete her journey on foot.
+
+Her entrance caused a subdued but perceptible flutter among the
+occupants of the resort. These were, at the moment, four
+respectable-looking men in blouses, an old gentleman in the last stage
+of genteel rustiness, and a couple of camelots in the second stage of
+drunkenness,--that of undying friendship. The four, who appeared to be
+worthy tradesmen of the neighborhood, occupied a far table in the
+small and time-begrimed room, where they played at cards for small
+stakes; the rusty old gentleman sat alone with a half-emptied
+beer-glass and an evening newspaper before him; the street-hawkers
+were standing at the zinc, which in Paris represents our American bar,
+discussing the events of the day in the hoarse-lunged, insolent tone
+of their class.
+
+Presiding over the establishment was--yes, it was Madame Podvin.
+Somewhat stouter, redder of face, more piggy of eye, with more decided
+whiskers, but still Madame Podvin.
+
+She busied herself behind the zinc washing glasses, occasionally
+glancing at the men in the corner, smiling upon the inebriated
+camelots, and now and then casting a suspicious eye upon the quiet old
+gentleman behind his beer.
+
+Madame Podvin had retired from the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers upon the
+retirement of Monsieur Podvin from public life by the State, and had
+found this congenial city resort vacant by reason of death,--the
+proprietor having been stabbed by one of his friendly customers over
+the question of pay for a drink of four sous.
+
+Upon the entrance of Mlle. Fouchette Madame Podvin tapped the zinc
+sharply with the glass as if to knock something out of it, then
+greeted the new-comer effusively.
+
+The four men hastily gathered up their stakes and began talking about
+the weather; the subdued camelots sipped their absinthe in silence;
+the old gentleman fell to reading his paper with renewed interest.
+
+"Bonjour, madame," said Mlle. Fouchette, smilingly ignoring the
+private signal, though inwardly vexed.
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette! Ah! how charming of you!" exclaimed Madame
+Podvin, hastily wiping her hands and coming around the open end of the
+bar to embrace her visitor.
+
+Beneath the most elaborate politeness the Parisian conceals the
+bitterest hatred. French politeness is mostly superficial at best,--it
+often scarcely hides a cynicism that stings without words, a satire
+that bites to the verge of insult. The more Frenchwomen dislike each
+other the more formal and overpowering their compliments--if they do
+not come to blows.
+
+"Thank you very much, madame," Mlle. Fouchette replied, as Madame
+Podvin kissed her cheeks. "Ah! you are always so gay and delightful,
+madame!"
+
+"And how lovely you have grown to be!" exclaimed the Podvin, with a
+good show of enthusiasm, holding the girl off at arm's length for
+inspection. "It seems impossible that you should have come out of a
+rag-heap! And your sweet disposition----"
+
+Madame Podvin elevated her hands in sheer despair of being able to
+describe it.
+
+"It must go well with you, madame, you are always so amiable and
+cheerful," retorted Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"But you are more lovely every day you grow older," said Madame
+Podvin.
+
+"Ah! Madame does not grow older!"
+
+"Fouchette, chérie, I'm sure you must belong to a good family, you are
+so naturally winning and well-bred. The clothes you had on when I
+found you----"
+
+"Madame?"
+
+"I gave them away--for twenty--yes, it was twenty francs--they were
+not worth as many sous--to a gentleman----"
+
+Madame Podvin stopped at the sight of Mlle. Fouchette's face; but,
+uncertain whether the subject pained, interested, or irritated the
+latter, she continued,----
+
+"It was shortly after you left. He was very curious,--one of these
+government spies, you know, Fouchette----"
+
+"Madame, I would see Mademoiselle Madeleine," interrupted the other.
+
+Madame Podvin frowned.
+
+"Not sick, I hope," added Fouchette.
+
+"Oh! no; only----"
+
+"Drinking?"
+
+"Like a fish!"
+
+"Poor Madeleine!"
+
+"She's a beast!" cried Madame Podvin.
+
+Madame Podvin sold vile liquor but despised the fools who drank it,
+and in this she was not singular.
+
+"Is she----" Mlle. Fouchette raised her eyes heavenward inquiringly.
+
+"No,--she's in the street. Ever since she got out of the hospital she
+has been going from bad to worse every day. And she owes me two weeks'
+lodging. If she doesn't pay up soon I'll----"
+
+Whatever the Podvin intended to do with Madeleine she left it unsaid,
+for the latter stood in the doorway.
+
+Great, indeed, was the change which had come over this unfortunate
+girl. Stout to repulsiveness, shabby of attire, fiery of face,
+unsteady of pose, with one bright beautiful eye burning with the
+supernatural fire of absinthe, the other sealed in internal darkness.
+
+"Oh! Madeleine----" began Mlle. Fouchette, painfully impressed and
+hesitating.
+
+"What! No! Fouchette? Mon ange!"
+
+The drunken woman staggered forward to embrace her friend.
+
+"Why, Madeleine----"
+
+"Hold! And first tell me your bad news. You know you always bring me
+bad news, deary. You hunt me up when you have bad news. Come, now!"
+
+"Là, là, là, là!" trilled Mlle. Fouchette, passing her arm around the
+other's thick waist to gain time.
+
+"Come! mon ange,--we'll have a drink anyhow. Mère! some absinthe,--we
+have thirst."
+
+"No, no; not now, Madeleine."
+
+"Not a drop here!" said Madame Podvin, seeing that Mlle. Fouchette was
+not disposed to pay.
+
+"Not now," interposed the latter,--"a little later. I want a word or
+two with you, Madeleine, first. Just two minutes!"
+
+The one brilliant orb regarded the girl intently, as if it would dive
+into her soul; but the habitual good-nature yielded.
+
+"Very well. Come then, chérie,--à l'impériale!"
+
+And, indeed, the narrow, spiral stair more closely resembled that
+which leads to the impériale of the Paris omnibus than anything found
+in the modern house.
+
+The space above was divided in four, the first part being the small
+antechamber, dimly lighted from the roof, which they now entered.
+Through a door to the right they were in a room one-third of which was
+already occupied by an iron camp-bed. The rest of the furniture
+consisted of a little iron washstand, a chair, and some sort of a box
+covered with very much soiled chintz that was once pretty. Above this
+latter article of furniture was a small shelf, on which were
+coquettishly arranged a folding mirror and other cheap articles of
+toilet. A few fans of the cheap Japanesque variety were pinned here
+and there in painful regularity. A cheap holiday skirt and other
+feminine belongings hung on the wall over the cot. In the small,
+square, recessed window opening on Rue Mouffetard were pots of
+flowering plants that gave an air of refinement and comfort to a place
+otherwise cheerless and miserable.
+
+And over all of this poverty and wretchedness hung a blackened ceiling
+so low that the feather of Mlle. Fouchette swept it,--so low and dark
+and heavy and lugubrious that it seemed to threaten momentarily to
+crush out what little human life and happiness remained there.
+
+Madeleine silently motioned her visitor to the chair and threw
+herself on the creaking bed. She waited, suspiciously.
+
+"The riots, you know, Madeleine," began Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Dame! There is always rioting. One hears, but one doesn't mind."
+
+"Unless one has friends, Madeleine----"
+
+The maimed and half-drunken woman tried to straighten up.
+
+"Well? Out with it, Fouchette. If one has friends in the row----"
+
+"Why, then we feel an interest in our friends, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+"It is about Lerouge!"
+
+"Yes, Madeleine, I want----"
+
+"Is he hurt?"
+
+"Yes,--badly,--and is at the Hôtel Dieu. I want his address. He has
+moved from 7 Rue Dareau since the police--since----"
+
+"You want his address for the police," said the girl.
+
+"Oh! no! no! not for that, dear!"
+
+"Not for that; then what for? Tell me why you want it."
+
+This was exactly what Mlle. Fouchette evidently did not desire to do.
+Madeleine saw it, and added firmly,--
+
+"Tell me first, then--well, then I'll see."
+
+"I will, then," rejoined the other, savagely.
+
+"Speak!"
+
+"I wish to notify his sister."
+
+Madeleine looked at the speaker fixedly, as if still waiting for her
+to begin; stupidly, for her poor muddled brain refused to comprehend.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette continued,--
+
+"I say I wish to go to his place," she said, with great deliberation,
+"and notify his sister that her brother is injured and is lying at
+Hôtel Dieu. I promised. It is important. Believing you knew the
+address I have come to you. You will help me, for his sister's
+sake,--for his sake, Madeleine? You know his sister lives with
+him----"
+
+"You--you said his sister----"
+
+But the voice choked. The words came huskily, like a death-rattle in
+her throat.
+
+"Yes, sister," began again Mlle. Fouchette. But she was almost afraid
+now. The aspect of her listener's face was enough to touch even a
+harder heart than possessed this not too tender bearer of ill news.
+
+However, Madeleine would have heard nothing more. She gazed vacantly
+at the opposite wall, a knee between her hands, and swaying slightly
+to and fro. Her face, bloated with drink, had become almost pale, and
+was the picture of long-settled grief. It was as if she were in fresh
+mourning for the long ago.
+
+Presently a solitary tear from the unseen and unseeing eye stole out
+of its dark retreat and rolled slowly and reluctantly down upon the
+cheek and stopped and dried there.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette saw it as the weather observer sees the moisture on
+the glass and speculated on the character of the coming storm.
+
+She was disappointed. For instead of an explosion Madeleine suddenly
+rose and began fumbling among the garments on the wall without a word.
+She selected the best from her humble wardrobe and laid the pieces
+out one by one on the bed, then began rapidly to divest herself of
+what she wore.
+
+When interrogated by the wondering Fouchette she never replied.
+Indeed, she no longer appeared to notice that her visitor was there.
+She bathed her face, and washed her hands, and scrubbed her white
+teeth, and carefully rearranged her hair. All of this with a calmness
+and precision of a perfectly sober woman,--as she now undoubtedly was.
+She then resumed her hat.
+
+"How!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, noting this quiet preparation with
+growing astonishment,--"not going out?"
+
+"Yes," replied the girl.
+
+"But, dear, you have not yet given me the address."
+
+"It is unnecessary."
+
+"But, Madeleine!"
+
+"It is unnecessary, Fouchette. I will go and see his--his sister and
+lead her to him."
+
+"But, deary!"
+
+"And I will go alone," she added, looking at the other for the first
+time.
+
+Unmindful of the wheedling voice of remonstrance, without another
+word, and leaving her door wide open and Mlle. Fouchette to follow or
+not at her pleasure, the miserable girl gained the street and swiftly
+sped away through the falling shadows of the night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Jean Marot occupied a cell in a "panier à salade" en route for the
+dépôt, not so much the worse for his recent exciting experience as at
+first seemed probable he might be.
+
+There were eight other occupants of the prison-van besides himself,
+one of whom was a soldier guard. Five narrow cells ranged along either
+side of a central aisle. Each had a solitary small, closely shuttered
+breathing-hole opening outside. The guard occupied a seat in the aisle
+near the rear door, from which he could survey the door of every cell.
+By this arrangement prisoners were kept separate from each other, were
+not subjected to a gaping crowd, and ten persons could be safely
+escorted by a single guard.
+
+From the half-suppressed murmurs and objurgations that followed every
+severe jolt of the wagon, Jean rightly judged that most of the
+prisoners were more or less injured. And as the driver drove
+furiously, having the fight of way and being pressed with business
+this particular Sunday afternoon, there were still louder and more
+exhaustive remarks from those who narrowly escaped being run over by
+the cellular van.
+
+Jean Marot, however, was too much engrossed with his own miserable
+reflections to pay any more than mechanical attention to all of this.
+Physically resuscitated and momentarily inflating his glad lungs anew,
+he still felt that terrible vice-like grip upon his throat,--the
+compression of the fingers of steel that seemed to squeeze the last
+drop of blood from his heart.
+
+But it was mental suffocation now. For they were the fingers of her
+brother,--the flesh and sinew of the woman he loved! And it was this
+love that was being cruelly crushed and strangled.
+
+It was more terrible than the late physical struggle. The latter had
+invoked the energy, the courage, and the superhuman strength and
+endurance to meet it,--had roused the fire of conscious manhood. Now
+the sick soul revolted at its own folly. The props of self-respect had
+been knocked away, and he lay prone, humiliated, deprived of the
+initial courage to rise and hope.
+
+The chief cause of this self-degradation lay in the fact that he had
+grievously wronged the only one in the world he had found worth
+loving,--the one sweet being for whom he would have willingly
+sacrificed life. The fact that this wrong was by and in thought alone
+did not lessen the horrible injustice of it.
+
+The more Jean thought of these things the more sick at heart he was,
+the more hopeless his love became, the more desperately dark the
+future appeared. There seemed to be nothing left but misery and death.
+
+This train of bitterness was interrupted by a violent wrangle between
+the occupants of neighboring cells. A prisoner across the way had
+shouted "Vive l'armée!" Another responded by the gay chanson,--
+
+    "Entre nous, l'armée du salut,
+    Elle n'a jamais eu d'autre but
+    Que d'amasser d' la bonne galette."
+
+It came from his next-door neighbor, and was the familiar voice of the
+saturnine George Villeroy.
+
+"Shut your mouth, rascal!" yelled the guard, rapping the cell door
+with his sword bayonet.
+
+A few minutes later the van was stopped, the rear door opened, and one
+by one the prisoners, bloody, torn, and bedraggled, were handed out
+and hustled not very gently by two police agents through a heavily
+grilled doorway into a room already crowded with victims of law and
+order. All of these were yet to be called before the commissaire and
+interrogated in turn, and by him either held or discharged. A good
+many were both hatless and coatless, and altogether they certainly
+bore a riotous and suspicious look.
+
+In the crowd near the desk where they were led to be registered Jean
+met his old friend Villeroy.
+
+"Oho!" exclaimed the latter, laughingly.
+
+"Oh, yes; it is I, my friend."
+
+"Pinched this time, hein?"
+
+"So it seems."
+
+"And in what company?"
+
+"Yours, I suppose," retorted Jean.
+
+"Good company!" said Villeroy. "Kill any--any agents?"
+
+"No,--no!" said Jean, who did not relish this subject.
+
+"See Lerouge?"
+
+"N--that is----"
+
+"The misérable!"
+
+"Oh, as for that----"
+
+"Well, he's done for, anyhow."
+
+"Wha-at?"
+
+"His goose is cooked!"
+
+"How is that? Not----"
+
+"Dead."
+
+"Dead!"
+
+"As a mackerel!"
+
+Jean paled perceptibly and almost staggered against his friend.
+
+"Impossible!" he murmured. "It can't be! How----"
+
+"Oh, easy enough," interrupted the other, lightly. "Some ruffian
+choked him to death, they say. Liable to occur, is it not? Sorry, of
+course, but----"
+
+Fortunately for Jean's self-control, they were rudely separated by two
+angry opponents who wanted to fight it out then and there. He would
+have betrayed himself in another moment. And, wrought up to the
+present tension, it seemed as if he must go mad and shriek his guilt
+to all the world.
+
+He sought an obscure corner and sat down on the floor with his back to
+the wall, his chin upon his knees.
+
+In his own soul he was condemned already. He only awaited the
+guillotine.
+
+When he was aroused the room was almost cleared. A couple of agents
+roughly hustled him before the busy commissaire. It was the old
+official the student had struck that morning. The red welt across his
+face gave it a sinister appearance. He glanced at the arraigned, then
+read from the blotter,--
+
+"Jean Marot, student,--um, um, um!--charged with--with--let's
+see--with uttering seditious cries calculated to lead to a breach of
+the peace. What have you got to say for yourself, young man?"
+
+The prisoner had nothing to say for himself,--at least, nothing better
+than that,--so he was speechless.
+
+"Ah! evidently never been here before," said the old commissaire. "Go!
+and never come here again. Discharged. Call the next."
+
+"Monsieur le Commissaire," began a police agent who had here risen to
+his feet with an air of remonstrance,--"monsieur----"
+
+"Call the next!" said the commissaire, waving the agent down
+peremptorily.
+
+And thus Jean Marot, before he had recovered from his surprise, or
+could even realize what had happened, was again hustled through the
+corridor, this time to be unceremoniously thrust into the street--a
+free man.
+
+"Hold, Monsieur Jean!" said the lively voice of Mlle. Fouchette. "What
+a precious long time you have been!"
+
+"It might have been longer," he remarked, vaguely accepting her
+presence as not unnatural, and suffering himself to be led down the
+block.
+
+"Oh, here it is," said she, going straight to a cab in waiting. "Now,
+don't stop to ask questions or I'll be wicked. Get in! Dinner is----"
+
+"Dinner is, is it?" he repeated, almost hysterically.
+
+He felt exhausted physically and mentally, indifferent as to what now
+befell him, prepared to accept anything. Nothing could be worse. He
+felt as if everything was crumbling beneath his feet. There was nobody
+to lean against, nobody to sympathize with him, nobody to care one way
+or the other, or----
+
+Only this girl at his side.
+
+He looked at her wonderingly, now that he came to think of her. The
+thin, insignificant figure, the pale face, the drooping blonde hair
+lying demurely on the cheeks, the bright steel-blue eyes, the pussycat
+purr----
+
+"How absurd you are, Monsieur Jean, with that awful face! One would
+think it was because of the prospect of my dinner!"
+
+"I am thinking of you," he said.
+
+"Oh, thanks, monsieur! And so savagely--I have fear!"
+
+She laughed gleefully, and affected to move away from him, only, at
+that instant, the hind wheel of the voiture struck a stray bowlder,
+and the shock threw her bodily back against him.
+
+Both laughed now.
+
+"It is provoking," she said.
+
+"It is the fatality," said he.
+
+And he put his arm about her slender form and held her there without
+protest.
+
+"I was thinking of you, mon enfant," he continued, "and of what a
+dear, good little thing you are. Mademoiselle, you are an angel!"
+
+"Ah! no, monsieur!" she answered, in a voice that trembled a
+little,--"do not believe it! I'm a devil!"
+
+It is easy for a man in deep trouble to accept the first sympathetic
+woman as something angelic. And now, in his gratitude, it was perhaps
+natural that Jean should unhesitatingly supply Mlle. Fouchette with
+wings. He had humbled himself in the dust, from which point of view
+all virtues look beautiful and all good actions partake of heaven. His
+response to her self-depreciation was a human one. He drew her closer
+and kissed her lips.
+
+In this he deceived neither himself nor the girl. She knew quite as
+well as he where his heart was. It was a kiss of gratitude and of
+good-will, and was received as such without affectation. In his
+masculine egotism, however, he quite overlooked any possible good or
+ill to her in the matter,--his consideration began and ended in the
+gratification of her conduct towards him. And he would have been cold
+indeed not to feel the friendly glow which answers so eloquently the
+touch of womanly gentleness and sympathy.
+
+As for Mlle. Fouchette, it must be admitted that this platonic caress
+created in her maidenly bosom a nervous thrill of pleasure not quite
+consistent in a young woman known to give the "savate" to young
+gentlemen who approached such familiarity, and who plumed herself on
+her invulnerability to the masculine wiles that beset her sex. And
+what might have been deemed still more foreign to her nature, she
+never said a word from that moment until the voiture drew up in front
+of her place of residence in the venerable but not venerated Rue St.
+Jacques.
+
+"Voilà!" she then exclaimed, though it had not the tone of entire
+satisfaction.
+
+"Hold on, little one, I will pay----"
+
+But he discovered that those who had cared for him had also
+benevolently relieved him of his valuables. He had not a sou.
+
+"The wretches!" cried the girl.
+
+"They might have left me my keys, at least," he muttered.
+
+"And your watch, monsieur?" she asked, apprehensively.
+
+"Gone, of course!"
+
+"Oh, the miserable cowards!"
+
+He was less moved than she at the loss. It seemed trifling by the side
+of his other misfortunes.
+
+But the coachman was interested. He carefully noted the number of the
+house again, and when she passed up his fare looked into her face with
+a knowing leer.
+
+"If monsieur wishes to go back to the Préfecture," he said to her,
+tentatively.
+
+"Oh, no!" said Jean.
+
+The girl, however, understood the significance of this inquiry, and
+coldly demanded the man's number.
+
+"If Mademoiselle Fouchette should need you again," she added, putting
+the slip in her pocket, "she will know where to find you."
+
+And to the manifest astonishment of the cabman, who could not divine
+what a woman of Rue St. Jacques would want with a man without money,
+or at least valuables, she slipped her arm through Jean's and entered
+the house.
+
+The shaded lamp turned low threw a dim light over a little table
+simply but neatly set for two in Mlle. Fouchette's chamber. A cold cut
+of beef, some delicate slices of boiled tongue, an open box of
+sardines, a plate heaped with cold red cabbage, a lemon, olives,
+etc.,--all fresh from the rôtisserie and charcuterie below,--were
+flanked by a mètre of bread and a litre of Bordeaux. The spread looked
+quite appetizing and formidable.
+
+Absorbed as he was in himself, Jean could not but note the certainty
+implied in all of this preparation. Mlle. Fouchette could not have
+known that he would be at liberty, yet she had arranged things exactly
+as if she had possessed this foreknowledge. If they had not made a
+mistake and let him off so easily----
+
+"You were, then, sure I would come?"
+
+"Very sure," said she, without turning from the small mirror where she
+readjusted her hair.
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean," she began, in a nervous, business-like way,
+suiting the action to the word, "I'm the doctor. You are to do just as
+I tell you. First you take this good American whiskey, then you lie
+down--here--there--that way,--voilà!"
+
+"But----"
+
+"No!" putting her delicate hand over his mouth gently,--"you are not
+to talk, you know."
+
+He stretched himself at full length on the low couch without another
+protest. She brought a towel and basin and, removing the collar which
+had been twisted into a dirty rope, bathed his face and neck. She saw
+the red imprint of fingers on his throat with mingled hatred and
+commiseration; but she said nothing, only pressing the wet towel to
+the spot tenderly. In the place of the collar she put a piece of soft
+flannel saturated with cologne, and passed a silk scarf around the
+neck to hold it there. With comb and brush she softly smoothed out his
+hair, half toying with the locks about the temples, and perching her
+little head this way and that, as if to more accurately study the
+effect.
+
+"Ah! now that looks better. Monsieur is beginning to look civilized."
+
+She carefully pinned the ends of the scarf down over the shirt-front
+to hide the blood that was there.
+
+All of this with a hundred exclamations and little comments and
+questions that required no answers, and broken sentences of pity, of
+raillery, of pleasure, that had no beginning and no ending as
+grammatical constructions.
+
+Purr, purr, purr.
+
+Finally she rubbed his shoes till they shone, and flecked the dust
+from his clothes,--to complete which operation it was necessary for
+him to get up.
+
+A slight noise on the landing caused him to start nervously.
+
+He was still thinking of one thing,--of a man lying cold and stiff at
+the Hôtel Dieu.
+
+Both carefully avoided the subject uppermost in either mind,--Henri
+Lerouge and his sister.
+
+First, she was astonished that he had not questioned her; next, she
+sought to escape questioning altogether. She was secretive by nature.
+And now, like a contrite and wretched woman conscious of her share of
+responsibility for a great wrong, she could only humble herself before
+him and await his will.
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "we will eat. Come! You must be
+hungry,--come! À table, monsieur!"
+
+"Au contraire, I feel as if I could never eat again," he said,
+desperately.
+
+"What nonsense! Come, monsieur,--sit down here and eat something! You
+will feel better at once."
+
+"Oh, you do not know! you cannot know!" he groaned, reseating himself
+and taking his head between his hands. "It is too horrible! horrible!"
+
+"Why, monsieur! What is it? Are you, then, hurt within? Say! Do you
+suffer? How foolish I have been! I should have brought a doctor!"
+
+She was kneeling in front of him in her genuine alarm. "Where is it,
+Monsieur Jean? Where is the pain? Tell me! Tell me, then, monsieur!"
+
+"No! no! it is not that, my child! It is here! here! here!" He struck
+his breast at every word, and bowed his head with abject grief.
+
+She was silent, thinking only of his hapless love. There was no word
+for that!
+
+"Ah! if it were only that! If it had been me instead of him!"
+
+"Monsieur! My poor Monsieur Jean! You must not give way thus!"
+
+"I am not fit to sit at the table with you, mademoiselle! My hands are
+red with blood! Do not touch them! Understand? Red!"
+
+"But you are crazy, monsieur!"
+
+"No! I am--I am simply a _murderer_! Do you hear? A MURDERER!"
+
+He whispered it with awful solemnity. Mlle. Fouchette, now thoroughly
+frightened, recoiled from him. He was mad!
+
+"That's right!" he cried. "That's right, mademoiselle! I'm not fit to
+touch you! No wonder you shrink from me! For I have blood on my
+hands,--his blood,--understand?--my friend's! Lerouge dead! dead! And
+by me!"
+
+"What's that?" she demanded. "Lerouge dead? Nonsense! It is not so!
+Who told you that? I say it is not true!"
+
+He seized her almost fiercely,--
+
+"Not dead? Her brother not dead? Say it again! Give me some hope!" he
+pleaded, pitifully.
+
+"I tell you again it is not so! I saw one who knows but a few minutes
+before I met you!"
+
+He sank on his knees at her feet and kissed her hands, now trembling
+with excitement.
+
+"Again!" he exclaimed.
+
+"It is as true as God!" said she. "And he is doing well!"
+
+He took her in his arms passionately, pouring out the thankfulness of
+his soul in kisses and loving caresses, sobbing like a child. They
+mingled their tears,--the blessed tears of joy and sympathy!
+
+For a long time they rested thus, immobile, with thoughts too deep for
+expression,--in a sacred silence broken only by sighs. Then when the
+calm was complete she softly disengaged herself in saying, "And _she_
+is there, Jean," as if completing the sentence long before begun. But
+it required an effort.
+
+He answered by a pressure of the hand. That was all.
+
+"And now, then, monsieur," she observed, abruptly and with playful
+satire, "I'm going to eat. I'm sorry you are not hungry, but----"
+
+"Eat? Little one," he joyously cried, "I can eat a house and lot!" He
+took her bodily between his hands, he who a moment before had been so
+weak, and tossed her as one plays with a child.
+
+"For shame! There is no house here for you, but I've got a lot to eat!
+There! No more of that, Monsieur Jean, or you shall have no supper!"
+
+As he threatened her again with his exuberant spirits, she wisely but
+laughingly put the table between them. But she looked a world of
+happiness from her eyes.
+
+From the extreme of mental depression Jean Marot was thus suddenly
+transported to the extreme of happiness and hopefulness. Simply
+because the life of the man whom he would have done to death, in his
+insane jealousy of a successful rival, had become precious, priceless,
+as that of the brother of his beloved. The conditions were desperate
+enough as they were. To have slain her brother would not only have
+rendered them hopeless, it would have condemned the survivor to a
+lifetime of remorse, unless, indeed, that life had not been happily
+shortened by the guillotine.
+
+So they laughed, talked, ate, drank, and made merry, these two, taking
+no thought of the morrow until both the supper and the time necessary
+to dispose of it were consumed.
+
+Jean lighted a cigarette that she gave him, and threw himself on the
+couch. Meanwhile, the girl, with the assistance of Poupon, got some
+hot water and washed the dishes, putting them one by one carefully
+back on the shelves in the wall. Finally the empty bottle found its
+place under the couch.
+
+Then she discovered that Jean was sleeping soundly. He had succumbed
+in spite of rattling dishes and her talk, and slept the heavy sleep of
+physical exhaustion. The cigarette had fallen from his fingers half
+finished. His throat was still muffled in her silken scarf, but she
+tried to see if the marks were still there. For fully a minute she
+remained standing over him, buried in thought. The old clock in the
+Henri IV. tower behind the Panthéon chimed eleven. She sighed.
+
+"Very well!" she murmured. "Monsieur is right. He has no money, no
+keys, and he is weary. He shall rest where he is. C'est égal!"
+
+With this philosophical reflection she immediately began preparation
+for retiring on her own account, completing this as if the monsieur
+snoring on the couch had no material existence.
+
+"Voilà!" said she, when she had drawn her curtains.
+
+And in two minutes more she was as oblivious to the world as was Jean
+Marot.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+It would not be easy to define the sentiments or state the
+expectations of Mlle. Fouchette. Whatever they were, she would have
+been unable to formulate them herself.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was simply and insensibly conforming to her manner of
+life. She was drifting. She did not know where. She never thought of
+towards what end or to what purpose.
+
+Those who know woman best never assume to reduce her to the logical
+rules which govern the mathematical mind, but are always prepared for
+the little eccentricities which render her at once so charming and
+uncertain. The Frenchwoman perhaps carries this uncertainty to a
+higher state of perfection than her sex of any other nationality.
+
+That Mlle. Fouchette was the possessor of that indefinable something
+people call heart had never been so much as suspected by those with
+whom she had come in intimate contact. It had certainly never
+inconvenienced her up to this time. To have gone to her for sympathy
+would have been deemed absurd. Even in her intense enjoyment of "la
+vie joyeuse" her natural coldness did not endear her to those who
+shared her society for the moment. As a reigning favorite of the
+Bohemian set she would have earned the dislike of her sex; but this
+was greatly accentuated by her repute as an honest girl. The worst of
+these "filles du quartier" observed the proprieties, were sticklers
+for the forms of respectability. And Mlle. Fouchette, who was really
+good, trampled upon everything and everybody that stood in her way.
+
+As to her income from the studios, bah! and again bah!
+
+Then what was Mlle. Fouchette?
+
+That was the universal feminine inquiry.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette appeared to Jean Marot in a vaguely kaleidoscopic way
+as a woman of no account possessing good points. Sometimes she
+appeared to be cold, sly, vicious, and wholly unconscionable; again,
+good-hearted, self-sacrificing, sympathetic. But he did not bother
+about her particularly, though he covertly watched her this morning
+preparing breakfast. It was true, her blonde hair did not look as if
+it had been touched by comb or brush, that she wore pantoufles that
+exposed holes in the heels of her stockings, that her wrapper was
+soiled and gaped horribly between buttons on and off its frontage;
+but, then, what woman is perfect before breakfast?
+
+All this did not seriously detract from the fact that she had gone out
+of her way to look after him the day before. Nor did it explain that
+she had this morning invested herself with these slovenly belongings,
+taken in the demi-litre of milk that ornamented her door-knob, gone
+down into the street for additional "petits pains," added a couple of
+eggs "à la coque" to the usual morning menu, set Poupon to work on the
+café-au-lait, and was now putting the finishing touches to her little
+table in anticipation of the appetite of her awaking guest.
+
+"Bonjour, my little housekeeper."
+
+"Ah! bonjour, Monsieur Jean. Have you rested well? What a lazy man!
+You look well this morning, monsieur."
+
+"Oh, yes; and why not, mon enfant?" said he, straightening up somewhat
+stiffly.
+
+"And your poor bones?" she laughingly inquired, referring to the
+improvised couch. "It is not a comfortable bed for one like monsieur."
+
+"It is luxury unspeakable compared to the bed I had anticipated early
+last evening. I never slept better in all my life."
+
+"Good!" said she.
+
+"And I'm hungry."
+
+"Better!" said she. "Here is a clean towel and here is water," showing
+him her modest toilet arrangement, "and here is petite Poupon
+scolding----"
+
+"'Poupon'? 'scolding'?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur. Have you, then, forgotten poor little Poupon? For
+shame!" With mock indignation.
+
+She took the small blue teakettle, which had already begun to "scold,"
+and, stooping over the hearth, made the coffee. She then dropped the
+two eggs in the same teakettle and consulted the clock.
+
+"Hard or soft?" she asked.
+
+"Minute and a half," he replied in the folds of the towel.
+
+She was pouring the coffee back through the strainer in order to get
+the full strength of it, though it already looked as black as tar and
+strong enough to float an iron wedge. At the same time she saw him
+before her glass attentively examining the marks on his throat, now
+even more distinctly red than on the night before. But she knew
+instinctively that his thoughts were not of his own, but of another
+neck.
+
+Breakfast was not the lively repast of the previous evening. In the
+best of circumstances breakfast is a pessimistic meal. The world never
+looks the same as it appeared at yesterday's dinner.
+
+Jean had risen to a falling barometer. The first ebullition of joy at
+having been spared the slaughter of his friend and the brother of the
+girl he loved had passed and the real future stared him in the face.
+He began to entertain doubts as to whether a single glance from a pair
+of blue eyes was a solid foundation for the magnificent edifice he had
+erected thereon. But Jean Marot was intensely egoist and was prone to
+regard that which he wanted as already his.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was facing the same question on her own account,--a
+fact which she concealed from both as far as possible by making
+herself believe it was his affair exclusively. As it is always easier
+to grapple with the difficulties of others than with our own, she soon
+found means to encourage her illusion.
+
+"Mademoiselle?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"You are not at all a woman----"
+
+"What, then, monsieur, if I am not----"
+
+"Wait! I mean not at all like other women," he hastily interposed.
+
+"Par exemple?"
+
+"Because, first, you have not once said 'I told you so,'--not
+reproached me for disregarding your advice."
+
+"No? But that would be unnecessary. You are punished. Next?"
+
+"Well, you let me remain here."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+She opened the steel-blue eyes on him sharply,--so sharply, in fact,
+that Jean Marot either could not just then remember why not or that he
+did not care to say. But she relieved him of that embarrassment very
+quickly.
+
+"If you mean that I should be afraid of you, monsieur, or that I would
+have thought for a moment----"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no! I do not mean that, of course. It was the fear women
+have of others----"
+
+"What do I care for 'others'!" she snapped, scornfully. "Pray,
+Monsieur Jean, are there, then, 'others' who care anything about me?
+No! Ask them. No! I do what I please. And I account to nobody.
+Understand? Nobody!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette brought the small, thin white hand down upon the table
+with a slap that gave sufficient assurance of her sincerity, at the
+same time giving a happy idea of her immeasurable contempt for
+society.
+
+"But, my dear Mademoiselle Fouchette, I, at least, care for
+you,--only----"
+
+"Là, là, là! Only you don't care quite enough, Monsieur Jean, to take
+my advice," she interrupted. "Is not that it?"
+
+"If I don't I shall be the loser, I'm afraid," he replied,
+lugubriously.
+
+"And then I should be sorry."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because I am not worthy of it. Now answer me."
+
+"Well, because it pleases me," she responded, with a smile. "You know
+what I said but a moment ago? I do what I please and account to
+nobody."
+
+"Very well. Now, does it please your Supreme Highness to continue to
+shower the blessing of your royal favor upon me?"
+
+"For to-day, perhaps; if you obey my imperious will, monsieur."
+
+He prolonged the comedy by kneeling on one knee and saying humbly, "I
+am your most obedient subject. Command!"
+
+"Bring me my clothes, monsieur."
+
+"Er--wha-at? clothes?" he stammered.
+
+"I said clothes,--on the bed there. Lay them out on the couch,
+please."
+
+He found her simple wardrobe of the previous day on the bed--the
+skirt, the little bolero, the hat with the feather--and laid them out
+on the couch one by one with mock care and ceremony.
+
+"There!"
+
+"Shake them out, monsieur."
+
+"Yes, your Highness."
+
+She was putting away the last breakfast things when she heard an
+exclamation.
+
+"Red!" said he. "And beard, too, as I'm a sinner!"
+
+He had found a tuft of red beard twisted in the fastening of the
+bolero. The expression on his face would have defied words. As for
+Mlle. Fouchette, she was for a moment of the same color of the
+telltale hair. For some reason she did not wish Jean to know of her
+part in the riot. At the same time she was angry with herself for the
+womanly feeling of delicacy that surged into her cheeks.
+
+"Where did you get it?" he asked, quizzically.
+
+"Monsieur! Go away!"
+
+"I didn't know you'd been decorated, mademoiselle,--really,--Legion of
+Honor, too!"
+
+"Bah! I must have given some man a good pull in the crowd," said she.
+"How provoking!"
+
+"For him, doubtless, yes."
+
+"To return to your affairs, Monsieur Jean," she said, grabbing the
+garments and proceeding to put them on with that insouciance begotten
+of studio life. "Have you any money?"
+
+"With me? Not a sou!"
+
+She slipped her hand down her neck and drew forth a small bag held
+there by a string and took from it a coin, which she tendered him.
+
+"Here is a louis,--you may repay it when you can."
+
+"Thank you, my child. But it is not necessary. I can get some money at
+the Crédit Lyonnais."
+
+"But, monsieur, you can't walk there! And we will be busy to-day."
+
+"Oh, we will be busy, will we?"
+
+"Yes,--unless you rebel," she replied, significantly.
+
+"At least, your Highness will let me know----"
+
+"First, we must go and find out how Lerouge is----"
+
+"Good!"
+
+"Next, see an agent about your place. You are to sell your lease, you
+know, and furniture----"
+
+"And furniture,--very well. After?"
+
+"And then we must find you a new place,--cheaper, don't you know?"
+
+"A good deal cheaper," he said.
+
+"In this quarter they are cheapest."
+
+"Then let it be in the quarter."
+
+"Voilà! Now that's all right." A remark which may have equally applied
+to his affairs or to the putting on of her shoes.
+
+"A very simple appartement will serve," he observed, when she sounded
+him on his idea of cheapness.
+
+"There is a lovely one de garçon next door to me, but it is dear. It
+is a little parlor, bedroom, and kitchen. And this is a quiet house,
+monsieur."
+
+"Good! I like quietude, and----"
+
+"Oh, it is a very quiet place," she assured him.
+
+"This appartement,--dining-room?"
+
+"No! What does a man alone want with a dining-room? Let him eat in the
+parlor."
+
+"Yes, that would be luxury," he admitted.
+
+"One doesn't need the earth in order to eat and sleep."
+
+"N-no; but how much is this luxury of the Rue St. Jacques?" he
+inquired.
+
+"It is four hundred francs, I believe." She heaved a sigh of regret.
+It seemed a large sum of money to Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Four hundred a year? Only four hundred a year! Parbleu! And now what
+can one get for four hundred a year, ma petite Fouchette?"
+
+"S-sh! monsieur,--a good deal!" she exclaimed, smiling at his naïveté.
+With all his patronizing airs she instinctively felt that this man who
+treated her as if she were a child was really a provincial who needed
+both mother and business agent.
+
+"I'd like to see it, anyhow," said he.
+
+"At once, monsieur,--so you shall; but it is dear, four hundred
+francs, when you might get the same at Montrouge for two hundred and
+fifty francs. Here,--I have the key,--le voilà!"
+
+It was the appartement of three rooms next door to her chamber, which
+seemed to have been cut off from it as something superfluous in the
+Rue St. Jacques.
+
+"Why--and Monsieur de Beauchamp is----"
+
+"Gone."
+
+"Yesterday?"
+
+"Yesterday afternoon,--yes. Quite sudden, was it not?"
+
+She said this as though it was of no importance.
+
+"The huissier?" he suggested, official ejectment being the most common
+cause of student troubles.
+
+She laughed secretively.
+
+"The police?"
+
+Then she laughed openly--her pretty little silvery tinkle--and drew
+his attention to the kitchen.
+
+It was a small dark place with a much-worn tile floor and a charcoal
+range of two pockets faced and covered with blue and white tiles; an
+immense hood above yawning like the flat open jaws of a gigantic
+cobra, which might not only consume all the smoke and smells but
+gobble up the little tile-covered range itself upon gastronomical
+provocation.
+
+"Isn't it just lovely!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, delightedly. "And
+see! here is a stone sink, and there's water and gas."
+
+Water and gas are still deemed luxuries in the more ancient quarters
+of Paris. As for baths, they are for the rich,--even the more modern
+structures are parsimonious of baths. You realize all this when in a
+close omnibus, or smell some well-dressed Parisienne ten feet away.
+When one of the dwellers of Rue St. Jacques takes a bath a battered
+old tub is brought around on a wagon and unloaded in the court with a
+noise and ceremony that arouses the entire neighborhood, which puts
+its head out of the window and wonders who is going to be married.
+
+"And here's a private closet, too," continued Mlle.
+Fouchette,--"everything! But that sweet little stove! I could cook a
+course dinner on that!"
+
+"Oh, you could, eh?" inquired Jean. "Then you shall."
+
+"Surely!" said the girl, as if it were settled from the first.
+"Besides, it is so much more economical for two than one."
+
+"Oh, is it?" he replied, doubtfully.
+
+"Of course, if one lives at expensive restaurants. And in bad weather
+or when one feels grumpy----"
+
+They looked at the large bedroom and small anteroom, or toilet-room
+adjoining, which Mlle. Fouchette declared was good enough for a lord,
+inspected the closets, commented on the excellent condition of the
+polished floors and newly papered walls, and finally decided that it
+really was a good deal for the money.
+
+"It could be made a little paradise," said she, enthusiastically.
+
+"Needing the angels," he suggested.
+
+"Possibly; but one can get along very comfortably without them."
+
+"But I wonder why M. de Beauchamp, installed here so comfortably day
+before yesterday, should be missing to-day. There must be some
+drawback here----"
+
+"Oh, no. The truth is, M. de Beauchamp thought he saw--in fact, M. de
+Beauchamp did see visions. In one of these he was foretold of a
+possible difference of opinion between himself and the government;
+about something that was to have happened yesterday and didn't
+happen----"
+
+"Did not happen. Go on."
+
+"There, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "that is all. Only, you see, M.
+de Beauchamp's arrangements having been made, he probably thought he
+might as well disappear----"
+
+"And his studio with him."
+
+"Precisely. Look what a nice big closet in the wall!"
+
+"Yes,--funny. But, I say, mon enfant, was this handsome M. de
+Beauchamp really an artist?"
+
+"Bah! how do I know? He made pictures. Certainly, he made pictures."
+
+Jean Marot laughed so heartily at this subtle distinction that he lost
+the mental note of her disinclination to gossip about her late
+neighbor,--a reluctance that is decidedly foreign to the French female
+character.
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean,"--when he had made up his mind,--"if you will let
+me manage the concierge," she went on, "it may save you fifty francs,
+don't you know? Very likely the term has been paid,--he will make you
+pay it again. I know Monsieur Benoit,--he'd rob you like saying a
+prayer."
+
+"It is a novelty to be looked after by a female agent, anyhow," mused
+the young man, when she had disappeared on this mission. "If she picks
+up the fifty francs instead of that surly rascal Benoit I'm satisfied.
+It is a quiet place, sure, and dog cheap. Now, I wonder what her game
+is, for women don't do all of these things for nothing."
+
+Jean was of the great pessimistic school of Frenchmen who never give a
+woman credit for disinterestedness or honesty, but who regard them
+good-naturedly as inferior beings, amusing, weak, selfish creatures,
+placed on earth to gratify masculine vanity and passion,--to be
+admired or pitied, as the case might be, but never trusted, and always
+fair game. The married Frenchman never trusts his wife or daughter
+alone with his best male friend. No young girl alone in the streets of
+Paris is free from insult, day or night; and such a girl in such a
+case would appeal to the honor of Frenchmen in vain.
+
+Jean Marot would have never dreamed that Mlle. Fouchette had saved him
+from imprisonment. Even in his magnanimous moments he would have
+listened to the accusation that this girl had robbed him of his money
+and watch quite as readily as to the statement that she had already
+taken measures to insure the recovery of that personal property. Yet,
+while his estimate of woman was low, it did not prevent him from
+loving one whom he had believed another man's mistress; it did not
+now steel his heart against the sympathy of mutual isolation.
+
+"All goes well!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, skipping into the room.
+
+"All goes well, eh?" he repeated.
+
+"Yes, Monsieur Jean. Think then! it is a bargain. Oh, yes, one hundred
+francs----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"I say one hundred francs saved! The semestre was paid and you get it
+less a term's rent, thus you save one hundred francs. Isn't that nice?
+One can live two months on one hundred francs."
+
+"Oh! oh! oh! not I," he laughingly exclaimed. "But I guess I'd better
+let you manage, little one; you have begun so well."
+
+Her face almost flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled.
+
+"And you shall have fifty of that hundred francs saved. It is only
+fair, petite," he hastily added, seeing the brightness extinguished by
+clouds.
+
+But she turned abruptly towards the window. He mistook this gesture
+and said to himself, "She would like to have it all, I suppose. I'd
+better make a square bargain with her right here." Then aloud,--
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur,"--coldly.
+
+"What is your idea?"
+
+"As to what, Monsieur Jean?"
+
+"Well, say about our domestic affairs, if you will."
+
+"Well, monsieur, very simply this: I will care for the place if you
+wish,--somebody must care for it----"
+
+"Yes, that is evident, and I wish you to help me, if you will."
+
+"Then I'll serve the breakfasts and any other meal you wish to pay
+for. In other words, if you prefer it in terms, I will be your
+housekeeper. I can cook, and I'm a good buyer and----"
+
+"No doubt of that, mon enfant; but I am a poor man now, you know, and
+the pay----"
+
+"Pay! And who has asked you to pay anything? Do you suppose--ah!
+Monsieur Jean, you don't think me that!"
+
+"But one can't be expected to work for nothing," protested the young
+man, humbly.
+
+"Work? It would be pleasure. And then you would be paying for what we
+ate, wouldn't you? I have to make my coffee,--it would be just as easy
+for two. And you would be perfectly free to dine at the restaurant
+when you chose,--we'd be as free as we are now,--and I would not
+intrude----"
+
+"Oh, I never thought of that!" he declared.
+
+"Do not spoil my pleasure by suggesting money!" Her voice was growing
+low and the lips trembled a little, but only for a second or two, when
+she recovered her ordinary tone.
+
+"As a rich man's son living in the Faubourg St. Honoré you might have
+suspected that motive, but as a medical student chassé, and deserted
+by his parents and with no prospects to speak of----"
+
+His lugubrious smile checked her.
+
+"Pardon! Monsieur Jean, I did not wish to remind you of your
+misfortunes. Let us put it on purely selfish grounds. I am poor. I am
+alone. I am lonely. I should at least earn my coffee and rolls. I
+would see you every day. My time would be pleasantly occupied. I will
+be a sister,--bonne camarade,--nothing more, nothing less----"
+
+He had taken her hands impulsively, but her eyes were veiled by the
+heavy lashes.
+
+"Voilà! It is then understood?" she asked, venturing to look up into
+his face.
+
+"Certes! But your terms are too generous,--and--and, you know the
+object of my heart, mademoiselle."
+
+"Toujours! And I will help you attain that object if possible," she
+said, warmly, pressing his hand.
+
+"You are too good, mademoiselle," he responded. "Next to one woman I
+think you are the best woman I ever knew!"
+
+He took her in his strong arms and kissed her tenderly, though she
+struggled faintly.
+
+"Enough! enough! You must not do that, monsieur! I do not like it.
+Remember how I hate men, spoony men,--they disgust me! As a woman I
+can be nothing to you; as a friend I may be much. Save your caresses,
+monsieur, for the woman you love! You understand?"
+
+"There! no offence, little one. Am I not your brother?" he asked,
+laughing.
+
+She nervously readjusted her blonde hair before the little glass and
+did not reply. But it was evident that she was not very angry, for
+Mlle. Fouchette was explosive and went off at a rude touch.
+
+At the same moment a terrible racket rose from the stairway,--the
+sound of a woman's voice and blows and the howling of a dog. Leaning
+over the banister the young couple saw a woman, short, broad,
+bareheaded, and angry, wielding a broom-handle. The passage was rather
+narrow, so that more than half of the whacks at the dog were spent
+upon the wall and balustrade, though the animal, lashed to the latter,
+yelped at every blow the same.
+
+Now, in Paris a dog is a sort of a privileged animal, not quite
+sacred. Rome was saved by geese, pigeons are venerated in Venice. Dogs
+preserved Paris in the fearful day of the great siege by suffering
+themselves to be turned into soups, steaks, sausage, etc. Since which
+Paris has become the dog paradise, where all good dogs go when they
+die. They not only have the right of way everywhere, but the exclusive
+right of the sunny sidewalks in winter and shady side in summer. A
+Frenchman will beat his wife, or stab his mistress in the back, club
+his horses fiendishly, but he will never raise hand or foot against a
+dog.
+
+From every landing came a burst of remonstrance and indignation.
+Vituperative language peculiar to a neighborhood that has enjoyed the
+intimate society of two thousand years of accumulated human wisdom and
+intellectual greatness, and embellished and decorated by the old
+masters, rose and fell upon the sinful dog-beater, with the effect of
+increasing the blows.
+
+Suddenly three persons sprang to the rescue, two from below and one
+from above. The last was a woman and the owner of the dog.
+
+"Mon Dieu! My dear little Tu-tu!" she screamed.
+
+And with a howl of wrath that drowned the piercing voice of poor
+little Tu-tu she precipitated herself upon the enemy.
+
+The latter turned her weapon upon the new-comer just as the two men
+from below grabbed her. This diversion enabled the infuriated
+dog-owner to plant both hands in the enemy's hair, which came off at
+the first wrench.
+
+"Oh!" cried Jean.
+
+"It is horrible!" said Mlle. Fouchette, with a shudder.
+
+From where they beheld the tragedy they could not see that the hair
+was false.
+
+But the dog-beater was just as angry as if it had been ripped from its
+original and virgin pasture, and she uttered a shriek that was heard
+around the block and grappled her three assailants.
+
+The whole four, a struggling composite mass of legs and arms, went
+rolling down to the next landing surrounded by a special and lurid
+atmosphere of oaths.
+
+There they were arrested by the aroused police agents.
+
+Poor little Tu-tu had stopped howling. He was dead,--crushed under the
+human avalanche.
+
+"Yes," said Jean, "this is a quiet house."
+
+"Dame!" replied Mlle. Fouchette, "it is like death!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+An hour later Jean Marot and Mlle. Fouchette were at the foot of the
+broad stone steps leading to the Hôtel Dieu, the famous hospital
+fronting on the plaza of Notre Dame.
+
+"I will wait," he said.
+
+"Yes; I will inquire," she assented. "I was here last night." And
+Mlle. Fouchette ran lightly up the steps and entered the palatial
+court.
+
+Another woman was hastily walking in the opposite direction. She bent
+her head and quickened her steps as if to avoid recognition.
+
+"Why, it is Madeleine!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, throwing herself in the
+way.
+
+A face stamped with the marks of dissipation and haggard with watching
+was raised to meet this greeting. The one big, round, dark orb gleamed
+upon the speaker almost fiercely.
+
+"So you're here again," muttered the one-eyed grisette, in her deep
+voice.
+
+"It seems so. I wish to find out how he is."
+
+"What business is it of yours?"
+
+"Oh, come, now, Madeleine; you're all upset. You look worn out. You
+have been here all night?"
+
+"Ah, çà! it is nothing. Have I not been up all night more than once?"
+
+"And monsieur----"
+
+"They say he is better."
+
+"You have seen him, then?"
+
+"No; they would not allow me. Besides, there is his sister."
+
+"Is she with him now?"
+
+"Not now. They sent her away in the night. She will be back this
+morning."
+
+"Poor girl!"
+
+"But what is all this to you? Why are you here? Does the Ministry----"
+
+"Madeleine!"
+
+But the tigerish look that swept over Mlle. Fouchette's face gave way
+to confusion when the grisette quickly shifted her ground.
+
+"Monsieur Marot, I suppose."
+
+"Yes, Madeleine."
+
+"And so he has thrown her over for you, eh?" the other bitterly asked,
+with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders.
+
+"Oh! no, no, no!" hastily protested Mlle. Fouchette, trembling a
+little in spite of herself. "That would be impossible! He is so sorry,
+Madeleine."
+
+"Sorry! Yes, and the wicked marks on his throat, mon Dieu!"
+
+"Are on Jean's also, Madeleine," said Mlle. Fouchette. "Let us set
+these friends right, Madeleine. Will you? Let them be friends once
+more."
+
+The one dark eye had been searching, searching. For the ears heard a
+voice they had never heard before. It came from the lips of Mlle.
+Fouchette, but was not the familiar voice of Mlle. Fouchette. But the
+search was vain.
+
+"Ah! very well, petite," the searcher finally said, with a sigh.
+"Their quarrel is not mine. I have not set these men on to tear each
+other like wild beasts."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette turned her face away. But the veins on her white neck
+were as plain as print.
+
+They were read by the simple-hearted grisette thus: It could only be
+love or hate; since it is not hate, it is love! Lerouge or Marot?
+
+"Mademoiselle!"
+
+The other turned a defiant face towards the speaker.
+
+"You know that a reconciliation between these men means----"
+
+"That Jean Marot will be thrown into the arms of the woman he loves,"
+was the bold interpolation.
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"That is what I wish."
+
+The dark eye gleamed again, and the breast heaved. It must be Lerouge!
+Jealousy places the desirability of its subject above everything. It
+must be Lerouge.
+
+"Chut! Here she comes," whispered Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+It was Mlle. Remy. She was clad in a simple blue costume, the skirt of
+which cleared the ground by several inches, her light blonde hair
+puffing out in rich coils from beneath the sailor hat. Her sad blue
+eyes lighted at the sight of Madeleine, and her face broke into a
+questioning smile as she extended her small hand.
+
+"Oh, Monsieur Lerouge is much better, mademoiselle," said Madeleine.
+
+"Thank you!--thank you for your good news, my dear," Mlle. Remy warmly
+replied.
+
+She turned towards Mlle. Fouchette a little nervously, and Madeleine
+introduced them.
+
+"It is strange, Mademoiselle Fouchette," observed Mlle. Remy; "could I
+have met you before?"
+
+"I think not, mademoiselle. One meets people on the boulevards----"
+
+"No, I don't mean that,--a long time ago, somewhere,--not in Paris."
+
+Mlle. Remy was trying to think.
+
+"Perhaps you confuse me with somebody else, mademoiselle."
+
+"Scarcely, since I do not remember seeing anybody who resembled you.
+No, it is not that, surely."
+
+"One often fancies----"
+
+"But my brother Henri thought so too, which is very curious. May I ask
+you if your name----"
+
+"Just Fouchette, mademoiselle. I never heard of any other----"
+
+"I am from Nantes," interrupted Mlle. Remy. "Think!"
+
+"And I am only a child of the streets of Paris, mademoiselle," said
+Mlle. Fouchette, humbly.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Mlle. Remy sighed.
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette and Monsieur Marot have come to learn the news
+of your brother," said Madeleine, seeing the latter approaching.
+
+Jean Marot had, in fact, followed Mlle. Remy inside of the building,
+but having been overtaken by timidity for the first time in his life,
+had hesitated at a little distance in the rear. He could stand the
+suspense no longer.
+
+"Monsieur Marot, Mademoiselle----"
+
+"Oh, we have met before, monsieur, have we not?" asked Mlle. Remy,
+lightly. "I thank you very much for----"
+
+Jean felt his heart beating against the ribbed walls of its prison as
+if it would burst forth to attest its love for her. He had often
+conjured up this meeting and rehearsed what he would say to her. Now
+his lips were dumb. He could only look and listen.
+
+And this was she whom he loved!
+
+In the mean time Mlle. Remy, who had flushed a little under the
+intense scrutiny she felt but could not understand, grew visibly
+uneasy. She detected a sign from Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+He had unconsciously disclosed the telltale marks upon his neck.
+
+At the sight Mlle. Remy grew pale. There was much about this young man
+that recalled her brother Henri, even these terrible finger-marks. All
+at once she remembered the meeting of Mardi Gras, when her brother
+insulted him and pulled her away.
+
+Why?
+
+It was because this young Marot admired her, and because he and her
+brother were enemies. She saw it now for the first time. Paris was
+full of political enemies. Yet, in awe of her brother's judgment and
+like a well-bred French girl, she dared not raise her eyes to
+his,--with the half-minute of formalities she hurried away. But as she
+turned she gave him one quick glance that combined politeness,
+shyness, fear, curiosity, and pity,--a glance that went straight to
+his heart and increased its tumult.
+
+A pair of sharp, steel-blue eyes regarded him furtively, and, while
+half veiled by the long lashes, lost not a breath or gesture of this
+meeting and parting,--saw Jean standing, hat in hand, partly bowed,
+speechless, with his soul in his handsome face.
+
+The one black eye of the maimed grisette saw only Mlle. Fouchette. If
+that scrutiny could not fathom Mlle. Fouchette's mind, it was perhaps
+because the mind of Mlle. Fouchette was not sufficiently clear.
+
+"Allons!" said the latter young woman, in a tone that scarcely broke
+his revery.
+
+There is often more expression in a simple touch than in a multitude
+of words. The unhappy grisette felt this from the sympathetic hand of
+the young man slipped into hers at parting. At a little distance she
+turned to see Jean and Mlle. Fouchette enter a cab and drive towards
+the right bank.
+
+"Çà!" she murmured, "but if that petite moucharde had a heart it would
+be his!"
+
+During the next half-hour Mlle. Fouchette unconsciously gained greatly
+in Jean's estimation by saying nothing. They went to the Crédit
+Lyonnais, in Boulevard des Italiens, to Rue St. Honoré, to the "agent
+de location,"--getting money, taking a list of furniture, seeing about
+the sale of his lease. In all of this business Mlle. Fouchette showed
+such a clear head and quick calculation that from first being amused,
+Jean at last leaned upon her implicitly.
+
+The next day was spent in arranging his new quarters, Mlle. Fouchette
+issuing general direction, to the constant discomfiture of the worthy
+Benoit, thus deprived of unknown perquisites.
+
+When this work of installation had been completed, Jean found himself
+with comfortable quarters in the Rue St. Jacques at a saving of
+nearly two thousand four hundred francs.
+
+"There!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"At last!" said Jean.
+
+"Now," Mlle. Fouchette began, with enthusiasm, "I'm going to get
+dinner!"
+
+"Oh, not to-day! Allons donc! We must celebrate by dinner at the
+restaurant."
+
+"But it's a sinful waste of money, when one has such a sweet
+range,--and you must economize, monsieur."
+
+"All right," he replied,--"to-morrow."
+
+It is a popular plan of economy, that which begins to-morrow.
+
+"Yes, to-morrow; to-morrow you shall have your way. To-day I have
+mine. Why, what a parsimonious little wretch you are! And have you not
+been devoting all of your time and working hard for me these five
+days?"
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Jean----"
+
+"We will treat ourselves to a good dinner au boulevard. You have been
+my best friend----"
+
+"Oh, Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"Are my best friend," he added. "I really don't see how I could have
+gotten on without you."
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"You have saved me hundreds of francs,--you are such a good little
+manager!"
+
+Nothing up to that moment had ever given Mlle. Fouchette half the
+pleasure bestowed with this praise. Mlle. Fouchette blushed. Jean saw
+this blush and laughed. It was so funny to see Mlle. Fouchette blush.
+This made Mlle. Fouchette blush still deeper. In fact, it seemed as if
+all the warm blood that had been concealed in Mlle. Fouchette's system
+so long had taken an upward tendency and now disported itself about
+her neck and face.
+
+Jean would have kissed her, only she repulsed him angrily; then,
+seeing his surprise and confusion, she covered her face with her hands
+and laughed hysterically.
+
+"Mademoiselle----"
+
+"Stop, stop, stop! I knew what you were going to say! It was money
+again!"
+
+"Really, mademoiselle----"
+
+"It was! You did! You know you did! And you know how I hate it! Don't
+you dare to offer me money, because I love----" Mlle. Fouchette choked
+here a little,--"because I love to help you, Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"But I was not thinking of offering you money for your kindness, mon
+enfant." Jean took this play for safety as genuine wrath.
+
+"You were going to; you know you were!" she retorted, defiantly.
+
+"Well, I suppose I may offer to repay the louis I borrowed the other
+day?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I'll make you pay your debts, monsieur,--never fear that!"
+
+She began to recover her equilibrium, and smiled confidently in his
+face. But he was now serious.
+
+"There are some debts one can never pay," said he.
+
+"Never! never! never!" she exclaimed. "Monsieur, whatever I might do,
+I owe you still! It will always be so!"
+
+"Uh! Uh! That's barred, petite."
+
+He stopped walking up and down and looked into her earnest eyes
+without grasping her meaning. "She is more feminine than one would
+suppose," he said to himself,--"almost interesting, really!"
+
+"Come!" he cried, suddenly, "this is straying from the subject, which
+is dinner. Come!"
+
+"We'd have to do some marketing, anyhow," she admitted, as if arguing
+with herself. "Perhaps it is better to go out."
+
+"Most assuredly."
+
+"Not at any fashionable place, Monsieur Jean----"
+
+"Oh, no; is there any such place in the quarter?" he laughingly asked.
+
+"Can't we go over on the other side?"
+
+"Yes, my child, certainly."
+
+"I know a place in Montmartre where one may dine en fête for two
+francs and a half, café compris." She was getting on her things, and
+for the first time was conscious of the hole in the heel of her
+stocking.
+
+"There is the Café de Paris----"
+
+"Oh! it is five francs!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Well, one may dine better on five francs than two and a half."
+
+"It is too dear, Monsieur Jean."
+
+"Then there is the Hôtel du Louvre table-d'hôte, four francs,--very
+good, too."
+
+"It is too fashionable,--too many Americans."
+
+"Parbleu! one can be an American for one meal, can he not? They say
+Americans live well in their own country. They have meat three times a
+day,--even the poorest laborers."
+
+"And eat meat for breakfast,--it is horrible!"
+
+"Yes,--they are savages."
+
+After discussing the various places and finding that his ideas of a
+good dining-place were somewhat more enlarged than her ideas, Mlle.
+Fouchette finally brought him down to a Bouillon in Boule'
+Miche',--the student appellation for Boulevard St. Michel. She would
+have preferred any other quarter of the city, though not earnestly
+enough to stand out for it.
+
+They settled on the Café Weber, opposite the ancient College
+d'Harcourt, a place of the Bouillon order, with innumerable dishes
+graded up from twenty centimes to a franc and an additional charge of
+ten centimes for the use of a napkin.
+
+Wine aside, a better meal for less money can be had in a score of
+places on Broadway. In the matter of wine, the New York to the Paris
+price would be as a dollar to the franc.
+
+In the Quartier Latin these places are patronized almost exclusively
+by the student class. Not less than fifty of the latter were at table
+in the Café Weber when Jean Marot and Mlle. Fouchette entered. Here
+and there among them were a few grisettes and as many cocottes of the
+Café d'Harcourt, costumes en bicyclette, demure, hungry, and silent.
+Young women in smart caps and white aprons briskly served the tables,
+while in the centre, in a sort of enclosed pulpit, sat the handsome,
+rosy-faced dame du comptoir, with a sharp eye for employés and a
+winning smile and nod for familiar customers.
+
+There was a perceptible sensation upon the entrance of the last
+comers. A momentary hush was succeeded by a general buzz of
+conversation, the subject of which was quite easily understood. The
+stately dame du comptoir immediately opened her little wicket and came
+down from her perch to show the couple to the best seats, a courtesy
+rarely extended by that impersonation of restaurant dignity. The
+hungry women almost stopped eating to see what man was in tow of the
+"Savatière."
+
+"We are decidedly an event," laughingly observed Jean as they became
+seated where they could command the general crowd at table.
+
+"Yes, monsieur," replied the dame du comptoir, though his remark had
+not been addressed to that lady,--"the fame of the brave Monsieur
+Marot is well known in the quarter. And--and mademoiselle," she added,
+sweetly, "mademoiselle--well, everybody knows mademoiselle."
+
+With this under-cut at Mlle. Fouchette the rosy-cheeked cashier left
+them in charge of the waitress of that particular table.
+
+"You see, Monsieur Jean," said his companion, not at all pleased by
+this reception, "we are both pretty well known here."
+
+"So it seems. Yet I was never in here before, if I remember
+correctly."
+
+"Nor I," said she, "but once or twice."
+
+Notoriety is fame to Frenchmen, and while he did not yet fully
+comprehend it, Jean Marot had reached this sort of fame in a single
+day. His name had been actively and even viciously discussed in the
+newspapers. He was accused of being both royalist and anti-Dreyfusarde
+by the ultra republican press. He was said to be a Bonapartist. The
+Dreyfusarde papers declared that the government had connived at his
+discharge from prison. The nationalist papers lauded him as a patriot.
+One extravagant writer compared him to the celebrated Camille
+Desmoulins who led the great Revolution. A noisy deputation had called
+upon him in the Rue St. Honoré to find that he had not been seen there
+since the riot.
+
+Of all of this Jean Marot actually knew less than any other
+well-informed person in Paris. Being wholly absorbed in his domestic
+affairs, he had scarcely more than glanced at a newspaper, and did not
+at this moment know that his name had ever been printed in the Paris
+journals. The few acquaintances he had met had congratulated him for
+something, and some students he did not know had raised their hats to
+him in the streets; and once he had been saluted by a class procession
+with desultory cries of "Vive Marot!" Mere rioting was then too common
+in Paris to excite particular attention individually.
+
+But Jean Marot had been magnified by newspaper controversy into a
+formidable political leader; besides which there were young men here
+who had followed him a few days before in the riots. Therefore he was
+now the cynosure of curious attention.
+
+From admiring glances the crowd of diners quickly passed to
+complimentary language intended for his ears.
+
+"He's a brave young man!" "You should have seen him that day!" "Ah,
+but he's a fighter, is M. Marot!" "Un bon camarade!" "He is a
+patriot!" etc.
+
+These broken expressions were mingled with sly allusions to Mlle.
+Fouchette from the women, who were consumed by envy. They had heard of
+the Savatière's conquest with disbelief, now they saw it with their
+own eyes. The brazen thing! She was showing him off.
+
+"She's caught on at last."
+
+"Monsieur has more money than taste."
+
+"Is he as rich as they say?"
+
+"The skinny model."
+
+"Model, bah!"
+
+"Model for hair-pin, probably."
+
+"The airs of that kicker!"
+
+"He might have got a prettier mistress without trying hard."
+
+"He'll find her a devil."
+
+"Oh, there's no doubt about it. He has fitted up an elegant
+appartement for her in the Rue St. Jacques."
+
+"Rue St. Jacques. Faugh!"
+
+It should be unnecessary to say that these encomiums were not designed
+for the ears of Mlle. Fouchette, though the said ears must have burned
+with self-consciousness. But it may be well enough to remark that
+despite the spleen the object of it had risen immensely in the
+estimation of the female as well as the male habitués of Café Weber.
+
+As the couple occupied a table in the extreme rear, the patrons in
+front found it convenient to go out by way of the Rue Champollion in
+order to see if not to bow to the distinguished guest.
+
+The apparent fact that the new political leader had taken up with one
+of the most notorious women of the Quartier Latin in no way detracted
+from their esteem for him,--rather lent an agreeable piquancy to his
+character. On the other hand, it raised Mlle. Fouchette to a certain
+degree of respectability.
+
+These demonstrations annoyed our young gentleman very much. Nothing
+but this patent fact saved them from a general reception.
+
+"It is provoking!" exclaimed his companion.
+
+"I don't understand it at all," said he.
+
+"I do," replied Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"And, see, little one, I don't like it."
+
+"I knew you wouldn't, and that is why I suggested the right bank of
+the river."
+
+"True,--I always make a mistake when I don't follow your advice. Have
+some more wine,--I call that good."
+
+"It ought to be at two francs a bottle," she retorted.
+
+"My father would call this rank poison, but it goes."
+
+"Poor me! I never tasted any better," laughed the girl, sipping the
+wine with the air of a connaisseuse. "A litre à cinquante is my
+tipple," she said.
+
+"Now, what the devil do all these people mean?" he asked, when a party
+had passed them with a slight demonstration.
+
+"That you are famous, monsieur. I wish we had remained at home."
+
+"So do I, petite," he said.
+
+"Let us take our coffee there, at least," she suggested.
+
+"Good!" he cried,--"by all means!"
+
+They were soon installed in his small salon, where she quickly spread
+a table of dainty china. She had agreed with him in keeping his
+pictures, bric-à-brac, and prettiest dishes.
+
+"Ah! they are so sweet!" she would say. "Now here is a lovely blue cup
+for you. I take the dear little pink one,--it's as delicate as an
+egg-shell,--Sèvres, surely! And here's some of my coffee. It is not as
+good, perhaps, as you are used to, but----"
+
+"Oh, I'm used to anything,--except being stared at and mobbed by a lot
+of curious chaps as if I were a calf with six legs, or had run off
+with the President's daughter, or----"
+
+"Or committed murder, eh?" said she. "People always stare at
+murderers, do they not? Still, it isn't really bad, you know,"
+abruptly returning to the coffee, "with a petit verre and cigarette."
+
+"Au contraire," he retorted, gayly.
+
+And over their coffee and cognac and cigarettes, surrounded by his
+tasteful belongings, shut in by the heavy damask hangings, under the
+graceful wreaths of smoke, they formed a very pretty picture. He,
+robust, dark, manly; she, frail, delicate, blonde, and distinctively
+feminine.
+
+The comfort of it all smote them alike. The conversation soon became
+forced, then ceased, leaving each silently immersed in thought.
+
+But Mlle. Fouchette welcomed this interval of silence with a
+satisfaction inexpressible. She, too, was under the spell of the place
+and the occasion. Mlle. Fouchette was not a sentimental woman, as we
+have seen; but she had recently been undergoing a mental struggle that
+taxed all her practical common sense. She found now that she saw
+things more clearly.
+
+The result frightened her.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette felt that she was happy, therefore she was frightened.
+
+She experienced a mysterious glow of gladness--the gladness of mere
+living--in her veins. It permeated her being and filled her heart with
+warm desires.
+
+This feeling had been stealing upon her so gradually and insidiously
+that she had never realized it until this moment,--the moment when it
+had taken full possession of her soul.
+
+"I love him! I love him!" she repeated to herself. "I have struggled
+against it,--I have denied it. I did not want to do it,--it is misery!
+But I can't help it,--I love him! I, Fouchette, the spy, who would
+have betrayed him, who wronged him, who thought love impossible!"
+
+She did not try to deceive herself. She knew that at this moment, when
+her heart was so full of him, he was thinking of another woman,--a
+beautiful and pure being that was worthy of his love,--that he had
+forgotten her very existence. She had not the remotest idea of trying
+to attract that love to herself. She did not even indulge in the
+pardonable girlish dreams in which "If" is the principal character.
+
+He was as impossible to her as the pyramids of Egypt. Therefore she
+was frightened.
+
+"Mon Dieu! but I surely do love him!" She communed with her poor
+little bursting heart. "And it is beautiful to love!" She sighed
+deeply.
+
+"Mademoiselle!"
+
+She started visibly, as if he had read her thoughts as well as heard
+her sigh, and felt the hot blood mantle her neck again,--for the
+second time within her memory.
+
+"Pardon! mademoiselle," he said, gently, "I forgot. I was
+thinking----"
+
+"Of her? Yes,--I know. It is--how you startled me!"
+
+There was a perceptible chord of sympathy in her voice, and he moved
+his chair around to hers and made as if he would take her hand in the
+usual way. But to his surprise she rose and, seating herself on a low
+divan some distance from him, leaned her elbows on her knees and
+rested her downcast face between her hands. She could not bear to have
+him touch her.
+
+"Mon enfant! Mon amie!" he remonstrated, in a grieved tone.
+
+"Bah! it is nothing," she murmured; "and nothing magnified is still
+nothing."
+
+There was that in her voice which touched a heart surcharged with
+tenderness. He came over and stood beside her.
+
+"I was thinking----"
+
+"Of her,--yes,--I understand----"
+
+"And I lose myself in my love," he added.
+
+"Yes; love! Oui da!"
+
+She laughed a little hysterically and shrugged the thin shoulders
+without changing her position.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed, pityingly, "you do not know what love is!"
+
+"Me? No! Why should I?"
+
+She never once looked up at him. She dared not.
+
+"And yet you once said love was everything," he continued, thinking
+only of himself.
+
+"Yes,--everything," she repeated, mechanically. "Did I say that?"
+
+"And you spoke truly, though I did not know it then----"
+
+"No,--I did not know it then," she repeated, absently.
+
+In his self-absorption he did not see the girl in the shadow below him
+trembling and cowering as if every word he uttered were a blow.
+
+"Love to me is life!" he added, with a mental exaltation that lifted
+him among the stars.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette did not follow him there. With a low, half-smothered
+cry she had collapsed and rolled to the floor in a little quivering
+heap.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+As a medical student, as well as habitué of the quarter, Jean Marot
+was not greatly alarmed at an ordinary case of hysterics. He soon had
+Mlle. Fouchette in her proper senses again.
+
+He was possibly not more stupid than any other egoist under similar
+circumstances, and he attributed her sudden collapse to
+over-excitement in arranging his affairs.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette lay extended on his divan in silent enjoyment of his
+manipulations, refusing as long as possible to reopen her eyes. When
+she finally concluded to do so he was smoothing back her dishevelled
+hair and gently bathing her face with his wet handkerchief.
+
+"Don't be alarmed, mon enfant," he said, cheerily, "you are all right.
+But you have worked too hard----"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no!" she interrupted. "And it has been such a pleasure!"
+
+"Yes; but too much pleasure----"
+
+She sighed. Her eyes were wet,--she tried to turn them away.
+
+"Hold on, petite! none of that!"
+
+"Then you must not talk to me in that way,--not now!"
+
+"No? And pray, how, then, mademoiselle?"
+
+"Talk of--tell me of your love, monsieur, mon ami. You were speaking
+of it but now. Tell me of that, please. It is so--love is so
+beautiful, Monsieur Jean! Talk to me of her,--of Mademoiselle Remy. I
+have a woman's curiosity, monsieur, mon frère."
+
+It was the first time she had called him brother. She had risen upon
+her elbow and nervously laid her small hand upon his.
+
+She invited herself to the torture. It had an irresistible fascination
+for her. She gave the executioner the knife and begged him to explore
+and lay bare her bleeding heart.
+
+"But, mon enfant----"
+
+"Oh! it will do me good to hear you," she pleaded.
+
+It does not require much urging to induce a young man in love to talk
+about his passion to a sympathetic listener. And there never was time
+or place more propitious or auditor more tender of spirit.
+
+He began at the beginning, when he first met Mlle. Remy with Lerouge,
+every detail of which was fixed upon his memory. He told how he sought
+her in Rue Monge, how Lerouge interposed, how he quarrelled with his
+friend, how the latter changed his address and kept the girl under
+close confinement to prevent his seeing her,--Jean was certain of
+this.
+
+Monsieur Lerouge had a right to protect his sister, even against his
+late friend; and even if she had been his mistress, Jean now argued,
+Lerouge was justified; but love is something that in the Latin rises
+superior to obstacles, beats down all opposition, is obstinate,
+unreasonable, and uncharitable.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette, going straight to the core of the matter, asked
+him what real ground he had for presuming that his attentions, if
+permitted, would have been agreeable to Mlle. Remy, Jean confessed
+reluctantly that there were no reasons for any conclusion on this
+point.
+
+"But," he wound up, impetuously, "when she knows--if she knew--how I
+worship her she _must_ respond to my affection. A love such as mine
+could not be forever resisted, mademoiselle. I feel it! I know it!"
+
+"Yes, Monsieur Jean, it would be impossible to--to not----"
+
+"You think so, too, chère amie?"
+
+"Very sure," said Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Now you can understand, Fouchette. You are a woman. Put yourself in
+her place,--imagine that you are Mademoiselle Remy at this moment. And
+you look something like her, really,--that is, at least you have the
+exact shade of hair. What beautiful hair you have, Fouchette! Suppose
+you were Mademoiselle Remy, I was going to say, and I were to tell you
+all this and--and how much I loved you,--how I adored you,--and got
+down on my knees to you and begged of you----"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"And asked you for a corner--one small corner in your heart----"
+
+"Ah! mon ami!"
+
+"What would you----"
+
+"Shall I show you, mon frère?"
+
+"Yes--quickly!"
+
+He had, with French gesture, suiting the action to the word, knelt
+beside her and extended his arms, as if it were the woman he loved.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, throwing herself upon his breast
+precipitately and entwining his neck with her arms,--"it would be
+this! It would be this! Ah! mon Dieu! It surely would be this!"
+
+For the moment Jean was so carried away by his imagination that he
+accepted Mlle. Fouchette as Mlle. Remy and pressed her to his heart.
+He mingled his tears and kisses with hers. Her fair hair fell upon his
+face and he covered it with passionate caresses. He poured out the
+endearing words of a heart surcharged with love. It was a very clever
+make-believe on both sides,--very clever and realistic.
+
+As a medical adviser of an hysterical young woman Jean Marot could
+scarcely have been recommended.
+
+And it must be remarked, in the same connection, that Mlle. Fouchette
+remained in this embrace a good deal longer than even a clever
+imitation seemed to demand. However, since the real thing could not
+have lasted forever, there must be a limitation to this rehearsal.
+Both had become silent and thoughtful.
+
+It was Mlle. Fouchette who first moved to disengage, and she did so
+with a sigh so profound as to appear quite real. This was the second,
+and she felt it would be the last time. They would never again hold
+each other thus. Her eyes were red and swollen and her dishevelled
+hair stuck to her tear-stained face. She was not at all pretty at the
+moment, yet Jean would have gone to the wood of St. Cloud sword in
+hand to prove her the best-hearted little woman in the world.
+
+"Voilà!" she exclaimed, with affected gayety, "how foolish I am,
+monsieur! But you are so eloquent of your passion that you carry one
+away with you."
+
+"I hope it will have that effect upon Mademoiselle Remy," he said, but
+rather doubtfully.
+
+"So I have given a satisfactory----"
+
+"So real, indeed, Fouchette, that I almost forgot it was only you."
+
+Mademoiselle Fouchette was bending over the basin.
+
+"I think"--splash--"that I'll"--splash--"go on the stage," she
+murmured.
+
+"You'd be a hit, Fouchette."
+
+"If I had a lover--er--equal to the occasion, perhaps."
+
+"Oh! as to that----"
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean, we have not yet settled your affair," she
+interrupted, throwing herself again upon the divan among the cushions.
+
+"No; not quite," said he.
+
+She tried to think connectedly. But everything seemed such a jumble.
+And out of this chaos of thought came the details of the miserable
+part she had played.
+
+Her part!
+
+What if he knew that she was merely the wretched tool of the police?
+What would he say if he came to know that she had once reported his
+movements at the Préfecture? And what would he do if he were aware
+that she knew the true relation of Lerouge and Mlle. Remy and had
+intentionally misled both him and Madeleine?
+
+Fortunately, Mlle. Fouchette had been spared the knowledge of the real
+cause of Madeleine's misfortune,--the jealous grisette whom she had
+set on to worse than murder.
+
+But she was thinking only of Jean Marot now. Love had awakened her
+soul to the enormity of her offence. It also caused her to suffer
+remorse for her general conduct. Before she loved she never cared; she
+had never suffered mentally. Now she was on the rack. She was being
+punished.
+
+Love had furrowed the virgin ground of her heart and turned up
+self-consciousness and conscience, and sowed womanly sweetness, and
+tenderness, and pity, and humility, and the sensitiveness to pain.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, living in the shadow of the world's greatest
+educational institutions, was, perhaps naturally, a heathen. She
+feared neither God nor devil.
+
+Jean Marot was her only tangible idea of God. His contempt would be
+her punishment. To live where he was not would be Hell.
+
+To secure herself against this damnation she was ready to sacrifice
+anything,--everything! She would have willingly offered herself to be
+cuffed and beaten every day of her life by him, and would have
+worshipped him and kissed the hand that struck her.
+
+Perhaps, after all, the purest and holiest love is that which stands
+ready to sacrifice everything to render its object happy; that,
+blotting out self and trampling natural desire underfoot, thinks only
+of the one great aim and end, the happiness of the beloved.
+
+This was the instinct now of the girl who struggled with her emotions,
+who sought a way out that would accomplish that end very much desired
+by her as well as Jean. There was at the same time a faint idea that
+her own material happiness lay in the same direction.
+
+"Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You must make friends with Lerouge."
+
+"But, mon enfant, if----"
+
+"There are no 'buts' and 'ifs.' You must make friends with the brother
+or you can never hope to win his sister. That is clear. Write to
+him,--apologize to him,--anything----"
+
+"I don't just see my way open," he began. "You can't apologize to a
+man who tries to assassinate you on sight."
+
+"You were friends before that day in the Place de la Concorde?"
+
+"We had not come to blows."
+
+"Politics,--is that all?"
+
+"That is all that divides us, and, parbleu! it divides a good many in
+France just now."
+
+"Yes. Monsieur Jean, you must change your politics," she promptly
+responded.
+
+"Wha-at? Never! Why----"
+
+"Not for the woman you love?"
+
+"But, Fouchette, you don't understand, mon enfant. A gentleman can't
+change his politics as he does his coat."
+
+"Men do, monsieur,--men do,--yes, every day."
+
+"But----"
+
+"What does it amount to, anyhow?--politics? Bah! One side is just like
+the other side."
+
+"Oh! oh!"
+
+"Half of them don't know. It's only the difference between celui-ci
+and celui-là. You must quit ci and join là, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette laid this down as if it were merely a choice between
+mutton and lamb chops for dinner. But Jean Marot walked impatiently up
+and down.
+
+"You overlook the possible existence of such a thing as principle,--as
+honor, mademoiselle," he observed, somewhat coldly.
+
+"Rubbish!" said Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Oh! oh! what political morals!" he laughingly exclaimed, with an
+affectation of horror.
+
+"There are no morals in politics."
+
+"Precious little, truly!"
+
+"Principles are a matter of belief,--political principles. You change
+your belief,--the principles go with it; you can't desert 'em,--they
+follow you. It is the rest of them, those who disagree with you, who
+never have any principles. Is it not so, monsieur?"
+
+He laughed the more as he saw that she was serious. And yet there was
+a nipping satire in her words that tickled his fancy.
+
+A gentle knock at the door interrupted this political argument. A
+peculiar, diffident, apologetic knock, like the forerunner of the man
+come to borrow money. There was a red bell-cord hanging outside, too,
+but the rap came from somebody too timid to make a noise.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette started up as if it were the signal for execution. She
+turned pale, and placed her finger on her lips. Then, with a
+significant glance at Jean, she gathered herself together and tiptoed
+to a closet in the wall.
+
+She entered the closet and closed the door softly upon herself.
+
+Jean had regarded her with surprise, then with astonishment. He saw no
+reason for this singular development of timidity. As soon as he had
+recovered sufficiently he opened the door.
+
+A tall, thin man quietly stepped into the room, as quietly shut the
+door behind him, and addressed the young man briskly,--
+
+"Monsieur Marot?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur, at your service."
+
+"So."
+
+"And this is--ah! I remember--this is----"
+
+"Inspector Loup."
+
+The fishy eyes of Monsieur l'Inspecteur had been swimming about in
+their fringed pools, taking in every detail of the chamber. They
+penetrated the remotest corners, plunged at the curtains of the bed,
+and finally rested for a wee little moment upon the two cups and
+saucers, the two empty glasses, the two spoons, which still remained
+on the table. And yet had not Inspector Loup called attention to the
+fact one would never have suspected that he had seen anything.
+
+"Pardon, Monsieur Marot," he said, half behind his hand, "but I am not
+disturbing any quiet little--er----"
+
+"Not yet, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," replied the young man, suggestively.
+"Go on, I beg."
+
+"Ah! not yet? Good! Very well,--then I will try not to do so."
+
+Whereupon Monsieur l'Inspecteur dived down into a deep pocket and
+brought up a package neatly wrapped in pink paper and sealed with a
+red seal.
+
+The package bore the address of "M. Jean Marot."
+
+"May I ask if Monsieur Marot can divine the contents of this parcel?"
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur will pardon me,--I'm not good at guessing."
+
+"Monsieur missed some personal property after his arrest----"
+
+"If that is my property," Jean interrupted, brusquely, "it ought to be
+a gold watch, hunting case, chronometer, Geneva make, with
+eighteen-carat gold chain, dragon-head design for hook; a bunch of
+keys, seven in number, and a door-key, and about one hundred and
+eighty francs in paper, gold, and silver."
+
+"Very good. Excellent memory, monsieur. It ought to serve you well
+enough to keep out of such brawls hereafter. Here,--examine!"
+
+Hastily opening the package, Jean found his watch and chain and
+everything else intact, so far as he could recollect. He expressed his
+delight,--and when his grasp left the thin hand of the police official
+it was to leave a twenty-franc gold piece there.
+
+"Will monsieur kindly sign this receipt?" inquired Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur, whose hand had closed upon the coin with true official
+instinct.
+
+"But how and where did they get the things back?" inquired Jean,
+having complied with this reasonable request.
+
+"I know nothing about that," said the man.
+
+"And how did they know I had lost them? I never complained."
+
+"Then perhaps somebody else did, eh?"
+
+The bright little fishy right eye partially closed to indicate a
+roguish expression.
+
+"Bon soir, monsieur."
+
+And with another wink which meant "You can't fool me, young man," he
+was gone.
+
+"Well, this is luck!" muttered Jean aloud. He examined the watch
+lovingly. It was a present from his father. "But how did they get
+these? how did they know they were mine? and how did they know where I
+lived? Who asked----"
+
+He went back to the closet and told Mlle. Fouchette the coast was
+clear. There was no answer. He tried the door. It was locked. She had
+turned the key on the inside.
+
+"Mademoiselle! Come!"
+
+He waited and listened. Not a sound.
+
+"Mademoiselle! Ah, çà! He is gone long ago!"
+
+Still not a stir. Perhaps she was asleep,--or, maybe,--why, she would
+smother in that place!
+
+He kicked the door impatiently. He got down upon his breast and put
+his ear to the crevice below. If she were prostrated he might hear her
+breathing.
+
+All was silence.
+
+This closet door was the merest sheathing, flush with the wall and
+covered with the same paper, after the fashion of the ancient Parisian
+appartements, and had nothing tangible to the grasp save the key,
+which was now on the inside. Jean tried to jostle this out of place by
+inserting other keys, but unsuccessfully.
+
+"Sacré!" he cried, in despair; "but we'll see!"
+
+And he hastily brought a combination poker and stove-lifter from the
+kitchen, and, inserting the sharp end in the crack near the lock, gave
+the improvised "jimmy" a vigorous wrench. The light wood-work flew in
+splinters.
+
+At the same moment the interior of the closet was thus suddenly
+exposed to the uninterrupted view.
+
+Jean recoiled in astonishment that was almost terror. If he had been
+confronted with the suspended corpse of Mlle. Fouchette he could have
+scarcely been more startled.
+
+For Mlle. Fouchette was not there!
+
+The cold sweat started out of him. He felt among his clothes,--passed
+his hand over the three remaining walls. They appeared solid enough.
+
+"Que diable! but where is she, then?" he muttered.
+
+He was dazed,--rendered incapable of reasoning. He went around vaguely
+examining his rooms, peering behind curtains and even moving bits of
+furniture, as if Mlle. Fouchette were the elusive collar-button and
+might have rolled out of sight somewhere among the furniture.
+
+"Peste! this is astonishing!"
+
+All of this time there was the lock with the key on the inside.
+Without being a spiritualist, Jean felt that nobody but spirits could
+come out of a room leaving the doors locked and the keys on the
+inside. But for that lock, he might have even set it down to optical
+illusion and have persuaded himself that perhaps she had really never
+entered that place at all.
+
+As Jean Marot was not wholly given to illusions or superstitions, he
+logically concluded that there was some other outlet to that closet.
+
+"And why such a thing as that?" he asked himself. What could it be
+for? Was it a trap? Perhaps it was a police souricière? He remembered
+the warning of Benoit.
+
+Jean hesitated,--quite naturally, since he was up to the tricks of the
+political police. If this were a trap, why, Mlle. Fouchette must have
+known all about it! Yet that would be impossible.
+
+Then he thought of M. de Beauchamp, and his brow cleared. Whatever the
+arrangement, it could have never been designed with regard to the
+present occupant of the appartement,--and M. de Beauchamp had escaped.
+
+He lighted a cigarette and took a turn or two up and down,--a habit of
+his when lost in thought.
+
+"Ah! it is a door of love!" he concluded. "Yes; that is all. Well, we
+shall find out about that pretty soon."
+
+The more he thought of the handsome, godlike artist who had so
+mysteriously fled, why, the more he recalled Mlle. Fouchette's
+confusion on a certain evening when he first called on her, and her
+recent disinclination to discuss his disappearance. He was now certain
+that this mysterious exit emptied into her room. He smiled at his own
+sagacity. His philosophy found the same expression of the cabman of
+Rue Monge,--
+
+"Toujours de même, ces femmes-là!"
+
+He laughed at the trick she had played him; he would show her how
+quickly he had reached its solution. He went outside and tapped gently
+on her door.
+
+No reply.
+
+He tried the lock, but it was unyielding. Examination by the light of
+a match showed no key on the inside.
+
+"Eh bien! I will go by the same route," he said, returning to his
+room.
+
+He brought a lighted candle to bear on the magical closet. It proved
+to be, as stated, the ordinary blind closet of the ancient Parisian
+houses, the depth of the wall's thickness and about three feet wide;
+the door being flush with the wall and covered with the same paper,
+the opening was unnoticeable to the casual view.
+
+All Parisian doors close with a snap-lock, and a key is indispensable.
+This knowledge is acquired by the foreigner after leaving his key on
+the inside a few times and hunting up a locksmith after midnight.
+
+The back of these closets, which are used for cupboards as well as
+receptacles for clothing, abuts on the adjoining room, quite often, in
+a thin sheathing of lath and plaster, which, being covered with the
+wall-paper, is concealed from the neighboring eyes, but through which
+a listener may be constantly informed as to what is going on next
+door.
+
+A superficial survey of the place having developed no unusual
+characteristics, Jean took down all of his clothing and emptied the
+closet of its contents to the last old shoe.
+
+With the candle to assist him, he then carefully examined the rear
+wall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had her reasons for not wishing to meet Inspector Loup
+anywhere or at any time. These reasons were especially sound,
+considering this particular time and place.
+
+And that the knock on Jean's door was that of Inspector Loup she had
+no more doubt than if she had been confronted by that official in
+person.
+
+Therefore her flight.
+
+The visit of Inspector Loup had the same effect upon Mlle. Fouchette
+that the unexpected appearance of the general of an army might have
+upon a sleepy picket-guard or a man off post. Inspector Loup was to
+her a sort of human monster--a moral devil-fish--that not even the
+cleverest could escape if he chose to reach out for them.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had been seized by the tentacles of Inspector Loup in
+her infancy, as has been seen, and from that moment had become the
+creature of his imperial will,--had, in fact, finally become one of
+the myriad infinitesimal tentacles herself, subservient to the
+master-mind. Whatever scruples she had imbibed from the society of the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers had been dissipated by the Jesuit sisters of
+Le Bon Pasteur. In the select circle of the vagabonds of the Porte de
+Charenton and robbers of the wood of Vincennes the police agent was
+execrated, and the secret informer, or spy, was deemed the most
+despicable of human creatures and worthy only of a violent death;
+whereas the good Mother Supérieure of Le Bon Pasteur encouraged the
+tale-bearer and rewarded the informer with her favor and the
+assurance of the Divine blessing. Even the good Sister Agnes--now
+already a kind of shadowy memory--had taught the waif that spying out
+and reporting to the constituted authorities was commendable and
+honorable.
+
+And to do Mlle. Fouchette full justice she so profited by these
+religious teachings that she was enabled to impart valuable inside
+information to Inspector Loup's branch of the government concerning
+the royalist plottings at Le Bon Pasteur. The importance of these
+revelations Mlle. Fouchette herself did not understand, but that it
+was of great value to the ministry--as possibly corroborating other
+facts of a similar nature in their possession--was evidenced by the
+transfer of Mlle. Fouchette's name to a special list of secret agents
+at the Ministry, with liberty to make special reports over the head of
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur himself.
+
+From that moment the latter official watched Mlle. Fouchette with a
+vigilant eye; for under the spy system agents were employed to watch
+and report the actions of other agents. This held good from the top of
+the Secret Service down,--reminding one of the vermin of Hudibras
+that--
+
+              "had fleas to bite 'em,
+    And these same fleas had lesser fleas,
+        So on ad infinitum."
+
+In Mlle. Fouchette the government had found one of the lesser fleas,
+but none the less sharp, shrewd, active, and unconscionable.
+
+Up to a quite recent period.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's reports to the Préfecture had latterly betrayed a
+laxity of interest that invited official attention, if they did not
+call down upon her the official censure.
+
+The girl was conscious of this. Half sullen, half defiant, she was
+struggling under the weight of the new views of life recently
+acquired. Like the rest of the intelligent world, whose wisdom chiefly
+consists in unlearning what it has already learned, Mlle. Fouchette
+was somewhat confused at the rapidity with which old ideas went to
+pieces and new ideas crowded upon her mind.
+
+Because--well, because of Jean Marot.
+
+A single look from Inspector Loup before Jean would terrify her,--a
+word would crush her.
+
+She must have time.
+
+And why did Inspector Loup come there in person as errand-boy unless
+for another purpose? She thought of the secret agents who usually
+accompanied Inspector Loup. She knew that at this moment they were
+spread out below like the videttes of an army. They were down in the
+Rue St. Jacques in their usual function of Inspector Loup's eyes that
+saw everything and Inspector Loup's ears that heard everything.
+
+This visit to Jean was a mere pretext that covered something more
+important. Was it concerning Jean? Or, was it her? Perhaps Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur wanted her,--a species of flattery which would have been
+incense to her a month ago, and was now a terror.
+
+It was only a few days since she had earned fifty francs and the
+compliments of Inspector Loup. It was true, Monsieur de Beauchamp had
+got away to Brussels, the centre of the Orléans conspiracy.
+
+He was the first victim of the new ministry, and his flight indicated
+the change of policy as to the well-known and openly tolerated
+machinations of the royalists. Some of the more timid Orléanists in
+Paris and the provinces, recognizing the signal, took the alarm and
+also put the frontier between them and Inspector Loup.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's conscience was clear; she had combined feminine
+philanthropy with duty in Monsieur de Beauchamp's case--he was such a
+handsome and such an agreeable gentleman--and had given him the
+straight tip after having betrayed him. She had not repented this good
+action, but she felt the cold chills again when she thought of
+Inspector Loup. She was only a poor petite moucharde,--a word from
+him--nay, a nod, a significant wink--would deprive her of the sunshine
+that ripens the grapes of France.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette fled before Inspector Loup's knock she took the
+key of the closet and these swift reflections with her. The snap-lock
+was familiar to her, and the key was the only means of pulling the
+door shut upon herself, and the only means of opening it again when
+she chose to come out.
+
+She leaned against the side of the dark box and listened. The sound of
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur's soft voice did not startle her,--she knew it.
+She would have been surprised if it had been anything else. The watch
+and chain episode reassured her but little,--beyond the assurance that
+Jean was in no immediate danger.
+
+She got over in the farthest corner behind the clothes, thinking to
+have some fun with Jean when he should come to search for her. The
+wall was very thick and there was ample space behind her, but this
+space seemed to give way and let her back farther and farther,
+unexpectedly, as one leans against an opening door.
+
+It was a door. And it let her into the wall, apparently, and so
+suddenly that she lost her balance.
+
+As soon as she had recovered from her astonishment she stood perfectly
+still for a few moments and listened attentively. Fortunately, she had
+made no noise.
+
+"Dear me! but this is very curious," she murmured, feeling the walls
+on all sides.
+
+She was in another closet similar to the one she had just left,--she
+could feel the empty hooks above her head. Her hand struck a key.
+
+All the curiosity of the moucharde came over her. She forgot all about
+Jean,--even Inspector Loup. She turned the key slowly and noiselessly
+and opened the door,--a little at first, then more boldly.
+
+She heard nothing. She saw nothing. Whatever the place it was as black
+as pitch.
+
+She now recalled the mysterious goings and comings of the friends of
+Monsieur de Beauchamp,--the disappearance of half a dozen at a
+time,--the peculiar noises heard from her side of the closet.
+
+"Truly, this is the back shop of Monsieur de Beauchamp," said she, as
+she stumbled upon a box. "If I only had a candle or a match."
+
+She felt the box, which was almost square, and was so heavy she could
+scarcely raise one end of it.
+
+She groped along the wall, where similar boxes were piled up, and
+began to wonder what on earth Monsieur de Beauchamp had stored there
+in his back shop.
+
+A startling suggestion stole into her mind,--perhaps it was----
+
+She hastily sought the door by which she had entered, and in her
+excitement she stumbled against it.
+
+The door closed with a snap.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was not afraid of being alone in the dark, yet she
+trembled nervously from head to foot.
+
+She knew that the key was on the inside!
+
+Then she remembered that other door only a few feet away with its key
+on the inside and with Jean Marot on the outside. And she trembled
+more than ever.
+
+What would Jean think of her?
+
+Of course, she knew he would be likely to force the closet door; but
+when he had found her missing,--what then? Would he be angry? Would he
+not suspect some trick? Would he persevere till he found her?
+
+It was all about Jean,--of herself she scarcely thought, only so far
+as the effect might come through him. All at once she felt rather than
+heard the dull sound of the breaking door beyond.
+
+"Ah! he has broken the door. He will come! He has discovered it!"
+
+She beat the walls with her small fists,--kicked the unresponsive
+stone with her thin little shoes,--her blows gave out no sound. If she
+only had something to knock with----
+
+She fumbled blindly in the darkness among the boxes. Perhaps--yes,
+here was one open, and--
+
+"Voilà!"
+
+She laid her hand on a heavy, cylindrical substance like a piece of
+iron gas-pipe, only--funny, but it was packed in something like
+sawdust.
+
+She tapped smartly on the wall with it--once, twice, thrice--at
+regular intervals, then listened.
+
+The two similar raps from the other side showed that she was both
+heard and understood.
+
+"He has found it. Ah! here he is!"
+
+And with her last exclamation Jean appeared, candle in hand, peering
+into the room and at Mlle. Fouchette in the dazed way more
+characteristic of the somnambulist than of one awake and in the full
+possession of his senses.
+
+"Mon Dieu! mon enfant, what have we here?" he ejaculated as soon as he
+recovered breath. "What is it? Are you all right? How foolish you are,
+little one!"
+
+"All right, mon ami."
+
+And she briefly and rapidly recited her adventures, at the end
+triumphantly exhibiting the bit of iron pipe with which she had opened
+communication.
+
+His face suddenly froze with horror!
+
+"Give it to me!"
+
+He snatched it from her hand excitedly and held it an instant apart
+from his candle.
+
+"A thousand thunders!" he gasped, at the same time handling the thing
+gingerly and looking for a place to lay it down.
+
+"But----"
+
+"It is a dynamite bomb!" he said, hoarsely.
+
+"Mon Dieu!"
+
+She turned as white as a sheet and staggered backward only to come in
+contact with one of the boxes on the floor. She recoiled from this as
+if she had been threatened by a snake. Mlle. Fouchette was quite
+feminine. A mouse now would have scared her into convulsions.
+
+"Where did you get this, petite?" he asked. "It is death,--a horrible
+death!"
+
+She pointed to the boxes, unable to speak.
+
+"Dynamite bombs! cartridges! powder and ball!" he declared, as he
+casually examined the nearest. "It is a real arsenal!"
+
+"Come, Jean! Let us go!" said the girl, seizing him. "It is dangerous!
+Your candle! think! Come!"
+
+She dragged him towards the open door. "Ah! to think I beat upon the
+wall with that--that----"
+
+She shivered like a leaf.
+
+"You are right," said he. "The candle is dangerous. I will get my
+bicycle-lamp and we will investigate this mystery."
+
+"It is no longer a mystery," she replied,--"not to me. It is the hand
+of the Duke."
+
+"It is very singular," he muttered. "Very curious."
+
+"It is a fairy romance," said she, as they passed back through the
+narrow opening to Jean's appartement.
+
+"There is no fairy story about that dynamite,--that, at least, is both
+practical and modern."
+
+"Oh! I mean this secret passage and all that----"
+
+"Yes; but don't you know, mon enfant, that I first thought it led
+to--to your----"
+
+"For shame! Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"I don't know," said he, shaking his head smilingly. "Monsieur de
+Beauchamp was a very handsome man."
+
+"Yes, besides being an ardent servant of the Duc d'Orléans and an
+artist collector of pictures and bric-à-brac----"
+
+"Especially 'bric-à-brac,'" said Jean, with sarcasm.
+
+"Anyhow, mon ami, you now know----"
+
+"That I was unjust to you, yes; pardon me! You could know very little
+of Beauchamp, since he was able to collect all of this bric-à-brac
+under your nose."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette reddened, thinking, nervously, of what Inspector Loup
+would say on that head. Jean saw this color and changed the
+conversation.
+
+"Come, now, let us go and explore Monsieur de Beauchamp's articles of
+vertu."
+
+With the bicycle bull's-eye light in hand he led the way back through
+the secret passage, followed closely by the young girl.
+
+"Monsieur de Beauchamp wasn't the mighty Cæsar in one thing," said
+Jean, as he squeezed through the narrow opening in the wall.
+
+"How is that?"
+
+"He had only lean men about him,--true conspirators."
+
+"Yes,--it was necessary."
+
+They found the dark room where all of the munitions of war and
+compound assassination were stored. Entering, they inadvertently
+closed the door behind them.
+
+"Dame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette. "The key, monsieur! the key!"
+
+"Que diable!"
+
+"How provoking!"
+
+"But we have the dynamite----"
+
+"Ah, çà!"
+
+But somehow Mlle. Fouchette was not as badly frightened at the
+situation as one might have the right to expect. She even laughed
+gayly at their mutual imprisonment.
+
+"Dynamite!" muttered Jean,--"a throne founded upon dynamite would
+crumble quickly----"
+
+"Yes, and by dynamite," said she.
+
+"Monsieur de Beauchamp was----"
+
+"Is a royalist leader----"
+
+"An assassin!"
+
+"A tool of the Duc d'Orléans."
+
+"The Duke would never stoop to wholesale murder! Never!"
+
+"It is the way of kings, n'est-ce pas? to shelter themselves from
+responsibility behind their tools?"
+
+"Stop! there must be guns for this ammunition. It must be----"
+
+Before the idea had fairly germinated in his brain Jean discovered a
+door that in the candle-light had easily escaped their observation. It
+was at the opposite side of the room from which they had entered. It
+was a narrow door and the key was in the lock.
+
+"Another way out," suggested the girl.
+
+"Surely, petite, since that closet entrance was never meant for a
+porte-cochère."
+
+The door opened upon a narrow and dark passage paved with worn tiles.
+At the end of this passage another door barred the way. An examination
+showed at once that this last had not been used for a long time. To
+the left, however, a mere slit in the stone was seen to involve a
+steep stair of very much worn steps. Opposite the entrance to this
+stairway was a shallow niche in the wall, in which were the remains of
+burned candles.
+
+"Cat stairs," said Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"And the cats have used it a good deal of late, I should judge," he
+observed, carefully examining the entrance in the glare of the lamp.
+
+"Leads to the roof, probably," she muttered.
+
+"Probably. Let us mount."
+
+"Oh, yes, let us follow the trail."
+
+The instinct of the woman and the spy was now strong within her.
+
+The "cat stairs" were closed at the top by a heavy oaken trap securely
+fastened within by two iron hooks.
+
+"It is astonishing!" he said.
+
+"What?"
+
+"These fastenings, keys, bolts, bars, are all on this side."
+
+"Which shows merely that they are to be used only from this direction,
+does it not?"
+
+"Yes, that is plain; but we are now in another building, evidently,--a
+building that must open on some other street than the Rue St.
+Jacques."
+
+In the mean time Jean had finally unfastened and forced the trap. In
+another moment he had drawn her through the opening and they stood
+under a cloudless sky.
+
+"Ah!" she murmured.
+
+"We are free, at least, mon enfant."
+
+She was not thinking of that. The silence, the glorious vault of
+stars, the----
+
+"S-sh!"
+
+"It's the bell of Sainte Geneviève," he whispered, crossing himself
+involuntarily.
+
+"Cover the light, Monsieur Jean. These roofs have scores of eyes----"
+
+"And a couple of prowlers might be the target for a score of bullets,
+eh? True enough!"
+
+"Midnight!"
+
+She had been counting the strokes of the clock, the sound of which
+came, muffled and sullen, from the old square belfry beyond the
+Panthéon.
+
+The roofs of this old quarter presented a curious conglomeration of
+the architectural monstrosities of seven centuries. It was a fantastic
+tumult of irregular shapes that only took the semblance of human
+design upon being considered in detail. As a whole they seemed the
+result of a great upheaval of nature--the work of some powerful
+demon--rather than that of human architectural conception. These
+confused and frightful shapes stretched from street to street,--stiff
+steeps of tile and moss-covered slate, massive chimneys and blackened
+chimney-pots, great dormer-windows and rows of mere slits and holes of
+glass betraying the existence of humanity within, walls and copings of
+rusty stone running this way and that and stopping abruptly,
+mysterious squares of even blackness representing courts and
+breathing-spaces,--up hill and down dale, under the canopy of stars,
+as far as the eye could reach!
+
+And here, close at hand, and towering aloft in the entrancing
+grandeur of celestial beauty, rose the dome of the Panthéon,--so
+close, indeed, and so grandly great and beautiful in contrast with all
+the rest, that it seemed the stupendous creation of the angels.
+
+"You are cold, petite?" he whispered.
+
+She had shivered and drawn a little closer to him.
+
+"No," replied the girl, glancing around her, "but it is frightful."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Oh, these sombre roofs."
+
+"Bah! petite," he responded lightly, "ghosts don't promenade the roofs
+of Paris."
+
+"They'd break their ghostly necks if they did."
+
+"Come! and let us be careful not to break ours. Allons!"
+
+They stole softly along the adjoining wall that ended at a court.
+There was clearly no thoroughfare in this direction. Coming back on
+the trail he examined the stone attentively, she meanwhile shading the
+light with the folds of her dress. It was comparatively easy to note
+the recent wear of feet in the time-accumulation of rust and dirt and
+dry moss of these old stones. In a few moments he discovered that the
+tracks turned off between two high-pitched roofs towards the Panthéon.
+As from one of these slopes grinned a double row of dormer-windows, it
+seemed incredible that any considerable number of prowlers might long
+escape observation.
+
+"But they may be vacant," said the girl, when Jean had suggested the
+contingency.
+
+"That is quite true."
+
+So they stealthily crept rather than walked on, the end of the gutter
+abutting on another court. The depression was marked here by virgin
+moss.
+
+"It is very extraordinary," growled Jean, entirely at a loss to
+account for the abrupt close of the trail. There was no way out of
+this trough save by climbing over one of these steep roofs, except----
+
+"The window, perhaps," she whispered.
+
+"True!"
+
+Rapidly moving the lamp along the bottom of the gutter, Jean stopped.
+
+"There it is!"
+
+She pointed to the window above them with suppressed excitement.
+
+There were almost imperceptible cleats cleverly laid across the
+corrugated tiling; for the roof had a pitch of fifty degrees, and the
+casement was half-way up the slope.
+
+"It must be so," he said. "Wait!"
+
+With the lantern concealed beneath his coat he scrambled noiselessly
+up and examined the window. It was not fastened. Whoever had passed
+here last had come this way. He opened it a little, then wider.
+
+"Come! Quickly!"
+
+Even as he called to her Jean threw open wide the windows,--which
+folded from within, like all French windows--and entered, leaving
+Mlle. Fouchette to follow at will. That damsel's catlike nature made a
+roof a mere playground, and she was almost immediately behind him.
+
+"Mon Dieu! What is this?"
+
+They had descended four steps to the floor, and now the exclamation
+burst from them simultaneously.
+
+For a minute they stood, half breathless, looking about them.
+
+They seemed to be in an empty room embracing the entire unfinished
+garret of a house, gable to gable. The space was all roof and
+floor,--that is, the roof rose abruptly from the floor on two sides to
+the comb above.
+
+As the eye became accustomed to the place, it first took in the small
+square boxes, some of which had evidently been unpacked or prepared
+for that process, the litter being scattered about the floor,--the
+boxes similar to those stored in the dark room below. There were
+roughly constructed platforms beneath all of the windows, with steps
+leading up to the same. Beneath these platforms and along the whole of
+one side of the room were wooden arm-racks glistening with arms of the
+latest model. Belts, cartridge-boxes, bayonets, swords, an immense
+assortment of military paraphernalia, lay piled on the floor at one
+end of the room.
+
+At the opposite end was mounted on a swivel a one-pound Maxim
+rapid-firer, the wall in front of it being pierced to the last brick.
+
+A few blows, and lo! the muzzle of the modern death-dealer!
+
+Along the lower edge of the roof towards the Panthéon might have been
+found numerous similar places, requiring only a thrust to become
+loopholes for prostrate riflemen.
+
+The most cursory glance from the windows above showed that these
+commanded the Place du Panthéon and Rue Soufflot,--the scene of bloody
+street battles of every revolutionary epoch.
+
+Fifty active men from this vantage could have rendered either street
+or barricade untenable, or as support to a barricade in the Place du
+Panthéon have made such a barricade impregnable to exposed troops.
+
+"It is admirable!" cried Jean, lost in contemplation of the strategic
+importance of the position.
+
+"It is wonderful, but----"
+
+"Artillery? Yes," he interrupted, anticipating her reasoning; "but
+artillery could not be elevated to command this place from the street,
+and as for Mont Valérien----"
+
+"The Panthéon----"
+
+"Yes,--exactly,--they would never risk the Panthéon. Even the
+Prussians spared that."
+
+"Oh, Monsieur Jean, see!"
+
+She had discovered a white silk flag embroidered with the lilies of
+France.
+
+"The wretches! They would restore the hated emblem of the Louis! This
+is too much!" he exclaimed, in wrath.
+
+"It is the way of the king, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+She looked at him curiously.
+
+"But the Duc d'Orléans should know that the people of France will
+never abandon the tricolor,--never!"
+
+"The people of France are fools!"
+
+"True!" he rejoined, hotly, "and I am but one of them!"
+
+"Ah, Monsieur Jean! Now you are uttering the words of wisdom. Recall
+the language of Monsieur de Beauchamp,--that it is necessary to make
+use of everybody and everything going the way of the king,--tending to
+re-establish the throne!"
+
+"The throne! I will have none of it. I'm a republican!"
+
+She smiled. "And as a republican, what is your first duty now?"
+
+"Why, to inform the proper authorities of our discovery."
+
+"Good! Let us go!"
+
+"Allons!" he responded, briskly.
+
+"But how will we get out?"
+
+"How about this door?"
+
+He had brought the rays of the lamp to bear upon a door at the gable
+opposite the Maxim gun. It was bolted and heavily barred, but these
+fastenings were easily removed.
+
+As anticipated, this door led to a passage and to stairs which, in
+turn, led down to the street. They closed the door with as little
+noise as possible, carefully locking it and bringing away the key.
+
+A light below showed that the lower part of this house was inhabited,
+probably by people innocent of the terrible drama organized above
+their heads. But the slightest noise might arouse these people, and in
+such a case the Frenchman is apt to shoot first and make inquiries
+afterwards. However, once in the street, they could go around to their
+own rooms without trouble. It was worth the risk.
+
+The stairs, fortunately, had a strip of carpeting, so they soon found
+themselves safely at the street door. To quietly open this was but the
+work of a few seconds, when----
+
+They stepped into the arms of Inspector Loup and his agents.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+"Pardieu!" exclaimed Inspector Loup, who never recognized his agents
+officially outside of the Préfecture; "it is La Savatière!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette trembled a little.
+
+"And Monsieur Marot! Why, this is an unexpected pleasure," continued
+the police official.
+
+"Then the pleasure is all on one side," promptly responded Jean, who
+was disgusted beyond measure.
+
+Inspector Loup regarded the pair with his fishy eyes half closed. For
+once in his life he was nonplussed. Nay, if anything could be said to
+be surprising to Inspector Loup, this meeting was unexpected and
+surprising. But he was too clever a player to needlessly expose the
+weakness of his hand.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's eyes avoided scrutiny. She had given Jean one quick,
+significant glance and then looked demurely around, as if the matter
+merely bored her.
+
+Jean understood that glance and was dumb.
+
+Inspector Loup's waiting tactics did not work.
+
+"So my birdies must coo at midnight on the house-tops," he finally
+remarked.
+
+"Well, monsieur," retorted the young man, "is there any law against
+that?"
+
+"Where's the lantern?"
+
+"Here," said Jean, turning the bull's-eye on the face of the
+inspector.
+
+"Bicycle. Is your wheel above, monsieur?" This ironically.
+
+"Not exactly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean," put in Mlle. Fouchette, "if Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur has no further questions to ask----"
+
+"Not so fast, mademoiselle," sharply interrupted the officer. "Just
+wait a bit; for, while I do not claim that roof-walking at midnight is
+unpardonable in cats and lovers, it is especially forbidden to enter
+other people's houses when they are asleep."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's nervousness did not escape the little fishy eyes.
+While it was already evident that Monsieur l'Inspecteur was talking at
+random, it was morally certain that he would smoke them out.
+
+"And two persons armed with a dark-lantern, coming out of a house not
+their own, at this time of night," continued the inspector, "are under
+legitimate suspicion until they can explain."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette made a sign to Jean that he was to hold his tongue.
+
+"Now, none of that, mademoiselle!" cried the inspector, angrily.
+
+He rudely separated the couple, and, taking charge of the girl
+himself, turned Jean over to four of his agents who were near at hand.
+
+"We'll put you where you'll have time to reflect," he said.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was inspired. She saw that it was not a souricière. If
+the inspector knew what was above, he would not have left the
+entrances and exits unguarded. To be absolutely sure of this, she
+waited until they had passed the Rue St. Jacques.
+
+"Now is my opportunity to play quits," she said to herself, and her
+face betrayed the intensity of her purpose.
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I would like a private word with you, please."
+
+"What's that? Oh, it's of no use," he replied.
+
+"To your advantage, monsieur."
+
+"And yours, eh?"
+
+"Undoubtedly," she frankly said.
+
+They walked on a few steps. Then the inspector raised his hand for
+those in the rear to stop.
+
+They soon stood in the dark entrance of a wine-shop, the inspector of
+the secret police and his petite moucharde, both as sharp and hard as
+flint.
+
+"Now, out with it, you little vixen!" he commanded, assuming his
+brutal side. "Let us have no trifling. You know me!"
+
+"And you know _me_, monsieur!" she retorted, with the first show of
+anger in her voice.
+
+"Speak!"
+
+"I said I had important information," she began, calmly. But it was
+with an effort, for he had shaken her roughly.
+
+"Yes!" he put in; "and see that you make good, mon enfant!"
+
+He was suspicious that this was some clever ruse to escape her present
+dilemma. Monsieur l'Inspecteur certainly knew Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Information that you do not seem to want, monsieur----"
+
+"Will you speak?"
+
+"I have the right to reveal it only to the Ministry," she coldly
+replied.
+
+"Is--is it so important as that?" he asked. But his tone had changed.
+She had made a move as if the interview were over.
+
+"So important that for you to be the master of it will make you master
+of the Ministry and----"
+
+"Bah!" he ejaculated, contemptuously. He was master of them already.
+
+"And the mere publicity of it would send your name throughout the
+civilized world in a day!"
+
+"Speak up, then; don't be afraid----"
+
+"It is such that, no matter what you may do in the future, nothing
+would give you greater reputation."
+
+"But, ma fillette,"--it was the utmost expression of his official
+confidence,--"and for you, more money, eh?"
+
+"No, no! It is not money!"
+
+She spoke up sharply now.
+
+"Good!" said he, "for you won't get it."
+
+"It is not a question of money, monsieur. If I----"
+
+"There is no 'if' about it!" he exclaimed, irritated at her bargaining
+manner and again flying into a passion. "You'll furnish the
+information you're paid to furnish, and without any 'question' or
+'if,' or I'll put you behind the bars. Yes, sacré bleu! on a diet of
+bread and water!"
+
+He was angry that she had the whip hand and that she was driving him.
+
+"Certainly, monsieur,"--and her tone was freezingly polite,--"but then
+I will furnish it to the Ministry, as I'm specially instructed in such
+cases to do."
+
+"Then why do you come to me with it?" he demanded.
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I would do you a favor if you would let
+me----"
+
+"For a substantial favor in return!"
+
+"Precisely."
+
+"Ugh! of course!"
+
+"Of course, monsieur,--partly. Partly because you have been kind to
+me, generally, and I would now reciprocate that kindness."
+
+"So! Well, mademoiselle, now we understand each other, how much?"
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"I say how much money do you want?"
+
+"But, monsieur--no, we do not understand each other. I said it is not
+a question of money. If I wanted money I could get it at the
+Ministry,--yes, thousands of francs!"
+
+"Perhaps you overrate your find, mademoiselle," he suggested, but with
+unconcealed interest.
+
+"Impossible!" she exclaimed.
+
+"It ought to be very important indeed," she continued, "equally
+important to you in its suppression, monsieur."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The fishy eyes were very active.
+
+"And who besides you possesses this secret?"
+
+"Monsieur Marot."
+
+"So! He alone?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"In a word, mademoiselle, then, what is it that you want?"
+
+"Liberty!"
+
+The inspector started back, confused.
+
+"What's that?" he growled, warily.
+
+"I said 'liberty.' I mean freedom from this service! I'm tired,
+monsieur! I would be free! I would live!"
+
+The veteran looked at her first with incredulity, then astonishment,
+then pity. He began to think the girl was really crazy, and that her
+story was probably all a myth. He suddenly turned the lantern from
+under his cloak upon her upturned face, and he saw that which thrilled
+him, but which he could not understand.
+
+It was the first time within Inspector Loup's experience that he had
+found any one wanting to quit--actually refusing good money to
+quit--the Secret System, having once enjoyed its delightful
+atmosphere.
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"
+
+But he was so much involved in his mental struggle with this new phase
+of detective life that he did not answer. He had figured it out.
+
+"So! I think I understand now. But why quit? You have struck something
+better; but, surely, mademoiselle, one can be in love and yet do one's
+duty to the State."
+
+"Monsieur!"
+
+"Oh, well; you can resign, can't you? Nobody hinders you." And be a
+fool! was in Monsieur l'Inspecteur's tone.
+
+"Yes; but that is not all, monsieur. I want it with your free consent
+and written quittance,--and more, your word of honor that I will never
+be molested by you or your agents,--that I will be as if I had never
+been!"
+
+"And if I agree to all this----"
+
+"I shall prove my good faith."
+
+"When?"
+
+"At once!"
+
+"Good! Then we _do_ understand each other," he said, taking her hand
+for the first time in his life.
+
+"I trust you, monsieur."
+
+"You have my word. But you will permit me to give you a last word of
+fatherly advice before I cease to know you. Keep that gay young lover
+of yours out of mischief; he will never again get off as easily as he
+did the other day."
+
+"Thanks, Monsieur l'Inspecteur!" said Mlle. Fouchette, very glad
+indeed now that the lantern was not turned on her.
+
+"Allons!" he cried, looking about him. "And my men, mademoiselle?"
+
+"I would put two at the door where you met us--out of sight--and leave
+two in the Rue St. Jacques where we shall enter,--until you see for
+yourself,--the coast is clear."
+
+"Good!" said he, and he gave the necessary orders.
+
+Inspector Loup issued from the Rue Soufflot entrance an hour later
+with a look of keen satisfaction.
+
+Between the royalists on the one hand, and the republicans on the
+other, there were gigantic possibilities for an official of Inspector
+Loup's elasticity of conscience.
+
+He had first of all enjoined strict silence on the part of Mlle.
+Fouchette and Jean Marot.
+
+"For the public safety," he said.
+
+During his inspection of the premises he had found opportunity to
+secretly transfer an envelope to the hand of Mlle. Fouchette. For the
+chief of the Secret System was too clever not to see the shoe that
+pinched Mlle. Fouchette's toes, and, while despising her weakness, was
+loyal to his obligation.
+
+As soon as Mlle. Fouchette had bidden Jean good-night and found
+herself in her own room, she took this envelope from her pocket and
+drew near the lamp.
+
+It was marked "To be opened to-morrow."
+
+She felt it nervously. It crackled. She squeezed it between her thumb
+and forefinger. She held it between her eyes and the light. In vain
+the effort to pierce its secrets.
+
+The old tower clock behind the Panthéon mumbled two.
+
+"Dame!" she said, "it is to-morrow!"
+
+And she hastily ripped the missive open.
+
+Something bluish white fluttered to the floor. She picked it up.
+
+It was a new, crisp note of five hundred francs!
+
+She trembled so that she sank into the nearest chair, crushing the
+paper in her hand. Her little head was so dizzy--really--she could
+scarcely bring it to bear upon anything.
+
+Except one thing,--that this unexpected wealth stood between her and
+what an honest young woman dreads most in this world!
+
+The tears slowly trickled down the pale cheeks,--tears for which it
+is to be feared only the angels in heaven gave Mlle. Fouchette due
+credit.
+
+Suddenly she started up in alarm. But it was only some belated lodger,
+staggering on the stairs. She examined the lock on her door and
+resolved to get a new one. Then she looked behind the curtains of her
+bed.
+
+The fear which accompanies possession was new to her.
+
+Having satisfied herself of its safety, she cautiously spread out the
+bank-note on the table, smoothed out the wrinkles, read everything
+printed on it, and kissed it again and again.
+
+One of the not least poignant regrets in her mind was that she could
+tell no one of her good fortune. Not that Mlle. Fouchette was bavarde,
+but happiness unshared is only half happiness.
+
+She went to the thin place in the wall and listened. Jean was snoring.
+
+She could look him in the face now.
+
+It was a lot of money to have at one time,--with what she had already
+more than she had ever possessed at once in her life.
+
+Freedom and fortune!
+
+She picked up the envelope which had been hastily discarded for the
+fortune it had contained.
+
+Hold! here was something more! She saw that it was her quittance,--her
+freedom! Her face, already happy and smiling, became joyous.
+
+It was merely a lead-pencil scrawl on a leaf from Inspector Loup's
+note-book saying that----
+
+As she read it her head swam.
+
+"Oh! mon Dieu! It is impossible! Not Fouchette? I am not--and Mlle.
+Remy is my sister! Ah! Mère de Dieu! And Jean--oh! grand Dieu!"
+
+She choked with her emotions.
+
+"I shall die! What shall I do? What shall I do? And Lerouge, my
+half-brother! I shall surely die!"
+
+With the paper crumpled in her folded hands she sank to her knees
+beside the big chair and bowed her head. Her heart was full to
+bursting, but in her deep perplexity she could only murmur, "What
+shall I do? what shall I do?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jean Marot started from his heavy sleep much later than usual to hear
+the clatter of dishes in the next room. Going and coming rose a rather
+metallic voice humming an old-time chanson of the Quartier. He had
+never heard Mlle. Fouchette sing before; yet it was certainly Mlle.
+Fouchette:
+
+    "Il est une rue à Paris,
+    Où jamais ne passe personne,"--
+
+and the rest came feebly and shrilly from the depths of his kitchen,--
+
+    "La nuit tous les chats qui sont gris
+    Y tiennent leur cour polissonne."
+
+"Oh! oui da!" he cried from his bed. "Yes! and the cats sometimes get
+arrested, too, hein?"
+
+The door leading to his salon was opened tentatively and a small
+blonde head and a laughing face appeared.
+
+"Not up yet? For shame, monsieur!"
+
+"What time is it?"
+
+"Ten o'clock, lazybones."
+
+"Ten----"
+
+"Yes. Aren't you hungry?"
+
+"Hungry as a wolf!" he cried, with a sweep of his curtains.
+
+"Come, then!" And the blonde head disappeared.
+
+"This is living," said the young man to himself as he was
+dressing,--he had never enjoyed such comfort away from home,--"the
+little one is a happy combination of housekeeper and cook as well as
+guide, philosopher, and friend. Seems to like it, too."
+
+He noted that the little breakfast-table was arranged with neat
+coquetry and set off with a bunch of red roses that filled the air
+with their exquisite fragrance. Next he saw that Mlle. Fouchette
+herself seemed uncommonly charming. She not only had her hair done up,
+but her best dress on instead of the customary dilapidated morning
+wrapper.
+
+His quick, artistic eye took in all of these details at a glance,
+falling finally upon the three marguerites at her throat.
+
+"My faith! you are quite--but, say, little one, what's up?"
+
+"I'm up," she laughingly answered, "and I've been up these two hours,
+Monsieur Lazybones."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Yes, and I've been down in Rue Royer-Collard and paid our milk
+bill,--deux francs cinquante, and gave that épicière a piece of my
+mind for giving me omelette eggs for eggs à la coque; for, while the
+eggs were not bad, one wants what one pays for, and I'm going to have
+it, so she gave me an extra egg this time. How do you like these?"
+
+Without waiting for him to answer she added, "They are vingt-cinq
+centimes for two, six at soixante-quinze centimes, and one extra,
+which is trois francs vingt-cinq; and I got another pound of that
+coffee in Boulevard St. Michel; but it is dreadful dear, mon
+ami,--only you will have good coffee, n'est-ce pas? But three-forty a
+pound! Which makes six francs soixante-cinq."
+
+It was her way to thus account for all expenditures for their joint
+household. He paid about as much attention as usual,--which was none
+at all,--his mind still dwelling on the cheerfulness and genuine
+comfort of the place.
+
+"And the flowers, petite----"
+
+"Of course," she hastily interrupted, "I pay for the flowers."
+
+"No! no!" he explained. "I don't mean that! Is it your birthday,
+or----"
+
+"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, "that is it, Monsieur Jean. I was born
+this morning!"
+
+He laughed, but saw from the sparkle of the blue eyes that he had not
+caught her real meaning.
+
+"From the marguerites----"
+
+"Ah, çà! I made the marchande des fleurs give me those. Aren't they
+sweet? How I love the flowers!"
+
+"But I never saw such a remarkable effect, somehow. They are only
+flowers, and----"
+
+"'Only flowers'! Say, now!"
+
+"Still, it is curious," he added, resuming his coffee and rolls, as if
+the subject were not worth an argument or was too intangible to
+grasp. He could not account for the change in Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+And if Jean Marot had been very much more of a philosopher than he was
+he would not have been able to understand the divine process by which
+human happiness softens and beautifies the human countenance.
+
+"Mon ami," said the girl, seeking to hide the pleasure his admiration
+gave her, "do you, then, forget what we have to do to-day?"
+
+"Lerouge? Yes,--that's so,--at once!"
+
+Immediately after breakfast Jean sat down and wrote a friendly, frank
+letter, making a complete and manly apology for his anger and
+expressing the liveliest sympathy for his old-time friend.
+
+"Tell him, Monsieur Jean, that you have changed your political
+opinions and----"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"At least that you'll have nothing more to do with these
+conspirators."
+
+"But, Fouchette----"
+
+"Last night's discoveries ought to satisfy any reasonable being."
+
+"True enough, petite."
+
+"Then why not say so to----"
+
+"Not yet,--I prefer acts rather than words,--but in good time----"
+
+It is more difficult for a man to bring himself to the acknowledgment
+of political errors than to confess to infractions of the moral law.
+
+In the mean time Mlle. Fouchette had cleared away and washed the
+breakfast things and stood ready to deliver the missive of peace.
+
+"It is very singular," he repeated to himself after she had departed
+upon this errand, "very singular, indeed, that this girl--really, I
+don't know just what to think of her."
+
+So he ceased to think of her at all, which was, perhaps, after all,
+the easiest way out of the mental dilemma.
+
+The fact was that Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming necessary to him.
+
+With a light heart and eager step she tripped down the Boulevard St.
+Michel towards the ancient Isle de la Cité. On the bridge she saw the
+dark shadow of the Préfecture loom up ahead of her, and her face,
+already beaming with pleasure, lighted with a fresher glow as she
+thought of her moral freedom.
+
+The bridge was crowded as usual with vehicles and foot-passers, but
+this did not prevent a woman on the opposite side from catching a
+recognizing glance of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+The sight of the latter seemed to thrill the looker like an electric
+shock. She stopped short,--so suddenly that those who immediately
+followed her had a narrow escape from collision. Her face was heavily
+veiled, and beneath that veil was but one eye, yet in the same swift
+glance with which she comprehended the figure she took in the elastic
+step and the happy face of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Mort au diable!" she muttered in her masculine voice,--a voice which
+startled those who dodged the physical shock,--and added to herself,
+"It must be love!" She saw the flowers at the girl's throat. "She
+loves!"
+
+It was at the same instant Mlle. Fouchette had raised her eyes to the
+Préfecture that stretched along the quai to the Parvis de la Notre
+Dame.
+
+Ah, çà!
+
+And after years of servitude,--from childhood,--some of it a servitude
+of the most despicable nature,--she had at last struck off the
+shackles!
+
+No,--she had merely changed masters; she had exchanged a master whom
+she feared and hated for one she loved--adored!
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, for the first time in her life, walked willingly and
+boldly past the very front door of the Préfecture,--"like any other
+lady," she would have said.
+
+An agent of the Préfecture, who knew her from having worked with her,
+happened to see this from the court and hastily stepped out. He
+observed her walk, critically, and shook his head.
+
+"Something is in the wind," said he.
+
+But as the secret agents of the government are never allowed to enter
+the Préfecture, he watched for some sign to follow. She gave none.
+
+Nevertheless, he slowly sauntered in the same direction, not daring to
+accost her and yet watchful of some recognition of his presence.
+
+It was the same polite young man who had surrendered his place in the
+dance to Jean on the night of Mardi Gras. He had not gone twenty yards
+before a robust young woman heavily veiled brushed past him with an
+oath.
+
+"Pardieu!" he said to himself, "but this seems to be a feminine
+chase." And he quickened his steps as if to take part in the hunt.
+
+Reaching the corner, Mlle. Fouchette doubled around the Préfecture and
+made straight for the Hôtel Dieu.
+
+Rapidly gaining on her in the rear came the veiled woman, evidently
+growing more and more agitated.
+
+And immediately behind and still more swiftly came the sleuth from the
+Préfecture. To be sure, there were always plenty of people crossing
+the broad plaza of Notre Dame from various directions and three going
+the same way would not have attracted attention.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette drew near the steps of the big hospital, taking a
+letter from her bosom.
+
+"That letter! Sacré! I must have that letter!" murmured the veiled
+woman, aloud.
+
+"But you won't get it," thought the agent, gliding closer after her.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette kissed the superscription as she ran up the steps.
+
+"Death!" growled the veiled woman, half frantic at what she considered
+proof of the justice of her jealous suspicions as strong as holy writ.
+
+The man behind her was puzzled; astonished most at Mlle. Fouchette's
+osculatory performance; but he promptly seized the pursuer by the arm.
+
+"Not so fast, mademoiselle!"
+
+"Go! I must have that letter!"
+
+She turned upon the man like an enraged tigress, the one big black eye
+ablaze with wrath.
+
+"Ah! It is you, eh? And right under the nose of the Préfecture!"
+
+"Au diable!" she half screamed, half roared, struggling to free
+herself from his iron grip. "It is none of your business."
+
+"Your best friend, too!"
+
+"Devil!" she shouted, striking at him furiously.
+
+"Oh, no; not quite,--only an agent from the Préfecture, my bird."
+
+"Oho! And she's a dirty spy like you! I know it! And I'll kill her!
+D'you hear that? À mort! The miserable moucharde!"
+
+"Not to-day, my precious!" said the man, cleverly changing his grip
+for one of real steel. "Not to-day. Here is where you go with me,
+deary. Come!"
+
+"I tell you I'll kill her!"
+
+"We'll see about that later; in the mean time you can have a chance to
+sweat some of that absinthe out of you in St. Lazare. And look sharp,
+now! If you don't come along quietly I'll have you dragged through the
+streets! Understand?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had, happily unconscious of this exciting scene,
+passed out of sight, inquired as to the condition of Lerouge, sent in
+the letter by a trusty nurse, and was returning across the Parvis de
+la Notre Dame at the same moment that Madeleine, alternately weeping
+and cursing, was thrown into her cell at the Préfecture.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+A fortnight had passed since the note to Lerouge, and to all
+appearances the latter had ignored it and its author.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was ordinarily an infallible remedy for blue-devils;
+but to Jean Marot Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming a mere matter of
+course. A patient little beast of burden, she was none the less useful
+to a young man floundering around in the mire of politics, love, and
+other dire uncertainties.
+
+As otherwise very good husbands are wont to unload their irritability
+on their wives, so Jean was inclined to favor Mlle. Fouchette. And as
+doting wives who voluntarily constitute themselves drudges soon become
+fixed in that lowly position, so Mlle. Fouchette naturally became the
+servant of the somewhat masterful Jean Marot.
+
+She cheerfully accepted these exactions of his variable temper along
+with the responsibility for the economical administration of his
+domestic affairs.
+
+But even the brightest and most willing of servants cannot always
+anticipate what is in the master's mind; so Jean had come to giving
+orders to Mlle. Fouchette. He had not yet beaten her, but the careless
+observer might have ventured the opinion that this would come in time.
+
+It is the character of Frenchmen to beat women,--to stab them in the
+back one day when they are bored with them. The Paris press furnishes
+daily examples of this sort of chivalry. As a rule, the life of wife
+or mistress in France is a condition little short of slavery.
+
+The mere arrangement of words is unimportant to the woman who
+anticipates blows, and who, doubtless, after the fierce fashion of the
+Latins, would love more intensely when these blows fell thickest and
+heaviest. As for being ordered about and scolded, it was a recognition
+of his dependence upon her.
+
+Over and above all other considerations was Jean's future happiness.
+In this, at least, they were harmonious. For Jean himself was also
+looking solely to that end.
+
+Since that memorable night when one brief pencilled sentence from
+Inspector Loup had bestowed upon her a new birth she found double
+reason for every sacrifice. She not only trampled her love underfoot
+with new courage, but bent all her energy and influence towards the
+reconciliation of Jean Marot and Henri Lerouge.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had gone to the hospital every day to ascertain the
+young man's condition. And when he had been pronounced convalescent
+she ascertained his new address. All of which was duly reported to
+Jean, who began to wonder at this sudden interest in one for whom she
+had formerly expressed only dislike.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette offered no explanation of her conduct,--a woman is
+never bound to give a reason for her change of opinions. She never
+asked to see Lerouge,--never sent in her name to him,--but merely
+inquired, saying she was sent by one of his old friends. As she had
+intended, the name of this friend, Jean Marot, had been finally
+carried to Henri Lerouge.
+
+One day she had seen Mlle. Remy, and had been so agitated and nervous
+that it was all she could do to sustain herself in the shadow of one
+of the great stone columns. She had watched for this opportunity for
+days; yet when it suddenly presented itself she could only hide,
+trembling, and permit the girl to pass without a word.
+
+"If I could only touch her!--feel her pretty fingers in my hand! Ah!
+but can I ever bring myself to that without betrayal? They would be so
+happy! and I,--why should I not be happy also? I love him,--I love
+her,--and if they love each other,--she can help it no more than
+he,--it would be impossible!"
+
+Thus she reasoned with herself as the sunny head of Mlle. Remy
+disappeared in the gloomy corridor. Thus she reasoned with herself
+over and over again, as if the resolution she had taken required
+constant bracing and strengthening.
+
+And it did require it.
+
+For Mlle. Fouchette, humble child of the slums, had bravely cut out
+for herself a task that would have appalled the stoutest moralist.
+
+Love had not only softened the nature of Mlle. Fouchette, as is
+seen,--it had revolutionized her. The fierce spirit to which she owed
+her reputation--of the feline claws and ready boot-heel--had vanished
+and left her weak and sensitive and meekly submissive. Personally she
+had not realized this change because she had not reasoned with herself
+on the subject. Not only her whole time but her entire mind and soul
+were absorbed in the service of Love. She gloried in her
+self-abasement.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette would have gone farther,--would have deliberately and
+gladly sacrificed everything that a woman can lay upon the altar of
+her affections. She had no moral scruples, being only a poor little
+heathen among the heathen.
+
+Somewhat disappointed and not a little chagrined at first that Jean
+had not required, or even hinted at, this sacrifice, she had ended by
+secretly exulting in this nobility of character that made him superior
+to other young men, and distinctly approved of his fidelity to the
+image in his heart. Deprived of this means of proving her complete
+devotion to him, she elevated him upon a higher pedestal and
+prostrated herself more humbly.
+
+Wherein she differed materially from the late Madame Potiphar.
+
+As for Jean Marot, it is to be reluctantly admitted that he really
+deserved none of this moral exaltation, being merely human, and a
+common type of the people who had abolished God and kings in one fell
+swoop, constructed a calendar to suit themselves, and worshipped
+Reason in Notre Dame represented by a ballet dancer. In other words,
+he was an egoist of the egoists of earth.
+
+He was, in fact, so unbearably a bear in his treatment of little
+Fouchette that only the most extraordinary circumstances would seem to
+excuse him.
+
+And the circumstances were quite extraordinary. Jean was suffering
+from personal notoriety. Unseen hands were tossing him about and
+pulling him to pieces. Unknown purposes held him as in a vice.
+
+Within the last two weeks his mail had grown from two to some twenty
+letters a day,--most of which letters were not only of a strongly
+incendiary nature, but expressed a wholly false conception of his
+political position and desires. He was being inundated by
+indiscriminate praise and abuse. There were reams of well-meant advice
+and quires of threats of violence.
+
+Among these letters had been some enclosing money and drafts to a
+considerable amount,--to be used in a way which was plainly apparent.
+From a distinguished royalist he had received in a single cover the
+sum of ten thousand francs "for the cause." From another had come five
+thousand francs for his "personal use." Various smaller sums
+aggregated not less than ten thousand francs more, most of which was
+to be expended at discretion in the restoration of a "good" and
+"stable" and "respectable" government to unhappy France. Besides cash
+were drafts and promises,--the latter reaching unmeasured sums. And
+interspersed with all these were strong hints of political preferment
+that would have turned almost any youthful head less obstinate than
+that which ornamented the broad shoulders of Jean Marot.
+
+At first Jean was amused, then he was astonished. Finally he became
+indignant and angry to the bursting-point.
+
+It was several days before he could adequately comprehend what had
+provoked this furious storm, with its shower of money and warning
+flashes of wrath and rumblings of violence. Then it became clear that
+he was being made the political tool of the reactionary combination
+then laying the axe at the root of the republican tree. The
+Orléanists, Bonapartists, Anti-Semites, and their allies were quick to
+see the value of a popular leader in the most turbulent and
+unmanageable quarter of Paris. The Quartier Latin was second only to
+Montmartre as a propagating bed for revolution; the fiery youth of the
+great schools were quite as important as the butchers of La Villette.
+
+The conclusions of the young leader were materially assisted and
+hastened by the flattering attention with which he was received by the
+young men wearing royalist badges, and by the black looks from the
+more timid republicans. He thereupon avoided the streets of the
+quarter, and devoted his time to answering such letters as bore
+signature and address. He sought to disabuse the public mind, so far
+as the writers were concerned, by declaring his adherence to the
+republic, and by returning the money so far as possible.
+
+Jean Marot had now for the first time, with many others, turned his
+attention to the revelations in the Dreyfus case as appeared in the
+_Figaro_, and saw with amazement the use being made of a wholly
+fictitious crisis to destroy French liberty. He was appalled at these
+disclosures. Not that they demonstrated the innocence of a condemned
+man, but because they showed the utter absence of conscience on the
+part of his accusers and the criminal ignorance of the military
+leaders on whom France relied in the hour of public danger. For the
+first time he saw, what the whole civilized world outside of France
+had seen with surprise and indignation, that the conviction of Captain
+Dreyfus rested upon the testimony of a staff-officer of noble blood
+who lived openly and shamelessly on the immoral earnings of his
+mistress, and who was the self-acknowledged agent of a maison de
+toleration on commission. In the person of this distinguished member
+of the "condotteri" was centred the so-called "honor of the army." As
+for the so-called "evidence," no police judge of England or America
+would have given a man five days on it.
+
+Matters were at this stage when one morning about a fortnight since
+the day Mlle. Fouchette had changed masters they reached the
+bursting-point. Jean suddenly jumped from his seat where he had been
+looking over his mail and broke into a torrent of invective.
+
+"Dame!" said Mlle. Fouchette, coming in from the kitchen in the act of
+manipulating a plate with a towel,--"surely, Monsieur Jean, it can't
+be as bad as that!"
+
+"Mille tonnerres!" cried Jean, kicking the chair viciously,--"it's
+worse!"
+
+"Worse?"
+
+"Fouchette, you're a fool!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette kicked the door till it rattled. She also used oaths,
+rare for her.
+
+"Stop!" he roared. "What in the devil's name are you doing that for?
+Stop!"
+
+"Why not? I don't want to be a fool. I want to do just as you do,
+monsieur!"
+
+"Oh, yes! it is funny; but suppose Inspector Loup wanted you for a
+spy----"
+
+The plate slipped to the floor with a loud crash.
+
+"There!" he exclaimed. And seeing how confused she got,--"Never mind,
+Fouchette. Come here! Look at that!"
+
+Inspector Loup had politely requested Monsieur Marot to furnish
+privately any information in connection with the recent discoveries at
+his appartement which might be useful to the government,--especially
+in the nature of correspondence, etc.
+
+As if Inspector Loup had no agents in the Postes et Télégraphes and
+had not already generously sampled the contents of Jean's mail, going
+and coming! But there are some cynical plotters in France who never
+use the public mails and, understanding the thoroughness of the Secret
+System, prefer direct communication.
+
+"It is infamous!" said the girl, when she had calmly perused the
+letter.
+
+"It is damnable!" said Jean.
+
+"Still, it is his business to know."
+
+"It is a miserable business,--a dishonorable business! And Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur will follow his dirty trade without any help from me!"
+
+"Very surely!" said Mlle. Fouchette, emphatically.
+
+"I've had enough of politics."
+
+"Good!" cried she, gleefully.
+
+"But, I'd like to punch the fellow who wrote this," he muttered,
+tearing an insulting letter into little bits and throwing them on the
+floor.
+
+She laughed. "But that is politics," she remarked.
+
+"True. We Frenchmen are worse than the Irish. I sometimes doubt if we
+are really fit for self-government; don't you know?"
+
+"Mon ami, you are improving rapidly," she replied, with a meaning
+smile,--"why not others?"
+
+"I--I--mille diables!"
+
+"What! Another?"
+
+"Worse!"
+
+He slammed his fist upon the table in sudden passion.
+
+"It is very provoking, but----"
+
+"Read it!" he said, dejectedly.
+
+She read beneath a Lyon date-line, in a small, crabbed, round hand,--
+
+"You are not only a scoundrel, but a traitor, and you dishonor the
+mother who bore you as you betray the country which gives you shelter
+and protection."
+
+"He's a liar!" cried the girl, with a flash of her former spirit.
+
+"He is my father!" said Jean, scarcely able to repress his tears.
+
+"Ah! mon Dieu!"
+
+She slipped down at his knees and covered his hand with kisses.
+
+"He cannot know!--he cannot know!" she said, consoling him. "He has
+only read the newspapers, like the rest. If he knew the truth, mon
+ami!"
+
+"Well!" sighed the young man,--"let us see,--a telegram? I hadn't
+noticed that. There can be nothing worse than what one's father can
+write his son."
+
+He read in silence, then passed it to her with a shrug of the
+shoulders.
+
+"Monsieur de Beauchamp!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"'Come to Brussels at once.'"
+
+"It is the Duc d'Orléans."
+
+"Bah!"
+
+"He knows, then, that I am in possession."
+
+"Yes,--certainly."
+
+"Probably wants me to take charge of his guns----"
+
+"And dynamite bombs----"
+
+"The wretches!"
+
+"You can tell him you have turned them over to Inspector Loup."
+
+"I will, pardieu!"
+
+He was inspecting the superscription of the next envelope.
+
+"Something familiar about that. Ah! its from Lerouge!"
+
+"Lerouge!"
+
+"Very good, very good! Look!"
+
+Jean jumped up excitedly,--this time with evident pleasure.
+
+"Coming here! and to-night! Good!"
+
+"Oh! I'm so glad, mon ami!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "And, see!
+'toi!'--he calls you 'thee;' he is not angry!"
+
+The note from Lerouge was simply a line, as if in answer to something
+of the day.
+
+"Merci,--je serai chez toi ce soir."
+
+"'Toi,'--it is good!" said the girl.
+
+"Yes, it looks fair. And Henri always had the way of getting a world
+of meaning in a few words."
+
+"It is as if there had occurred nothing."
+
+"Yes,--to-night,--and we must prepare him a welcome of some kind. I
+will write him as to the hour. Let us say a supper, eh, Fouchette?"
+
+"A supper? and here? to-night?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette recoiled with dismay written in every line of her
+countenance.
+
+"I don't see anything so strange or horrible about that," said Jean.
+"I did not propose to serve _you_ for supper."
+
+"N-no; only----"
+
+"Well?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was greatly agitated. He looked at her curiously.
+Monsieur Lerouge coming to see him and coming to supper--where she
+must be present--were widely different propositions according to Mlle.
+Fouchette; for she had hailed the first with delight and the second in
+utter confusion.
+
+"Fouchette, why don't you say at once that you don't want to do it!"
+he brutally added.
+
+"You do not understand. Would it be well for--for you, mon ami? It is
+not for myself. He probably does not know me."
+
+"What if he does? It strikes me that you are growing mighty nice of
+late. I don't see what Lerouge has to do with you,--and you have
+pretended----"
+
+"Pretended? Oh, monsieur! I beg----"
+
+"Very well," he interrupted. "We can go out to a restaurant, I
+suppose, since you don't seem to want to take that trouble for me."
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" she protested, earnestly, "it is not that; I would be
+glad, only--if it were not Lerouge."
+
+"And why not Lerouge, pray?"
+
+"But, mon ami, would he not tell his sister that----"
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"I know----" she hesitated.
+
+"Pouf! Lerouge will not know you. And what if he did recognize
+the--the----"
+
+"Savatière----"
+
+"Yes; what, then? But, say! Fouchette, you shall wear that pretty
+bonne costume I got you. Hein?"
+
+"But, mon ami,--mon cher ami! I'd rather not do it," she faltered.
+"If Mademoiselle Remy should hear of it----"
+
+"Bah! I know Lerouge. He'd think you my servant, my model. And have
+you not your own private establishment to retire to in case--really,
+you must!"
+
+"W-well, be it so, Monsieur Jean; but if harm comes of it----"
+
+"It will be my fault, not yours. It goes!"
+
+Thus Jean, having reduced the "Savatière" to the condition of
+unsalaried servitude, now insisted upon her dressing the part.
+
+He had paid her no empty compliment when he said that she looked her
+best as a maid. He had fitted her out for an evening at the Bullier
+for twenty-five francs. In the Quakerish garb of a French bonne she
+had never looked so demurely sweet in her life. The short skirt showed
+a pair of small feet and neat round ankles. Her spotless apron
+accentuated the delicacy of the slender waist. And with a cute white
+lace cap perched coquettishly over the drooping blonde hair--well,
+anybody could see that Mlle. Fouchette (become simply Fouchette by
+this metamorphosis) was really a pretty little woman.
+
+And Jean kissed her on both cheeks and laughed at her because they
+reddened, and swore she was the sweetest little "bonne à toute faire"
+in all the world.
+
+No doubt Marie Antoinette and her court ladies looked most charming
+when they played peasant at Petit Trianon; for it is a curious fact
+that many women show to better physical advantage in the simple
+costume of a neat servant than in the silks and diamonds of the
+mistress.
+
+As for Fouchette, she was truly artistic, and she knew it. The
+knowledge that Jean comprehended this and admired her caused her eyes
+to shine and her blood to circulate more quickly. And a woman would be
+more than mortal who is not to be consoled by the consciousness of a
+successful toilet.
+
+Yet she had dressed with many misgivings, between many sighs and
+broken exclamations. A little time ago she would have cared nothing
+whether it were Lerouge or anybody else; but now,--ah! it was a cruel
+test of her.
+
+True, she must meet Lerouge some time. Oh! surely. She must see Mlle.
+Remy, too,--she must look into his sombre eyes,--feel the gentle touch
+of her hands! Often,--yes; often!
+
+For if Jean married Mlle. Remy, perhaps she, Fouchette, might--why
+not? She would become their domestic, could she not?
+
+Only, to meet Lerouge here,--in this way!
+
+It was a bitter struggle, but love conquered.
+
+Nevertheless, she felt that she required all of her natural courage,
+all the cleverness learned of rogues and the stoicism engrafted by
+suffering, to undergo the ordeal demanded of her and to follow the
+chosen path to the end.
+
+"How charming you look, Fouchette!" he exclaimed, when she appeared in
+the evening.
+
+"Thanks, monsieur."
+
+She gave the short bob of the professional domestic. Her face was
+wreathed in smiles.
+
+"But, I say, mon enfant, you are really pretty."
+
+"Ah, çà!"
+
+She was blushing,--painfully, because she knew that she was blushing.
+He put his arm about her waist and attempted to kiss her.
+
+"No, no, no!" she cried, with an air of vexation,--"go away!"
+
+"But you are really artistic, Fouchette. I must have a sitting of you
+in that costume."
+
+He had made several sketches of her head, she serving as a model for
+Mlle. Remy. Only, he filled them out to suit his ideal. Mlle.
+Fouchette saw this; yet she was always pleased to pose for him.
+
+"That is, if you are good," he added, in his condescending way.
+
+"Have no fear,--I'll be good."
+
+"Une bonne bonne, say."
+
+"Bon-bon? Va!"
+
+"And can sit still long enough."
+
+"There! I can't sit still now, monsieur. The dinner,--it is nearly
+time."
+
+She had set out the table with the best their mutual resources
+afforded. She had run up and down the street after whatever seemed
+necessary earlier in the day. Now that final arrangement had come,
+nothing seemed quite satisfactory. She changed this, replaced that
+with something else, ran backward a moment to take in the ensemble,
+then changed things back again. She had the exquisite French
+perception of the incongruous in form and color. Between times she was
+diving in and out of the little kitchen, where the soup was simmering
+and where a chicken from the nearest rôtisserie was being thoroughly
+warmed up. And in her lively comings and goings she wore a bright
+smile and kept up the incessant purr, purr, purr of a vivacious
+tongue.
+
+"And you must have champagne!" said she, reproachfully.
+
+He had come in with the bottles under his arm. "You should have let me
+purchase it, at least. How much?"
+
+"Ten francs."
+
+"Ten francs! It is frightful! And two for this claret, I'll warrant!"
+
+"More than that, innocent."
+
+"What! more than----"
+
+"Four francs."
+
+She held up her little hands, speechless, being unable to do justice
+to his extravagance. He laughed.
+
+"It is an important occasion," said he. "But, really, you are simply
+astonishing, little one."
+
+"Là, là, là!"
+
+Jean had an artistic sense, and Mlle. Fouchette now appealed to it. He
+watched her skipping about the place and tried to reconcile this
+sweet, bright-eyed, light-hearted creature with the woman he had known
+as "La Savatière."
+
+"Que diable! but she is--well, what in the name of all the goddesses
+has come over the girl, anyhow? It can't be that Lerouge--yet she
+didn't want to have him see her here."
+
+Conscious of this scrutiny, Fouchette would have been compelled to
+retreat to the kitchen on some pretext if she had not got this
+occasional shelter by necessity. She was so happy. Her heart was so
+light she could not be quite certain if she were really on the earth
+or not. Never had Jean looked so handsome to her.
+
+"Dame! It is nothing," she said and repeated over and over to
+herself,--"it is nothing; and yet I am surely the happiest girl in the
+world. Oh, when he looks at me with his beautiful eyes like that I
+feel as if I could fly! Mon Dieu! but if he touched me now I should
+faint! I should die!"
+
+A vigorous ring at the door smote her ear. She trembled.
+
+"Well, why don't you go, melon?" He spoke with a sharpness that fell
+on her like a blow.
+
+She fumbled nervously at her apron-strings.
+
+"Go as you are, stupid!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+If her heart had not already fallen suddenly to zero, it would have
+dropped there when she opened the vestibule door.
+
+The elderly image of Jean Marot stood before her. Somewhat stouter of
+figure and broader of feature, with full grayish beard and moustache
+that concealed the outlines of the lower face, but still such a
+striking likeness of father to son that even one less versed in the
+human physiognomy than Mlle. Fouchette must have at once recognized
+Marot père. The deeply recessed eyes looked darker and seemed to burn
+more fiercely than Jean's, and more accurately suggested Lerouge.
+Indeed, to the casual observer the man might have been the father of
+either of the two young men. In bearing and attire the figure was that
+of the prosperous French manufacturer. His voice was coldly harsh and
+imperious.
+
+"So! mademoiselle!"
+
+He paused in the vestibule and gazed searchingly at the trembling
+little woman with a fierce glare that made her feel as if she were
+being shrivelled up where she stood.
+
+"So! May I inquire whether I am on the threshold of Monsieur Jean
+Marot's appartement or that of his--his----"
+
+He was evidently making an effort to preserve his calmness, but the
+words seemed to choke him.
+
+The implication, though not at once fully understood by Mlle.
+Fouchette, had the effect of rousing her powers of resistance.
+
+"It is Monsieur Marot's, monsieur," she replied, with dignity.
+
+"And you are----"
+
+"His servant, monsieur."
+
+"Oh! So!"
+
+"And you, monsieur----"
+
+"I am his father, mademoiselle."
+
+"Ah!" He need not have told her that.
+
+At this instant the inner door was thrown wide open, and Jean, who had
+recognized his father's voice with consternation, was in the opening.
+
+Father and son stood thus confronting each other for some seconds,
+mute,--the father sternly and with unrelenting eye, the son with a
+pride sustained by obstinacy and bitterness. The sting of his father's
+letter was fresh, and he nerved himself for further insults. Nor had
+he to wait long, for his father advanced upon him as he retired into
+the room, with a growing menace in his tone at every successive step.
+
+"So! Here you are, you--you----"
+
+"Father!"
+
+The old man had excitedly raised his hand as if to strike his son
+without further words, but he found Mlle. Fouchette between them.
+
+"Monsieur! Monsieur! Hold, Jean! Do not answer him! Not now,--not
+now!"
+
+The elder Marot glanced at her as if she were some sort of vermin.
+This at first, then he hesitated before kicking her out of the way.
+
+"Ah, messieurs! is it the way to reconciliation and love to go at it
+in hot blood and hard words? Take a little time,--there is plenty and
+to spare. Anger never settles anything. Sit down, monsieur, will you
+not? Why, Monsieur Jean! Will you not offer your father a chair? And
+remember, he is your father, monsieur. Remember that before you speak.
+It is easy to say hard words, but the cure is slow and difficult,
+messieurs. Why not deliberate and reason without anger?"
+
+As she talked she placed chairs, towards one of which she gently urged
+Marot senior. Then she insisted upon taking his hat. A man with his
+hat off is not so easily roused to anger as he is with it on, nor can
+one maintain his resentment at the highest pitch while sitting down.
+There was this much gained by Mlle. Fouchette's diplomacy.
+
+But the first glance about the room restored the father's
+belligerency. He saw the elaborately laid table, the flowers, the
+wine----
+
+"I am honored, monsieur," he said to his son, sarcastically, "though I
+had no idea that you expected me."
+
+"It is--er--I had a friend----"
+
+"Oh! I know quite well I have no reason to anticipate such a royal
+welcome. Yet there are three plates----"
+
+"That was for Fouchette," said Jean, hastily and unthinkingly. "You
+will be welcome at my humble table, father."
+
+"Fouchette,"--he had noticed the glance at the girl, now making a
+pretence of arranging the table,--"and so this is Fouchette, eh? And
+your humble table, eh?"
+
+The irascible old gentleman regarded both of the adjuncts of life de
+garçon with a bitter smile. Still it was something like a smile, and
+the girl was quick to take advantage of it.
+
+"Oh, this is a special occasion, monsieur,--a reconciliation dinner."
+
+"A reconciliation dinner, eh?" growled the old man, suspicious of some
+sly allusion to himself and son. "And will you be good enough to speak
+for this dummy here and inform me who is to be reconciled and what the
+devil you've got to do with the operation?"
+
+"To be sure!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, with affected gayety. "Only I
+must begin at the last first. I'm the next-door neighbor of Monsieur
+Jean, your son, and I take care of his rooms for him--for a
+consideration. My appartement is over there, monsieur, if you please.
+We are poor, but we must eat----"
+
+"And drink champagne," put in the elder Marot, significantly.
+
+"Is not champagne more fitting for the reconciliation of two men who
+were once friends than would be violent words?" she asked, with
+spirit.
+
+"Who pays for it? It depends upon who pays for it!" He tried to ward
+off the conclusion by hurling this at both of them.
+
+Jean reddened. He knew quite well the insinuation. It is not an
+unusual thing for Frenchmen to live on the product of a woman's shame.
+
+"As if you should ask me if I were a thief, father!" protested the
+young man, now scarcely able to restrain his tears.
+
+"And as if we had not pinched and saved and economized and all that!
+And can you look around you and not see that?" She had hard work to
+smother her indignation.
+
+"Come to the point!" retorted the elder Marot, impatiently. "The
+woman! Where is the woman?"
+
+Jean reddened more furiously and was more confused than before.
+
+"It can't be this--this"--he regarded the slender, girlish figure
+contemptuously--"this grisette ménagère! You are not such a fool as
+to----"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no, no!" hastily interrupted Mlle. Fouchette, with great
+agitation. "Oh, no, monsieur! Think not that! She is an angel! I am
+nothing to him,--nothing! Only a poor little friend,--a servant,
+monsieur,--one who wishes him well and would do and give anything to
+see him happy! Nothing more, monsieur, I assure you! I--mon Dieu!
+nothing more!"
+
+There was almost a wail in her last note of too much protestation.
+
+Both father and son scrutinized her attentively, while the color came
+and went in her now downcast face,--the one with a puzzled
+astonishment, the other with surprised alarm.
+
+And both understood.
+
+Not being himself a lover, the elder Marot divined at once what Jean,
+with all his opportunities, had till now failed to discover.
+
+Another pull at the bell came like a gift from heaven to momentarily
+relieve poor little Fouchette of her embarrassment.
+
+Jean started nervously to his feet, in sympathy with her intelligence,
+but by no means relieved in mind.
+
+"It is Lerouge," he said, desperately. "Attend, Fouchette!"
+
+The father glanced from one to the other quickly, inquiringly.
+
+"Lerouge?"
+
+"Yes, father,--it is he,--the friend--whom we--whom I expect--to whom
+I owe reparation----"
+
+The two men studied each other in silence for the few seconds that
+followed, and Jean saw something like aroused curiosity and wonderment
+in his father's face,--something that had suddenly taken the place of
+anger.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had anticipated the coming of Lerouge with quite a
+different sentiment to that which overpowered Jean. The latter saw in
+it only the ruin of his most cherished hopes. Fouchette, on the other
+hand, with the quicker and surer intuition of the woman, believed the
+time now ripe for the reconciliation of not only Jean and Lerouge, but
+of father and son. It would be impossible for Jean and his father to
+quarrel before this third party. Time would be gained. And then, were
+not the two affairs one? The straightening out of the tangle between
+the friends must carry with it the better understanding between Jean
+and his father.
+
+As to herself, the girl had not one thought. She was completely lifted
+out of self,--carried away with the intentness of her solicitude for
+Jean's future.
+
+The situation appealed to her sharpest instincts. Its possibilities
+passed through her alert mind before she had reached the door.
+Glorified in her purpose, she flung it wide open.
+
+She was confronted by two persons,--the one bowing, hat in hand; the
+other smiling, radiantly beautiful.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette stood for a moment like one suddenly turned to stone.
+
+This was more than she had bargained for. She leaned against the wall
+instinctively, as if needing more substantial support than her limbs.
+Her throat seemed parched, so that when she would have spoken the
+result was merely a spasmodic gasp. Even the friendly semi-darkness of
+the little antechamber failed to hide her confusion from her visitors.
+
+Then, recovering her self-possession by a violent effort, she reopened
+the inner door and announced, feebly,--
+
+"Monsieur Lerouge,--Mademoiselle Remy!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+Fortunately for Mlle. Fouchette, Jean's astonishment and temporary
+confusion at the unexpected apparition of the angel of his dreams
+extinguished every other consideration.
+
+Mlle. Remy stood before him--in his appartement--smiling, gracious, a
+picture of feminine youth and loveliness,--her earnest blue eyes
+looking straight into his lustrous brown ones, searching, pénétrante!
+
+He forgot Fouchette; he forgot his friend Henri; he forgot even the
+presence of an angry father.
+
+"Hello, Jean!"
+
+"Henri, mon ami!"
+
+Recalled partially to his senses, Jean embraced his old friend after
+the effusive, dramatic French fashion. They kissed each other's
+cheeks, as if they were brothers who had been long parted.
+
+"We will begin again, Henri," said Jean,--"from this moment we will
+begin again. Forgive me----"
+
+"There!" cried Henri, "let us not go into that. We have both of us
+need of forgiveness,--I most of all. As you say, let us begin again.
+And in making a good start, permit me to present you to my sister
+Andrée, whom you have met before, and, I have reason to believe, wish
+to meet again. I have brought her along without consulting you, first
+because she insists on going where I go, next as an evidence of good
+faith and a pledge of our future good-will. Mademoiselle Remy, mon
+cher ami."
+
+"No apology is necessary for bringing in the sunshine with you, mon
+ami," said Jean, bending over the small hand.
+
+"Monsieur Marot is complimentary," said Mlle. Remy.
+
+For a moment her eyes drooped beneath his ardent gaze.
+
+"But, then, I know him so well," she quickly added, recovering her
+well-bred self-possession,--"yes, brother Henri has often talked about
+you, and I have seen you----"
+
+There was a faint self-consciousness apparent here. And he knew that
+she was thinking of his lonely watches in front of her place of
+residence.
+
+They rapidly exchanged the usual courtesies of the day, in the usual
+elaborate and ornate Parisian fashion.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette saw every minute detail of this meeting with an
+expression of intense concern. She weighed every look and word and
+gesture in the delicate, tremulous balance of love's understanding.
+And she realized that Jean's way was clear at last, and at the same
+time saw the consequences to herself.
+
+Well, was not this precisely what she had schemed and labored to bring
+about?
+
+Yet she stole away unobserved to the little kitchen, and there turned
+her face to the wall and covered her ears with her hands, as if to
+shut it all out. Her eyes were dry, but her heart was drenched with
+tears.
+
+Meanwhile, the elder Marot, who had risen politely upon the entrance
+of Lerouge and his sister, stood apparently transfixed by the scene.
+At the sight of Andrée his face assumed a curious mixture of eagerness
+and uncertainty. Upon the mention of her name the uncertainty
+disappeared. A flood of light seemed to burst upon him with the
+encomiums showered upon his son.
+
+When Jean turned towards his father--being reminded by a plucking of
+the sleeve--he was confounded to behold a face of smiles instead of
+the one recently clouded with parental wrath.
+
+"This is m-my father, Monsieur Lerouge,--Mademoiselle----"
+
+"What? Monsieur Marot? Why, this is a double pleasure!" exclaimed
+Lerouge, briskly seizing the outstretched hand. "The father of a noble
+son must perforce be a noble father. So Andrée says, and Andrée has
+good intuitions.--Here, Andrée; Jean's father! Just to think of
+meeting him on an occasion like this!"
+
+Neither Lerouge nor his sister knew of the estrangement between Jean
+and his home. They had puzzled their heads in vain as to the reasons
+for Jean's retirement to the Rue St. Jacques, but were inclined to
+attribute it to politics or business reverses.
+
+"Ah! so this is Monsieur Lerouge,--of Nantes," remarked the old
+gentleman when he got an opening.
+
+"Of Nantes," repeated Lerouge.
+
+"And this is Andrée,--bless your sweet face!--and--and,"--turning a
+quizzical look on the wondering Jean,--"and 'the woman'!"
+
+It was now Lerouge's turn to be astonished. Jean and the girl
+attempted to conceal their rising color by casting their eyes upon the
+floor. Marot père was master of the situation.
+
+"Your father was a noted surgeon," he continued, still holding the
+girl's hand.
+
+"One of the best of his time," said Henri, proudly.
+
+"And your mother----"
+
+"Is dead, monsieur."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The look of pain that passed swiftly over M. Marot's face was
+reflected in an audible sigh.
+
+"One of the best of women," he went on, musingly,--"and you are the
+living image of your mother when I last saw her. Her name, too----"
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" interrupted Andrée, excitedly, "you knew my mother,
+then?"
+
+"So well, my dear girl, that I asked her to be my wife."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"Oh, monsieur!"
+
+"Father!"
+
+"That is the truth. It is the additional truth that my cousin, the
+doctor, got her."
+
+"My father was your cousin?" asked Lerouge. "Why, I come right by the
+family resemblance, Jean!"
+
+"Yes," laughingly retorted the latter, "and the family temper."
+
+"I was not aware that your mother again married," observed M. Marot.
+
+"Yes,--Monsieur Frédéric Remy, the father of Andrée, here," said
+Henri. "Alas! neither he nor my mother long survived the loss of their
+younger daughter."
+
+"Then there is yet another child?"
+
+"Was," replied the young man, sadly. "For Louise, who was two years
+younger than Andrée, disappeared one day----"
+
+"Disappeared!"
+
+"Yes; and has never been heard of to this date. She was scarcely three
+years old. Whether she wandered away or was stolen, is dead or living,
+we do not know. She was never seen again."
+
+"What a terrible blow! What a terrible blow!" murmured the elder
+Marot, thinking of the unhappy mother.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had reappeared a few moments before,--just in time to
+hear this family history. But she immediately returned to the kitchen,
+where she sank upon a low stool and bowed her face in her hands.
+
+"Fouchette! Here, Fouchette!"
+
+It was Jean's peremptory voice.
+
+She hastily roused herself. She re-entered the little salon, and upon
+a sign from Jean conducted Henri Lerouge and his sister to Jean's
+bedroom, where she assisted Mlle. Remy to remove her hat. For up to
+this time the party had been grouped in running conversation without
+having settled down.
+
+"How you tremble, child!" exclaimed Andrée,--"and you look so scared
+and pale. Is it, then, so bad as all that? What is the matter? Have
+they been quarrelling? I don't understand."
+
+"Andrée!" whispered her brother, warningly. "Remember the salt woman!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette raised one little nervous finger to her lips and
+gently closed the door.
+
+"Pray do not seem to notice," she whispered. "But you did not know,
+then, that Jean and his father have been estranged, oh! for months?
+That the poor young man had been cast off,--forsaken by father and
+mother----"
+
+"But why?" insisted Mlle. Remy. "It must have been something
+dreadful,--some horrible mistake, I mean. Why should----"
+
+The confusion of Mlle. Fouchette was too evident to press this
+questioning. And it was increased by the curious manner in which the
+pair regarded her.
+
+For a single instant she had wavered. She had secretly pressed her
+lips to her sister's dress, and she felt that she could give the whole
+world for one little loving minute in her sister's arms.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+At least one dilemma relieved her from another; so she flew to answer
+Jean's call, like the well-trained servant she was fast becoming.
+
+"That's right, Fouchette. I'm glad to find you more attentive to our
+guests than I am. But I've been so confoundedly upset--and
+everlastingly happy. We shall want another plate. Yes, my father will
+honor us. I say, Fouchette, what a night! What a night!"
+
+"I am so glad, Monsieur Jean! I am so glad!"
+
+He considered her an instant and then hustled her into the kitchen and
+shut the door. "Let us consult a moment, my petite ménagère," were his
+last words to be overheard. In the kitchen he took her hands in his.
+
+"Look here, Fouchette! I owe my happiness to you. Everything, mind
+you,--everything!"
+
+"But have I not been happy, too?"
+
+"There! For what you have done for me I could not repay you in a
+lifetime, little one."
+
+"Then don't try, Monsieur Jean," she retorted, as if annoyed.
+
+"And I'm going to ask you to increase the obligation. It is that you
+will continue to preserve the character you have assumed,--just for
+this occasion, you know. It will save me from----"
+
+"Ah, çà! It is not much, Monsieur Jean," she interrupted, with a
+seraphic smile. "To be your servant, monsieur, is---- I mean, to do
+anything to please you is happiness."
+
+"You are good, Fouchette,--so good! And when I think that I have no
+way to repay you----"
+
+"Have I laid claim to reward?" she interposed, suddenly withdrawing
+her hands. "Have I asked for anything?"
+
+"No, no! that is the worst of it!"
+
+"Only your friendship,--your--your esteem, monsieur,--it is enough.
+Yet now that your affairs are all right and that you are happy, we
+must--must part,--it will be necessary,--and--and----" There was a
+pleading note in her low voice.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You have been a brother,--a sort of a brother and protector to me,
+anyhow, you know, and it would wrong--nobody----"
+
+The blood had slowly mounted to her neck as she spoke and the lips
+quivered a little as she offered them.
+
+It was the last, and when he was gone she felt that it would
+strengthen her and enable her to bear up under the burden she had laid
+upon herself. She went about the additional preparations for the
+dinner mechanically.
+
+There was not a happier quartette in all Paris on this eventful
+evening than that which sat around the little table in Jean Marot's
+humble appartement in ancient Rue St. Jacques.
+
+And poor little Mlle. Fouchette!
+
+The very sharpness of the contrast made her patient, resolute
+abnegation more beautiful, her sacrifice more complete, her poignant
+suffering more divine. Unconsciously she rose towards the elevated
+plane of the Christ. She wore the crown of thorns in her heart; on her
+face shone the superhuman smile of sainthood.
+
+If in his present sudden and overwhelming happiness Jean forgot Mlle.
+Fouchette except when she was actually before him he must be forgiven.
+But neither his father nor Henri Lerouge was so blind, though the
+latter evidently saw Mlle. Fouchette from a totally different point of
+view.
+
+The gracious manner and encouraging smile of Mlle. Remy happily
+diverted Fouchette from the consideration of her critics. Every kind
+word and every smile went home to Mlle. Fouchette. And for the moment
+she gave way to the pleasure they created, as a stray kitten leans up
+against a warm brick. Sometimes it seemed as if she must break down
+and throw herself upon the breast of this lovely girl and claim her
+natural right to be kept there, forever next to her heart!
+
+At these moments she had recourse to her kitchen, where she had time
+to recover her equilibrium. But Fouchette was a more than ordinarily
+self-possessed young woman. She had been educated in a severe school,
+though one in which the emotions were permitted free range. It was
+love now which required the curb.
+
+She served the dinner mechanically, but she served it well. Amid the
+wit and badinage she preserved the shelter of her humble station.
+
+Yet she knew that she was the frequent subject of their conversation.
+She saw that she was being covertly scrutinized by Lerouge. And, what
+was harder to bear, the elder Marot showed his sympathy by
+good-natured comments on her appearance and service. The cry of
+"Fouchette!" recalling her to all this from her refuge in the kitchen
+invariably sent a tremor through her slender frame.
+
+"Henri said you were so practical!" laughingly remarked Mlle. Andrée.
+
+"And am I not?" asked Jean, looking around the room.
+
+"Not a bit! There is nothing practical here,--no,--and your Fouchette
+is the most impossible of all."
+
+"Ah, Jean!" broke in Henri, "this Fouchette,--come now, tell us about
+her."
+
+"With proper reservations," said M. Marot, seriously.
+
+"No; everything!" cried Andrée.
+
+She could see that it teased him, and persisted. "Anybody would know
+that she is not a common servant. Look at her hands!"
+
+"I've seen your Fouchette somewhere under different circumstances,"
+muttered Lerouge, "but I can't just place her."
+
+"Well," said Jean, after a moment's reflection, "she is an uncommon
+servant."
+
+He began to see that some frankness was the quickest way out of an
+unpleasant subject. "The fact is, as she has already told my father,
+Fouchette is an artist's model and lives next door to me. She takes
+care of my rooms for a consideration. But all the money in the world
+would not repay what I owe her,--quite all of my present happiness!
+Let me add, my dear mademoiselle, that the less attention you show
+her, the less you seem to notice her, the better she will like it."
+
+"How interesting!" cried Andrée; "and how unsatisfactory!"
+
+"Very," said her brother, with a meaning smile.
+
+"Some day, mademoiselle, I will tell you,--not now. I beg you to
+excuse me just now."
+
+"Certainly, monsieur; but, pardon me, she must be ill,--and her face
+is heavenly!"
+
+"Is it?" asked Jean. "I had not noticed. Perhaps because one heavenly
+face is all I can see at the same time."
+
+"Ah, monsieur!"
+
+She tried to hide her confusion in a sip of champagne.
+
+M. Marot and Lerouge became suddenly interested in a sketch upon the
+wall and rose, puffing their cigars, to make a closer and more
+leisurely examination.
+
+Jean's hand somehow came in contact with Andrée's,--does any one know
+how these things come about?--and the girl's cheeks grew more rosy
+than usual. She straightway forgot Mlle. Fouchette. Her eyes were
+lowered and she gently removed her hand from the table.
+
+"Here is the true model for an artist," said he.
+
+"But I never sat," she declared.
+
+"Oh, don't be too sure."
+
+"Never; wouldn't I remember it?"
+
+"Perhaps not. One doesn't always remember everything."
+
+She blushed through her smile. She had unconsciously yielded her hand
+again.
+
+They talked airy nothings that conceal the thoughts. Then, in a few
+minutes, she discovered that his hand again covered hers and was
+innocently caressing it. She drew it away in alarm.
+
+"Do not take it away! Are we not cousins, mademoiselle?"
+
+"Oh, yes; funny, isn't it? Long-lost cousins!" She laughed merrily.
+
+"And now that we are found----"
+
+"It seems to me as if I had known you a long time," she
+continued,--"for years and years! Or, perhaps it is
+because--because----"
+
+"Come! let me show you something," he interrupted, still retaining the
+hand, "some poor sketches of mine."
+
+He led her to the portfolio-stand in the corner and seated himself at
+her feet.
+
+The elder connoisseurs, meanwhile, had taken the sketch in which they
+were interested from its place on the wall to the better light at the
+table.
+
+"'La Petite Chatte.'"
+
+"An expressive title, truly."
+
+"Why, its Mademoiselle Fouchette!" exclaimed M. Marot, holding the
+picture off at arm's length.
+
+"It is, indeed! And the real Fouchette as I last beheld her at the
+notorious Café Barrate. It's the 'Savatière'! That solves a mystery."
+
+Lerouge thereupon took M. Marot by the arm, replaced the picture on
+the wall, and led the old gentleman to the corner farthest from that
+occupied by the younger couple, and there the two conversed over their
+cigars in a low tone for a long time.
+
+In that time they had mutually disposed of the other couple,--Henri
+Lerouge, as brother and legal custodian of Mlle. Andrée Remy; M.
+Marot, as father of Jean Marot. They had not only agreed that these
+two should marry, but had arranged as to the amount of the "dot" of
+the girl and the settlement upon the young man. Mlle. Andrée had two
+hundred and fifty thousand francs in her own right, but the chief
+consideration in the case was, to M. Marot, the fact that she was the
+daughter of the beautiful woman whom he had once loved. For this
+consideration he agreed to double the amount of her dot and give his
+son a junior partnership in the silk manufactory at Lyons.
+
+This arrangement had no relation whatever to the sentiment existing
+between the young couple. It would have been concluded, just the same,
+if they had not loved.
+
+In French matrimonial matters love is a mere detail. The parents, or
+those who stand in the place of parents, are the absolute masters, and
+therefore the high contracting powers. Sons as well as daughters are
+subject to this will until after marriage. It is a custom strong as
+statute law. If inclination coincide with parental desire, well and
+good; if not, a social system which rears young orphan girls to feed
+the insatiate lust of Paris winks at the secret lover and the
+mistress.
+
+With the reasonable certainty of the approval of both father and
+brother and with a heart surcharged with love for the sweet girl whom
+he felt was not indifferent to him, Jean had reason to feel happy and
+confident. As they bent over the pictures they formed a charming
+picture themselves.
+
+"Really, monsieur!"
+
+Mlle. Remy saw herself reproduced with such faithfulness that she
+started.
+
+"Well?"
+
+Jean looked up in her face with all his passion concentrated in his
+eyes.
+
+She was bending over the head of a young girl with a profusion of fair
+hair down upon her shoulders, and she forgot. Another showed the same
+face in a pen-and-ink profile, with the same glorious hair.
+
+"They are amateurish----"
+
+"Au contraire," she interrupted, "they are quite--but Henri did not
+tell me, monsieur, that you were an artist."
+
+"And he was right, cousin."
+
+She had turned her face away from the light, so he could not see her
+blushes. For these pictures told a story of love more vividly and more
+eloquently than words. She was trying to piece out that which remained
+untold.
+
+"The pictures are well done, Cousin Jean,--and your model----"
+
+"Fouchette."
+
+"Oh, yes; I see now! She is a model, truly!"
+
+Mlle. Remy seemed to derive a good deal of satisfaction from this
+conclusion.
+
+    [Illustration: IT WAS A CRITICAL MOMENT]
+
+"But," she added, quickly, "do you think she looks so much like me?"
+
+"A mere suggestion," he said.
+
+"It is curious,--very curious, mon--Cousin Jean; but do you know----"
+
+Their heads were very close together. Unconsciously their lips met.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had been engaged in the work of washing dishes. It was
+an excuse to kill time and something to occupy her attention. As she
+carefully arranged everything in its place she realized that it was
+for the last occasion. She knew her work was done. So she made
+everything particularly bright and clean. The dessert dishes and
+glasses were still on the table, and she had stepped out cautiously
+and timidly to fetch them. It was a critical moment.
+
+With the noiseless tread of a scared animal she turned back again into
+the kitchen, and, closing the door softly, leaned against it with
+ghostly face. She quickly stuffed the corner of her apron into her
+mouth to keep back the scream of agony that involuntarily rose to her
+lips. Her thin hands were tightly clinched and her body half drawn
+into a knot.
+
+"Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"
+
+Even the Saviour stumbled and fell beneath the heavy cross He had
+assumed to insure the happiness of others.
+
+And Mlle. Fouchette was only a poor little, weak, nervous, ignorant
+woman, groping blindly along the same rugged route of her Calvary.
+
+Unconsciously the same despairing cry had broken from her lips.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+It was Jean's voice.
+
+Half fainting, half terror-stricken at her unfortunate position, she
+drew a needle from the bosom of her dress and thrust it into her
+thigh--twice.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur!"
+
+"That poor girl is certainly ill, Je--Cousin Jean," said Mlle. Remy,
+sympathetically.
+
+"Nonsense!" he lightly replied.
+
+He wished to spare the unhappy Fouchette this attention. "She has
+worked too hard. Drop it till to-morrow, little one," he said, gently.
+"You must let things alone for to-night."
+
+"Indeed, it is nothing, monsieur. I must clear away these dessert
+dishes----"
+
+"Have a glass of wine," insisted Andrée, putting her arm
+affectionately about the slender waist and pouring out a glass of
+champagne.
+
+Lerouge regarded them with a frown of disapproval. Turning to M.
+Marot, he said,--
+
+"You were congratulating France just now upon a new ministry,
+monsieur. At least the new ministry ought to give us a new set of
+spies. Don't you think----"
+
+But the wine-glass broke the last sentence, as it fell to the floor
+with a crash.
+
+Only the protecting arm of Mlle. Remy sustained the drooping figure
+for a moment, then Jean and his affianced bride bore it gently to the
+model's home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+"C'est fini!"
+
+The girl raised herself wearily from her knees by the side of her bed,
+where she had fallen when she had bravely gotten rid of Jean and
+Andrée.
+
+"C'est fini!"
+
+She repeated the words as she looked around the room, the poor, cheap
+little chamber where she had been so happy. Just so has many a
+bereaved returned from the freshly made grave of some beloved to see
+the terrible emptiness of life in every corner of the silent home.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had grievously overrated her capacity to bear--to
+suffer. Instead of lightening the load she had assumed, the discovery
+of her sister in the beloved had doubled it.
+
+She had schooled herself to believe that to be near the object of her
+love would be enough. She had thought that all else, being impossible,
+might be subordinated to the great pleasure of presence. That to serve
+him daily, to share after a fashion his smiles and sorrows, to be at
+his elbow with her sympathy and counsel, would be her happiness,--all
+that she could ask for in this world. It would be almost as good as
+marriage, n'est-ce pas?
+
+Fouchette was in error. Not wholly as to the last assumption; it was a
+false theory, marriage or no marriage. Countless thousands of better
+and more intellectual people have in other ways found, are finding,
+will continue to find, it to be so.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's tactical training in the great normal school of
+life had not embraced Love. Therefore no line of retreat had been
+considered. She was not only defeated, she was overwhelmed.
+
+All of her theories had vanished in a breath.
+
+Instead of finding happiness in the happiness of those whom she loved,
+it was torture,--the thumbscrew and the rack. It was terrible!
+
+How could she have imagined that she might live contentedly under this
+day after day?
+
+The malice of Lerouge had been but the knock-out blow. It seemed to
+her now that his part was not half so cruel as that one kiss,--the
+kiss of Andrée's, that had stolen hers, Fouchette's, from his warm
+lips!
+
+Yes, it was finished.
+
+There was nothing to live for now. Her sun had set. The light had gone
+out, leaving her alone, friendless, without a future.
+
+The fact that she had herself willed it, brought it about, and that
+she earnestly desired their happiness, made her despair none the less
+dark and profound.
+
+She felt that she must get away,--must escape in some way from the
+consequences of her own folly.
+
+She precipitated herself down the narrow stairs at the risk of her
+neck and darted down the Rue St. Jacques half crazed with grief. She
+had made no change in her attire, had not even paused to restrain the
+blonde hair that fell over her face.
+
+Rue St. Jacques is in high feather at this hour in the evening. It is
+the hour of the jolly roysterer, male and female. Students, soldiers,
+bohemians, and bums jostle each other on the corners, while the dame
+de trottoir stealthily lurks in the shadows with one eye out for
+possible victims and the other for the agents de police. The cafés and
+wine-shops are aglare and the terrasse chairs are crowded to their
+fullest of the day.
+
+The spectacle, therefore, of a pretty bonne racing along the middle of
+the street very naturally attracted considerable attention.
+
+This attention became excitement when another woman, who seemed to
+spring from the same source, broke away in hot pursuit of the servant.
+
+Nothing so generously appealed to the sensitiveness of Rue St. Jacques
+as a case of jealousy, and women-baiting was a favorite amusement of
+the quarter.
+
+There was now a universal howl of delight and approbation. When the
+pursuing woman tripped and fell into the gutter the crowd greeted the
+unfortunate with a shower of unprintable pleasantries.
+
+"Ma foi! but she is outclassed!"
+
+"Oh, she's only stopped to rest."
+
+"Too much absinthe!"
+
+"The cow can never catch the calf!"
+
+"The fat salope! To think she could have any show in a race or in love
+with the pretty bonne!"
+
+"Yes; but where's the man?"
+
+"Dame! It is one-eyed Mad!"
+
+"Let her alone,--she's drunk!"
+
+The fallen woman had laboriously regained her feet and turned a
+torrent of vulgar maledictions upon the jeering crowd.
+
+Then, having regained her equilibrium, she staggered forward in
+renewed pursuit. The broad-bladed, double-edged knife of the Paris
+assassin gleamed in her right hand.
+
+"Bah! she will never catch her," said a man whose attention had been
+called to this.
+
+"Let them fight it out," assented his companion.
+
+"Hold! She is down again."
+
+Madeleine had reached the Rue Soufflot, and, in turning the corner
+sharply, had fallen against the irregular curb.
+
+The stragglers from the wine-shops hooted. The drunken women fairly
+screamed with delight. It was so amusing.
+
+But Madeleine did not get up this time.
+
+This was more amusing still; for the crowd, now considerably augmented
+by the refuse from the neighboring tenements, launched all sorts of
+humorous suggestions at the prostrate figure, laughing uproariously at
+individual wit.
+
+A few ran to where the dark figure lay, and a merry ruffian playfully
+kicked the prostrate woman.
+
+Still the woman stirred not.
+
+The ruffian who had just administered the kick slipped and fell upon
+her, whereat the crowd fairly split with laughter. It was so droll!
+
+But the man did not join in this, for he saw that he had slipped in a
+thin red stream that flowed sluggishly towards the gutter, and that
+his hands were covered with warm blood.
+
+"Pardieu! she's dead," he whispered.
+
+And they gently turned her over, and found that it was so.
+
+Madeleine had fallen upon her arm, and the terrible knife was yet
+embedded in her heart.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile, unconscious of this pursuit and its fatal consequences,
+Mlle. Fouchette had swiftly passed from the narrow Rue St. Jacques
+into Rue Soufflot, and was flying across the broad Place du Panthéon.
+Blind to the glare of the wine-shops, deaf to the gay chanson of a
+group of students and grisettes swinging by from the Café du Henri
+Murger,--indeed, dead to all the world,--the grief-stricken girl still
+ran at the top of her speed--towards----
+
+The river?
+
+Her poor little overtaxed brain was in a whirl. She had no definite
+idea of anything beyond getting away. As a patient domestic beast of
+burden suddenly resumes his savage state and rushes blindly,
+pell-mell, he knows not where, so Mlle. Fouchette now plunged into the
+oblivion of the night.
+
+Unconsciously, too, she had taken the road to the river,--the broad
+and well-travelled route of the Parisian unfortunate.
+
+Ah! the river!
+
+For the first time it occurred to her now,--how many unbearable griefs
+the river had swallowed up.
+
+There were so many things worse than death. One of these was to live
+as Madeleine had lived. Never that! Never! Not now,--once, perhaps;
+but not now. Oh, no; not now!
+
+The river seemed to beckon to her,--to call upon her, reproachfully,
+to come back to it,--to open its slimy arms and invite her to the
+palpitating bosom that had soothed the sorrows of so many thousands of
+the children of civilization.
+
+And Fouchette was the offspring of the river. Why had she been
+spared, then? Had it proved worth while?
+
+She recalled every incident of that eventful period. She remembered
+the precise spot where she had been pulled out that gray morning,
+years before.
+
+This idea had flitted through her mind, at first vaguely, then, still
+unsought, began to assume definite shape.
+
+Eh, bien,--soit! From the river to the river!
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, as we have seen, had all the spontaneity of her race,
+accentuated by a life of caprice and reckless abandon. To conceive was
+to execute. Consequences were an after-consideration, if at all worthy
+of such a thing as consideration.
+
+She stopped. But this hesitation was not in the execution of her
+suddenly formed purpose. It was necessary to recover breath, and to
+decide whether to go by the way of the Rue Clovis, or to turn down by
+the steep of Rue de la Mont Ste. Geneviève to the Boulevard St.
+Germain.
+
+It was but for a few panting moments.
+
+The clock of the ancient campanile of the Lycée Henri IV. struck the
+hour of eleven. The hoarse, low, booming sound went sullenly rumbling
+and roaring up and down the stone-ribbed plaza of the Panthéon, and
+rolled and reverberated from the great dome that sheltered the
+illustrious dead of France.
+
+The curious old church of St. Étienne du Mont rose immediately in
+front of the girl, and the sound of the bells startled her,--shook her
+ideas together,--and, with the sight of the church, restored, in a
+measure, her presence of mind.
+
+Her thoughts flew instantly back to the happy scene she had recently
+left behind. The bells of the old tower,--ah! how often she and Jean
+had regulated their ménage by their music!
+
+And she looked up at the grimly mixed pile of four centuries, with its
+absurd little round tower, its grotesque gargouilles, and grass-grown
+walls,--St. Étienne du Mont.
+
+Doubtless they would be married here.
+
+To be married where reposed the blessed bones of Ste. Geneviève, or at
+St. Denis amid the relics of royalty, was the dream of every youthful
+Parisienne. And Ste. Geneviève was the patronne of the virgins as well
+as of the city of Paris.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had witnessed a wedding at good old St. Étienne du
+Mont,--indeed, any one might see a wedding here upon any day of the
+week, and at almost any hour of the day, in season,--and she now
+recalled the pretty scene. Yes, of course Jean and Andrée would be
+married here.
+
+Obeying a curious impulse, the girl, still breathing heavily, ascended
+the broad stone steps and peeped into the little vestibule. The dark
+baize door within stood ajar, and she could see the faint twinkle of
+distant lights and smell the escaping odors from the last mass.
+
+She would go in--just for a moment--to see again where they would
+stand before the altar. It would do no harm. Her last thoughts should
+be of those she loved,--loved dearer--yes, a great deal more dearly
+than life.
+
+Entering, she mechanically followed her training at Le Bon Pasteur,
+and, bending a knee, dipped the tips of her fingers in the font and
+crossed her heaving breast.
+
+The great wax tapers were still burning about the ancient altar, and
+here and there pairs and bunches of expiatory candles flickered in the
+little chapels.
+
+As no other light relieved the sombre blackness of the vaulted
+edifice, an indefinite ghostliness prevailed, from out of which the
+numerous gilded forms of the Virgin and the saints appeared half
+intangible, as if hovering about with no fixed support or substance.
+
+The church might have been deserted, so far as any living indications
+were visible, though two or three darker splotches on the darkness
+could have been taken for as many penitents seeking the peace which
+passeth understanding.
+
+Gliding softly down the right, outside of the pews and row of stately
+columns, Mlle. Fouchette stopped only at the last pillar, from which
+she had a near view of the pretty white altar. She remained there,
+leaning against the pillar, her eyes bent upon the altar, motionless,
+for a long time.
+
+During that period she had pictured just how the young couple would
+look,--how beautiful the bride would appear,--how noble and handsome
+Jean Marot would shine at her side.
+
+She supplied all of the details as she had seen them once before,
+correcting and rearranging them in her mind with scrupulous care.
+
+All of this dreamily and without emotion, as one lies in the summer
+shade idly tracing the fleeting clouds across a summer's sky.
+
+She had grown wonderfully calm, and when she turned away she gently
+put the picture behind her as an accomplished material thing.
+
+On her way she paused before the little chapel of Ste. Geneviève.
+There were candles burning before the altar, and a delicious, holy
+incense filled the air.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette recalled the stories of the intercession of Ste.
+Geneviève in behalf of virgin suppliants, and impetuously fell upon
+her knees outside the railing and bowed her face in her hands.
+
+She knew absolutely nothing of theological truth and error; religion
+was to her only a vague scheme devised for other people--not for her.
+She had never in all her life uttered a prayer save on compulsion.
+Now, impulsively and without forethought, she was kneeling before the
+altar and acknowledging God and the intercession of the Christ.
+
+It was the instinct of poor insignificant humanity--the weakest and
+the strongest, the worst and the best--to seek in the hour of
+suffering and despair some higher power upon which to unburden the
+load of life.
+
+To say now that Mlle. Fouchette prayed would be too much. She did not
+know how,--and the few sentences she recalled from Le Bon Pasteur
+seemed the mere empty rattle of beads.
+
+She simply wished. And as Mlle. Fouchette never did anything by
+halves, she wished devoutly, earnestly, passionately, and with the hot
+tears streaming from her eyes, without uttering a single word.
+
+It would have been, from her point of view, quite impertinent for her
+to thrust her little affairs directly before the Throne. She was too
+timid even to appeal to the Holy Virgin, as she had often heard others
+do, with the familiarity of personal acquaintance; but she felt that
+she might approach Ste. Geneviève, patronne des vierges, with some
+confidence, if not a sense of right.
+
+She silently and tearfully laid her heart bare to Ste. Geneviève, and
+with her whole passionate soul called upon her for support and
+assistance. If ever a young virgin needed help it was she, Fouchette,
+and if Ste. Geneviève had any influence at the higher court, now was
+the time to use it. First it was that Jean and Andrée might be happy
+and think of her kindly now and then; next, that she might be forgiven
+for everything up to date and be permitted to be good,--that some way
+might be opened to her, and that she might be kept in that way.
+
+Otherwise she must surely die.
+
+If Sister Agnes might only be restored to her, it would be enough. It
+was all she would ask,--the rest would follow. She must have Sister
+Agnes,--good Sister Agnes, who loved her and would protect her and
+lead her safely to the better life. Oh! only send her Sister Agnes----
+
+"My child, you are in trouble?"
+
+That gentle voice! The soft, caressing touch!
+
+Ah! le bon Dieu!
+
+It was Sister Agnes, truly!
+
+The religieuse, ever struggling against the desires of the flesh, had
+unconsciously kneeled side by side with the youthful suppliant.
+Disturbed by the sobs of the latter, she had addressed her
+sympathetically.
+
+To poor little ignorant and believing Fouchette it was as if one of
+the beautiful painted angels had suddenly assumed life and, leaving
+the vaulted ceiling, had come floating down to softly brush her with
+her protecting wings. Awe-stricken at what seemed a direct
+manifestation of God, she found no words to express either surprise or
+joy. She simply toppled over into the arms of the astonished
+religieuse and lost consciousness. The reaction was too great.
+
+Sister Agnes, who had not recognized in the girl dressed as a
+bonne-à-toute-faire her protégée of Le Bon Pasteur, was naturally
+somewhat startled at this unexpected demonstration, and called aloud
+for the sacristan.
+
+"Blessed be God!" she exclaimed, when they had carried the girl into
+the light of the vestry,--"it is Mademoiselle Fouchette!"
+
+"What's she doing here?" demanded the man, with a mixture of suspicion
+and indignation.
+
+"Certainly nothing bad, monsieur. No, it can be nothing bad which
+leads a young girl to prostrate herself at this hour before the altar
+of the blessed Ste. Geneviève!"
+
+"Ste. Geneviève! That girl? That---- Mère de Dieu! what next?"
+
+"Chut!"
+
+"But it's a sacrilege, my sister. It's a profanation of God's holy
+temple!"
+
+"S-sh! monsieur----"
+
+"It's a wonder she was not stricken dead! Before Ste. Geneviève!"
+
+"S-sh! monsieur," protested the religieuse, gently, "ne jugez pas!"
+
+"But----"
+
+"Ne jugez pas!"
+
+They had, in the mean time, applied simple restoratives with such
+effect that Mlle. Fouchette soon began to exhibit signs of
+reanimation.
+
+"Will you kindly leave me alone with her here for a few minutes?"
+whispered Sister Agnes.
+
+"Willingly," replied the ruffled attendant. "And mighty glad to----"
+
+"S-sh!"
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette's eyes were finally opened they first fell upon
+the motherly face of Sister Agnes, then wandered rapidly about the
+room, as if to fix her situation definitely, to again rest upon the
+religieuse. And this look was one of inexpressible content,--of
+boundless love and confidence.
+
+Sister Agnes, who was seated on the edge of the sofa on which the girl
+lay extended, leaned over and affectionately kissed her lips.
+
+"You are much better now, my child?"
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed! I was afraid it might be only--only a dream,--one
+dreams such things, n'est-ce pas? But it is true! There is really a
+God, and prayers are answered--when one believes,--yes; when one
+believes very hard! Even the prayers of a poor little, miserable,
+wicked, motherless girl like me. Ah!----"
+
+"Cer--certainly, chérie; but don't try to talk just yet. Wait a bit.
+You will feel stronger."
+
+The religieuse thought the girl's mind was wandering.
+
+"And good Ste. Geneviève heard me and had you sent to me. It was all I
+asked. For I knew that if I only had you, I could be good, and I would
+know what to do. It was all I asked--for myself. And you were sent at
+once. Dear, good, sweet Sister Agnes!--the only one who ever loved
+me!--except Tartar,--and love is necessary, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+"You asked for me?"
+
+Sister Agnes listened now with intense interest. Mlle. Fouchette was a
+revelation.
+
+"Oh! yes,--and they sent you--almost at once! Blessed Ste. Geneviève!"
+
+"Why, what was the matter, Fouchette?" inquired Sister Agnes, wiping
+her eyes, after gently disengaging the young arms from her neck. She
+tried to speak cheerily.
+
+"Take me as you did when I first saw you,--when I was in the
+cell,"--and the voice now was that of a pleading child,--"that way;
+yes,--kiss me once more."
+
+On the matronly bosom of Sister Agnes the girl told her story,--the
+story of her love, of her suffering, of her hopes, of her final
+failure, of her despair.
+
+"You see, my more than mother, it was too much----"
+
+"Too much! I should think so!" interrupted the good sister, brusquely,
+to prevent a total breakdown. "Sainte Mère de Dieu! such is for the
+angels in heaven, mon enfant,--for mortals, never!"
+
+"When I found she was my sister,--that her brother was my
+brother,--and that even Jean Marot--I could not be one to spoil this
+happiness by making myself known. No, I would rather die. I should
+hate myself even if they did not hate me. No, no, no! I could never do
+that!"
+
+"Fouchette, you are an angel!"
+
+The religieuse slipped to the floor at the girl's side, and covered
+the small hands with kisses. She felt the insignificance of her own
+worldly trials.
+
+"I am not worthy to sit in your presence, Fouchette," she faltered.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As they slowly passed out of the church the younger seemed to support
+the elder woman. Both bowed for a few moments in silence before the
+altar of Ste. Geneviève.
+
+And when they arose, Mlle. Fouchette took from the bosom of her dress
+a bit of folded paper and put it in the box of offerings inside the
+rail.
+
+It was the bank-note for five hundred francs.
+
+At the door the grim sacristan, long impatient for this departure,
+growled his final disapproval of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"She's a terror," he said.
+
+"She's a saint, monsieur," was the quiet reply of Sister Agnes.
+
+A few minutes later the great door of the Dames de St. Michel closed
+upon the two women. Mlle. Fouchette had ceased to exist, and Mlle.
+Louise Remy had entered upon the coveted life of peace and love.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                   |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Page  71: Prettly replaced with Pretty                    |
+    | Page 225: whch replaced with which                        |
+    | Page 227: companon replaced with companion                |
+    | Page 241: ascerbity replaced with acerbity                |
+    | Page 285: seing replaced with seeing                      |
+    | Page 323: amunition replaced with ammunition              |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Mlle. Fouchette, by Charles Theodore Murray
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MLLE. FOUCHETTE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 30041-8.txt or 30041-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/0/4/30041/
+
+Produced by Irma Špehar, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/old/30041-8.zip b/old/30041-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..381c299
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-8.zip
diff --git a/old/30041-h.zip b/old/30041-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..92cacc3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h.zip
diff --git a/old/30041-h/30041-h.htm b/old/30041-h/30041-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..11c9687
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/30041-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,14745 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mlle. Fouchette, by Charles Theodore.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+    p {  margin-top: .5em;
+         text-align: justify;
+         margin-bottom: .5em;
+         text-indent: 1em;
+         }
+    h1   {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    h5,h6 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    h2 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    h3 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    h4 {
+         text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */
+         }
+    hr { width: 33%;
+         margin-top: 1em;
+         margin-bottom: 1em;
+       }
+    body{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+    a  {text-decoration: none} /* no lines under links */
+    div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */
+    div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */
+
+    .cen      {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} /* centering paragraphs */
+    .sc       {font-variant: small-caps;} /* small caps */
+    .noin     {text-indent: 0em;} /* no indenting */
+    .totoc    {position: absolute; right: 2%; font-size: 75%; text-align: right;} /* Table of contents anchor */
+    .totoi    {position: absolute; right: 2%; font-size: 75%; text-align: right;} /* to Table of Illustrations link */
+    .img      {text-align: center; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} /* centering images */
+    .tdr      {text-align: right;} /* right align cell */
+    .tdl      {text-align: left;}  /* left align cell */
+    .tdlsc    {text-align: left; font-variant: small-caps;} /* aligning cell content and small caps */
+    .tr       {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 1em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} /* transcriber's notes */
+
+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+               /*  visibility: hidden;  */
+               position: absolute; right: 2%;
+               font-size: 75%;
+               color: silver;
+               background-color: inherit;
+               text-align: right;
+               text-indent: 0em;
+               font-style: normal;
+               font-weight: normal;
+               font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers */
+
+    .poem             {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem span        {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i1     {display: block; margin-left: 1em;}
+    .poem span.i2     {display: block; margin-left: 2em;}
+    .poem span.i4     {display: block; margin-left: 4em;}
+    .poem span.i8     {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+    </style>
+   </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mlle. Fouchette, by Charles Theodore Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mlle. Fouchette
+       A Novel of French Life
+
+Author: Charles Theodore Murray
+
+Illustrator: W. H. Richardson
+             E. Benson Kennedy
+             Francis Day
+
+Release Date: September 20, 2009 [EBook #30041]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MLLE. FOUCHETTE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Irma Špehar, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+<div class="tr">
+<p class="cen" style="font-weight: bold;">Transcriber's Note:</p>
+<br />
+<p class="noin">Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been preserved.</p>
+<p class="noin" style="text-align: left;">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
+For a complete list, please see the <span style="white-space: nowrap;"><a href="#TN">end of this document</a>.</span></p>
+<p class="noin">A linked Table of Contents has been added for the reader's convenience.</p>
+<p class="noin">Click on the images to see a larger version.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="img">
+<img border="0" src="images/cover.jpg" width="45%" alt="Fouchette Cover" /><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h2>MLLE. FOUCHETTE</h2>
+
+<h4><i>THIRD EDITION</i></h4>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a>
+<a href="images/frontis.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/frontis.jpg" width="50%" alt="Fouchette" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen sc" style="margin-top: .2em;">Fouchette<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+<h1>MLLE.<br />
+FOUCHETTE</h1>
+
+<h4>BY</h4>
+
+<h2>CHARLES THEODORE<br />
+MURRAY</h2>
+
+<br />
+
+<h4>ILLUSTRATED BY W.H. RICHARDSON<br />
+E. BENSON KENNEDY &amp; FRANCIS DAY</h4>
+
+<br />
+
+<div class="img">
+<img border="0" src="images/titledeco.jpg" width="15%" alt="Publisher's Mark" /><br />
+</div>
+
+<br />
+
+<h4>PHILADELPHIA &amp; LONDON<br />
+J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY<br />
+MCMII</h4>
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h4 class="sc">Copyright, 1902<br />
+by<br />
+Charles Theodore Murray</h4>
+
+<h4><i>All rights reserved</i></h4>
+
+<h4>Published March, 1902</h4>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h5><i>Printed by<br />
+J. B Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A.</i></h5>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h4>TO</h4>
+
+<h3>MR. R.F. ("TODY") HAMILTON</h3>
+
+<h4>A CHARMING GENTLEMAN, DELIGHTFUL<br />
+TRAVELLING COMPANION, PRACTICAL<br />
+PHILOSOPHER, AND<br />
+RELIABLE FRIEND</h4>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="toc" id="toc"></a><hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER XX</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI</b></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII</b></a><br /></h4>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="toi" id="toi"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3>
+<br />
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="Table of Contents">
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdlsc" width="80%">Fouchette</td>
+  <td class="tdr" width="20%"><a href="#frontis"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdlsc">His still unconscious burden</td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#imagep136">Page 136</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdlsc">She seized Jean by the arm</td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#imagep182">Page 182</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdlsc">It was a critical moment</td>
+  <td class="tdr"><a href="#imagep383">Page 383</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h2>MLLE. FOUCHETTE</h2>
+
+<br />
+
+<div class="img">
+<img border="0" src="images/decopage7.jpg" width="5%" alt="Deco Mark" />
+</div>
+
+<br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER I<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>"Get along, you little beast!"</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin accompanied her admonition with a vigorous blow from her
+heavy hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Out, I say!"</p>
+
+<p>Thump.</p>
+
+<p>"You lazy caniche!"</p>
+
+<p>Thump.</p>
+
+<p>"You get no breakfast here this morning!"</p>
+
+<p>Thump.</p>
+
+<p>"Out with you!"</p>
+
+<p>Thump.</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time the unhappy object of these objurgations and blows
+had been rapidly propelled towards the open door, and was with a final
+thump knocked into the street.</p>
+
+<p>A stray dog? Oh, no; a dog is never abused in this way in Paris. It
+would probably cause a riot.</p>
+
+<p>It was only a wee bit of a child,&mdash;dirty, clothed in rags, with
+tangled blonde hair that had never, apparently, seen a comb, and whose
+little bare feet and thin ankles were incrusted with the dried filth
+of the gutters.</p>
+
+<p>Being only a child, the few neighbors who were abroad at that early
+hour merely grinned at her as she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>picked herself up and limped away
+without a cry or a word.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a tough one," muttered a witness.</p>
+
+<p>"She's got to be mighty tough to stand the Podvin," responded another.</p>
+
+<p>In the rapidly increasing distance the child seemed to justify these
+remarks; for she began to step out nimbly towards the town of
+Charenton without wasting time over her grievances.</p>
+
+<p>"All the same, I'm hungry," she said to herself, "and the streets of
+Charenton will be mighty poor picking half an hour hence."</p>
+
+<p>She paused presently to examine a pile of garbage in front of a house.
+But the dogs had been there before her,&mdash;there was nothing to eat
+there.</p>
+
+<p>These piles of garbage awaited the tour of the carts; they began to
+appear at an early hour in the morning, and within an hour had been
+picked over by rag-pickers, dogs, and vagrants until absolutely
+nothing was left that could be by any possibility utilized by these
+early investigators. Here and there two or three dogs contested the
+spoils of a promising pile, to separate with watchful amity to gnaw
+individual bones.</p>
+
+<p>As it was a principal highway from the Porte de Charenton to the town,
+the piles of refuse had been pretty thoroughly overhauled by the dogs
+and human scum that infested the barrier.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, the girl stopped as a stout woman appeared at a grille with a
+paper of kitchen refuse which she was about to throw into the street.</p>
+
+<p>They looked at each other steadily,&mdash;the child with eager, hungry
+eyes; the woman with resentment.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>"There is nothing here for you," rasped the latter, retaining her hold
+upon the folded parcel as she advanced to the curb and glanced up and
+down the street.</p>
+
+<p>The child, who had unconsciously carried her rag-picker's hook, stood
+waiting in the middle of the road.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you hear me?" repeated the woman, threateningly. "Be off with
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a public road," said the little one.</p>
+
+<p>"You beggar&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't asked you for anything, madame," interrupted the child,
+with quivering voice,&mdash;"I'd die before asking you for anything,&mdash;but I
+have as much right to the road as you."</p>
+
+<p>There was a flash of defiance in the small blue eyes now.</p>
+
+<p>Two street dogs came up on a run. The woman threw down her parcel to
+them and, retreating, slammed the iron gate after her.</p>
+
+<p>With a wicked swing of her hook the child drove the dogs away and
+hastily inspected the garbage. A piece of stale crust and some
+half-decayed fruit rewarded her. A gristled end of beef she threw to
+the dogs, that watched her wistfully a few yards away.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;! I divide fair, messieurs," said she, skilfully munching the
+sound spots out of the fruit and casting the rest on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"One would have thought madame was about to spread a banquet," she
+muttered.</p>
+
+<p>She sauntered away, stopping to break the crust with a piece of loose
+paving, with a sharp eye out for other windfalls.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>A young girl saw her from a garden, and shyly peeped through the high
+wrought-iron fence at the little savage.</p>
+
+<p>Though the latter never stopped a second in her process of
+mastication, she eyed the other quite as curiously,&mdash;something as she
+might have regarded a strange but beautiful animal through the bars of
+its cage.</p>
+
+<p>In experience and practical knowledge of life the respective ages of
+these two might have been reversed; the child of the street been
+sixteen instead of twelve.</p>
+
+<p>Undersized, thin, sallow, and sunburned,&mdash;bareheaded, barefooted,
+dirty, and ragged,&mdash;she formed a striking contrast to the
+rosy-cheeked, plump, full-lipped, and well-dressed young woman within.</p>
+
+<p>The extraordinary sound of crunching very naturally attracted the
+first attention of the elder.</p>
+
+<p>"What in the world is that which you are eating, child?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Bread, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>"Bread! Why, it's covered with dirt!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>Redoubled exertion of the sound young teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you eat that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hungry, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>"Heavens!"</p>
+
+<p>Continuous crunching, while the child knocks the remaining crust
+against the wall to get the sand out of it, the dirt of the
+paving-stone.</p>
+
+<p>"What's your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette? Fouchette what?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>"Nothing, ma'm'selle,&mdash;just Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"Where do you live, Fouchette? Do throw that dirty bread away, child!"</p>
+
+<p>"Say, now, ma'm'selle, do you see anything green in my eye?"</p>
+
+<p>The young woman seriously inspects the blue eye that is rolled up at
+her and shakes her head.</p>
+
+<p>"N-no; I don't see anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said Fouchette, continuing her attack on the slowly
+dissolving crust.</p>
+
+<p>"Throw it away, I tell you!&mdash;I'll run and get you some,&mdash;that's a good
+child!"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette stopped suddenly and remained immobile, regarding her
+interlocutor sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Truly?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly."</p>
+
+<p>The child looked at what remained of the crust, hesitated, sighed,
+then dropped it on the ground. The young woman hastily re-entered the
+house and presently reappeared with a huge sandwich with meat on a
+liberal scale.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how good you are, ma'm'selle!" cried Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>Her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure,&mdash;her young mouth watered as the
+sandwich was passed between the railing.</p>
+
+<p>"What is that,&mdash;why, there is blood on your neck, Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>The child felt her neck with her hand and brought it away.</p>
+
+<p>"So it is," said she, sinking her teeth into the sandwich.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>"Here,&mdash;come closer,&mdash;turn this way. It's running down now. How did
+you hurt yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dame! It is nothing, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing! You are just black and blue!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mostly black," said Fouchette. The world looked ever so much
+brighter.</p>
+
+<p>"You've been fighting," suggested the young woman, tentatively.</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>"Then somebody struck you."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>This was delivered with such an air of nonchalance that the young lady
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"You speak as if it were a common occurrence," she observed.</p>
+
+<p>"It is," said Fouchette, with a desperate swallow,&mdash;"Podvin."</p>
+
+<p>"Po-Podvin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>"Person you live with?"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette nodded,&mdash;she had her mouth full.</p>
+
+<p>"They beat you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most every day."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Er&mdash;exercise, mostly, I think."</p>
+
+<p>The half-sly, half-humorous squint of the left blue eye set the
+sympathetic young woman laughing in spite of herself. The remarkable
+precocity of these petites mis&eacute;rables of the slums was new to her.</p>
+
+<p>"But you had father and mother&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, ma'm'selle,&mdash;at least they never showed up."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>"But, my child, you must have started&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I started in a rag-heap, ma'm'selle. There's where the Podvin found
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"In a rag-heap!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'm'selle,&mdash;so they say."</p>
+
+<p>"But don't you remember anything at all before that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Precious little. Only this: that I came a long ways off, walking, and
+riding in market carts, and walking some more,&mdash;and then the Podvin
+found me,&mdash;near here,&mdash;and here I am. That's all."</p>
+
+<p>"What does Podvin do for a living?"</p>
+
+<p>"Drinks."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! And madame?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hammers me."</p>
+
+<p>"And you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rags."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Fouchette, which is 'the' Podvin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Madame, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>The young woman laughed merrily, and Fouchette gave forth a singular,
+low, unmusical tinkle. She was astonished that the young lady should
+put such a question, then amused as she thought of Mother Podvin
+playing second to anybody.</p>
+
+<p>"What a lively little girl you are, Fouchette!" said her questioner,
+pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the fleas, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>"W-wh-what?"</p>
+
+<p>"I sleep with Tartar."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's Tartar, and what&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"He's the dog, ma'm'selle."</p>
+
+<p>"Heavens!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>"Oh, he's the best of the family, ma'm'selle, very sure!" protested
+Fouchette, na&iuml;vely.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt of it, poor child!"</p>
+
+<p>"Only for him I'd freeze in winter; and sometimes he divides his
+dinner with me&mdash;as well as his fleas&mdash;when he is not too hungry, you
+know. This amuses the Podvin so that sometimes, when we have company,
+she will not give me any dinner, so I'll have to beg of Tartar. And we
+have lots of fun, and I dance&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You dance after that? Why&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I love to dance, ma'm'selle. I can&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette elevated her dirty little bare foot against the railing
+above her head by way of illustration; while, half shocked, half
+laughing, the other hastily exclaimed,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;! Put it down, Fouchette! Put it down!"</p>
+
+<p>A restless glance up and down the road and back towards the house
+seemed to relieve the young woman materially; she laughed now with
+delightful abandon.</p>
+
+<p>"So Tartar and you are good friends in spite of the&mdash;the&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The fleas,&mdash;yes, ma'm'selle. He loves me and me alone. Nobody dares
+come near him when we sleep&mdash;or eat,&mdash;and I love him dearly. Did you
+ever love anybody, ma'm'selle?"</p>
+
+<p>This artless question appeared to take the young woman by surprise;
+for she grew confused and quite red, and finally told little Fouchette
+to "run along, now, and don't be silly."</p>
+
+<p>"Not with fleas,&mdash;oh, no; I didn't mean that!" cried the child,
+conscious of having made a faux pas, but not clear.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>But the young woman was already flying through the flower-garden, and
+quickly disappeared around the corner of the house without once
+looking back.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette then let go of her breath and heaved a deep sigh as she
+turned away.</p>
+
+<p>It was the only occasion within her childish recollection when one of
+her own sex had spoken to her in kindness. Now and then she had
+dreamed of such a thing as having occurred in the long ago,&mdash;in some
+other world, perhaps,&mdash;this was real, tangible, perceptible to the eye
+and ear.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Sweet words<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are like the voices of returning birds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Filling the soul with summer."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>For the moment the starved soul of the child was filled with summer
+softness, as she slowly returned along the route she had recently
+come, thinking of the beautiful young lady and the sensuous odor of
+the flowers which had penetrated to the innermost recesses of her
+being.</p>
+
+<p>As she neared the barriers, however, and was gradually recalled to the
+harsh realities of her daily environment, these fleeting dreams had
+disappeared with the rest, leaving the old, fixed feelings of
+hopelessness and sullen combativeness. With this revival came the pain
+from the still recent blows of the morning, temporarily forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>The barriers at Paris have long been the popular haunts of poverty and
+crime,&mdash;though their moral conditions have been greatly modified by
+the multitude of tramways that afford the poor of Paris more <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>extended
+outings. The barriers run along the line of fortifications and form
+the "octroi," or tax limit of the city. These big iron gates of the
+barriers intercept every road entering Paris and are manned by customs
+officials, who inspect all incoming vehicles and packages for dutiable
+goods.</p>
+
+<p>Within the barriers is Paris,&mdash;beyond is the rest of the world. Inside
+are the police agents,&mdash;outside are the gendarmes.</p>
+
+<p>Cheap shows, gypsy camps, merry-go-rounds, and all sorts of games
+hover about the barriers, where no special tax is exacted and where
+the regulations with reference to public order are somewhat lax. They
+attract noisy and unruly crowds on Sundays and holidays. A once
+popular song ran:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Pour rigoler montons,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Montons &agrave; la barri&egrave;re."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">Which means, that to have a good time let us go up to the barrier.</p>
+
+<p>These resorts are infested by the human vermin that prey on the
+ignorant,&mdash;thieves, pickpockets, robbers, and cutthroats of every
+description. This very wood of Vincennes near at hand, now the glory
+of picnickers, was for centuries the home and stronghold of the robber
+and professional assassin. And it is a rash man at this day who would
+voluntarily risk his purse and life by being found alone in the
+neighborhood after nightfall.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette's territory lay chiefly in the streets and suburbs of
+Charenton. To cover it she was compelled to get out before daylight.
+If she had good luck and brought in anything valuable she got an
+extra <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>allowance of soup, sometimes with a scrap of meat, to be
+invariably divided between her and Tartar, or a small glass of red
+wine; if her find was poor her fare was reduced, and instead of food
+she often received blows.</p>
+
+<p>These blows, however, were never administered in the sight of the dog,
+Tartar,&mdash;only once, when the savage animal resented this treatment of
+his side partner by burying his teeth in Mother Podvin's arm.</p>
+
+<p>Little Fouchette remembered this friendly intervention by bringing
+home any choice bits of meat found in the house garbage during her
+morning tour. Mother Podvin remembered it by thereafter thumping
+Fouchette out of sight of her canine friend and protector. The
+infuriated woman would have slaughtered the offending spaniel on the
+spot, only Tartar was of infinite service to her husband in his
+business. She dared not, so she took it out on Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur Podvin's business was not confined wholly to drinking, though
+it was perhaps natural that Fouchette should have reached that
+conclusion, since she had seen him in no other occupation. Monsieur
+Podvin, like many others of the mysterious inhabitants of the
+barriers, worked nights. Not regularly, but as occasion invited him or
+necessity drove him. On such occasions Tartar was brought forth from
+the cellar, where he reposed peacefully by the side of his little
+prot&eacute;g&eacute;e, and accompanied his master. As Tartar was held in strict
+confinement during the day, he was invariably delighted when the call
+of duty gave him this outing. And as he returned at all sorts of hours
+in the early morning, his frail partner and bedfellow never felt that
+it was necessary to sit up for him. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>Nevertheless, Fouchette was quite
+nervous, and sometimes sleepless, down there among the wine-bottles in
+the dark, on her pallet of straw, when she awoke to find her hairy
+protector missing; though, usually, she knew of his absence only by
+his return, when he licked her face affectionately before curling down
+closely as possible by her side.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Monsieur Podvin's business, ostensibly, was that of keeping a low
+cabaret labelled "Rendez-Vous pour Cochers." It might have been more
+appropriately called a rendezvous for thieves, though this seems
+rather hypercritical when one knows the cabbies of the barriers. But
+the cabaret was really run by Madame Podvin, which robs monsieur of
+the moral responsibilities.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, Monsieur Podvin was a mighty hunter, like Nimrod
+and Philippe Augustus, and other distinguished predecessors. His field
+of operations was the wood of Vincennes, where Philippe was wont to
+follow the chase some hundreds of years ago, and wherein a long line
+of royal chasseurs have subsequently amused themselves.</p>
+
+<p>With the simple statement that they were all hunters and robbers, from
+Augustus to Podvin, inclusive, the resemblance ends; for the nobles
+and their followers followed the stag and wild boar, whereas Monsieur
+Podvin was a hunter of men.</p>
+
+<p>At first blush the latter would appear to be higher game and a more
+dangerous amusement. Not at all. For the men thus run down by Monsieur
+Podvin and his faithful dog, Tartar, were little above the beasts from
+self-indulgence at any time, and were wholly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>devoid of even the
+lowest animal instincts when captured. They were the victims of their
+own bestiality before they became the victims of Podvin.</p>
+
+<p>Every gala-day in the popular wood of Vincennes left a certain amount
+of human flotsam and jetsam lying around under the trees and in the
+dark shadows, helpless from a combination of wood alcohol and water
+treated with coloring matter and called "wine." It was Monsieur
+Podvin's business to hunt these unfortunates up and to relieve them of
+any valuables of which they might be possessed, and which they had no
+use for for the time being. It was quite as inspiriting and ennobling
+as going over a battlefield and robbing the dead, and about as safe
+for the operators. The intelligence of Tartar and his indefatigable
+industry lent an additional zest to the hunt and made it at once easy
+and remunerative. Tartar pointed and flushed the prey; all his master
+had to do was to go through the victims, who were usually too helpless
+to object. If, as was sometimes the case, one so far forgot himself as
+to do so, the sight of a gleaming knife-blade generally reconciled the
+victim to the peaceful surrender of his property. On special occasions
+Monsieur Podvin was assisted by a patron of the Rendez-Vous pour
+Cochers; but he usually worked alone, being of a covetous nature and
+unwilling to share profits. When accompanied, it was with the
+understanding that the booty was to be divided into equal shares,
+Tartar counting as an individual and coming in on equal terms, and one
+share on account of Fouchette,&mdash;all of which went to Monsieur Podvin.</p>
+
+<p>For, without any knowledge or reward, Fouchette <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>was made to do the
+most dangerous part of the business,&mdash;which lay in the disposal of the
+proceeds of the chase. It was innocently carried by her in her
+rag-basket to the receiver inside the barriers.</p>
+
+<p>Where adults would have been suspected and probably searched, first by
+the customs officers and then by the police, Fouchette went
+unchallenged. Her towering basket, under which bent the frail little
+half-starved figure, marked her scarcely more conspicuously than her
+ready wit and cheerful though coarse retorts to would-be sympathizers.
+Her load was delivered to those who examined its contents out of her
+sight. The price went back by another carrier,&mdash;a patron of the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. "La petite chiffonni&egrave;re" was widely known in
+the small world of the Porte de Charenton.</p>
+
+<p>As for Fouchette,&mdash;well, she has already, in her laconic way, given
+about all that she knew of her earlier history. Picked up in a
+rag-heap by a chiffonni&egrave;re of the barrier, she had succeeded to a
+brutal life that had in five years reduced her to the physical level
+of the spaniel, Tartar. In fact, her position was really inferior,
+since the dog was never beaten and had always plenty to eat.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of killing her, as would have been the fate of one of the
+lower animals subjected to the same treatment, all this had seemed to
+toughen the child,&mdash;to render her physically and morally as hard as
+nails.</p>
+
+<p>It would be too much or too little&mdash;according to the point of view&mdash;to
+assume that Fouchette was patient under her yoke and that she went
+about her tasks with the docility of a well-trained animal. On the
+contrary, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>she not only rebelled in spirit, but she often resisted
+with all her feeble strength, fighting, feet, hands, and teeth, with
+feline ferocity. Having been brought to the level of brutes, she had
+become a brute in instinct, in her sensibility to kindness, her
+pig-headedness, resentment of injury, and dogged resistance.</p>
+
+<p>On her ninth birthday&mdash;which, however, was unknown&mdash;Monsieur Podvin,
+over his fourth bottle, offered to put her up against the dog of his
+convive of the moment, so much was he impressed with Fouchette's
+fighting talent. Fouchette, who was serving the wine, was not
+unmindful of the implied compliment. She glanced at the animal and
+then at its owner with a bitter smile that in her catlike jaws seemed
+almost a snarl,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I'd much rather fight le Cochon," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Ho! ho! ho!" roared the man, who was a dirty ruffian of two hundred
+pounds, mostly alcohol, and who enjoyed the fitting sobriquet of "le
+Cochon," from his appearance and characteristic grunt.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;!" cried Monsieur Podvin; "that's Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardieu! but what a little scorcher!" exclaimed the ruffian, rather
+admiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"The dog is honest and decent," said the child, turning her steely
+blue eyes on the man.</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>The peremptory voice was that of "the" Podvin behind the zinc. Such
+plain talk&mdash;any talk at all about "honesty" and "decency"&mdash;at the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers was interdicted. And had the girl noted the
+look which followed her retreating figure she might <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>have gone abroad
+the next morning with less confidence.</p>
+
+<p>From that time on these two, ruffian and child, snapped at each other
+whenever they came in contact,&mdash;which, as the man was an habitu&eacute; of
+the place, and occasional assistant of Monsieur Podvin in his business
+of scouring the wood of Vincennes for booty, was pretty nearly every
+day. For in addition to her labors as a rag-picker Fouchette was
+compelled to wait upon customers in the wine-shop and run errands and
+perform pretty much all the work of housekeeping for the Podvins. Her
+foraging expeditions merely filled in the time when customers were not
+expected.</p>
+
+<p>Strange as it may appear, Fouchette liked this extra hour or so abroad
+better than any other duty of the day,&mdash;it was freedom and
+independence. With her high pannier strapped to her slender back and
+iron hook in hand she roamed about the streets of Charenton, sometimes
+crossing over through ancient Conflans and coming home by the Marne
+and Seine. There were only footpads, low-browed rascals, thieves, and
+belated robbers about at this hour, before the trams began to make
+their trips to and from Paris, but these people never disturbed the
+petite chiffonni&egrave;re, save to sometimes exchange the foul witticisms of
+the slums, in which contests the ready tongue and extensive vocabulary
+of little Fouchette invariably left a track of good-humor. They knew
+she hadn't a sou, and, besides, was one of their class.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was a shining example of what environment can make of any
+human being, taken sufficiently young and having no vacation.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>Up to this particular morning Fouchette had accepted her position in
+life philosophically as a necessary condition, and with no more
+consideration of the high and mighty of this world than the high and
+mighty had for her. Slowly and by insensible degrees, since she was
+too young to mark the phenomena in any case, she had been forged and
+hammered into a living piece of moral obliquity,&mdash;and yet the very
+first contact with an innocent mind and kindly sympathy awoke in her
+childish breast a subtle consciousness that something was wrong.</p>
+
+<p>She fell asleep later, worn out with toil and sore from bruises, her
+thin arm flung across Tartar's neck, to dream of a plump young face, a
+pair of big, dark, soulful eyes that searched and found her heart. The
+noise of the revelling robbers above her faded into one sweet, deep,
+mellow voice that was music to her ears. And the powerful odors that
+impregnated the atmosphere of the cellar and rendered it foul to
+suffocation&mdash;dampness and dog and dregs of wine, and garlic and
+decaying vegetables&mdash;became the languorous breath of June flowers.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! the beautiful young lady! The beautiful flowers!</p>
+
+<p>Their perfume seemed to choke her, like the deadly tuberoses piled
+upon a coffin.</p>
+
+<p>She tried to cry out, but her mouth was crowded full of something, and
+she awoke to find herself in the brutal hands of some one in the
+darkness. She kicked and scratched and struggled in vain, to be
+quickly vanquished by a brutish blow.</p>
+
+<p>Tartar! Tartar!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>Oh, if Tartar were only there!</p>
+
+<p>When she came to herself she was conscious of being carried in her own
+basket on the back of one who stepped heavily and somewhat uncertainly
+along the road.</p>
+
+<p>She was doubled up like a half-shut jack-knife, her feet and head
+uppermost, and had great difficulty in breathing by reason of her
+cramped position and the ill-smelling rags with which she was covered.
+Besides which, she felt sick from the cruel blow in her stomach.</p>
+
+<p>Yet her senses were keenly alert.</p>
+
+<p>She was well aware who had her; for the man gave out his
+characteristic grunt with every misstep, and there was no one else in
+the world likely to do her serious physical injury.</p>
+
+<p>She knew that it was still dark, both from the way the man walked and
+from the cool dampness of the atmosphere with which she was familiar.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, it was le Cochon.</p>
+
+<p>She knew him for an escaped convict, for a murderer as well as a
+robber, and that he would slit a throat for twenty sous if there were
+fair promise of immunity.</p>
+
+<p>She felt instinctively that she was lost.</p>
+
+<p>All at once the man stopped, went on, paused again.</p>
+
+<p>Then she heard other footsteps. They grew louder. They were evidently
+approaching. They were the heavy, hob-nailed shoes of some laborer on
+his way to work.</p>
+
+<p>Her heart stood still for a few moments as she listened, then beat
+wildly with renewed hope.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>If she could only cry out; but the rag that filled her mouth made
+giving the alarm impossible.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, after some hesitation, her abductor moved on as if to meet
+the coming footsteps, slowly, and leaning far over now and then, in
+apparent attempt to counterfeit the occupation of a rag-picker. And at
+such moments the child felt that she was standing on the back of her
+neck.</p>
+
+<p>The heavy tramp of the stranger grew nearer&mdash;was upon them.</p>
+
+<p>"Bonjour!" called out a cheerful, manly voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Bonjour, monsieur!" replied le Cochon, humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"You are abroad early this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"It is necessary, if an honest chiffonnier would live these times."</p>
+
+<p>"Possible. Good luck to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>The steps had never paused and were quickly growing fainter down the
+road, while the young heart within the basket grew fainter and fainter
+with the fading sounds.</p>
+
+<p>This temporary hope thus crushed was more cruel than her former
+despair.</p>
+
+<p>Her bearer uttered a low volley of horrible imprecations directed
+towards the unknown.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped suddenly, and, unstrapping the basket from his shoulders,
+placed it on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette smelled the morning vapors of the river; discerned now the
+distinct gurgle of the flood.</p>
+
+<p>As the robber took the rags from the basket and pulled her roughly
+forth, the full significance of her perilous situation rushed upon
+her. She trembled so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>that she could scarcely stand,&mdash;would have
+toppled over the edge of the quai but for the strong arm of le Cochon,
+who restrained her.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, petite," said he.</p>
+
+<p>And he began to strap the basket upon her young shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardieu! we must regard conventionalities," he added, with devilish
+malignity.</p>
+
+<p>It was early gray of morning, and a mist hung over the dark waters of
+the Seine. No attempt had been made to obstruct her vision, which,
+long habituated to the hour, took in the road, the stone quai, the
+boats moored not far away, the human monster at her side, all at a
+single sweeping glance.</p>
+
+<p>Her feet and arms were bound, the gag was still in her mouth,&mdash;there
+was no escape, no succor.</p>
+
+<p>There was the river; there was le Cochon.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>What more, indeed, was necessary to complete the picture?</p>
+
+<p>Death.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing was easier. No conclusion more mathematically certain.</p>
+
+<p>With his knife between his teeth the assassin hastily adjusted the
+straps under her arms. It was but the work of half a minute from the
+time he had stopped, though to the terror-stricken child it seemed an
+age of torment.</p>
+
+<p>The rags were packed tightly down in the bottom of the basket.</p>
+
+<p>"It'll do for a sinker," said the man.</p>
+
+<p>Then he cut the thongs that held her arms, severed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>the ligament that
+bound her feet, and with one hand removed the cloth from her mouth,
+while with the other he suddenly pushed his victim over the edge of
+the stone quai.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>Short as was the opportunity, Fouchette gave one terrified shriek as
+she went over the brink,&mdash;a shriek that pierced the river mists and
+reverberated from the stone walls and parapets and went ringing up and
+down the surface of the swiftly swirling stream.</p>
+
+<p>Again, as she reappeared, battling with the murky waters with
+desperate stroke and splash, her childish voice rose,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Tartar! Tartar!"</p>
+
+<p>And yet again, choking with the flood,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Tar&mdash;Tar&mdash;tar!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the last thought,&mdash;the last appeal,&mdash;this despairing cry for
+the only one on earth she loved,&mdash;the only being on earth who loved
+her.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER II<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>The piercing cry of Fouchette seemed yet to linger in the misty
+morning air, thrilling the distant ear, vibrating upon the unstrung
+nerves of the outcasts beneath the far-away bridges, borne upon the
+surface of the waters, when it was answered out of the darkness by a
+sharp, shrill note of sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>Those who have heard the wild hyena in his native fastnesses
+responding to the appeal of its imperilled young might have understood
+this half-human, half-savage cry of the roused animal.</p>
+
+<p>And almost simultaneously came the swift rush of feet that seemed to
+claw the granite into flying electric sparks.</p>
+
+<p>The repulsive face of the convict murderer turned pale at the sound,
+and at the sight of the glowing eye-balls his ugly teeth clattered
+against each other. Nevertheless, the instinct of self-preservation
+made him crouch low, deadly knife in hand, to receive the expected
+attack.</p>
+
+<p>At the sight of le Cochon the dog emitted a howl of wrath. With the
+marvellous judgment, however, of the trained animal that will not be
+turned from the trail of a deer by the scent of skunk, this sight
+scarcely checked his plunge.</p>
+
+<p>Tartar's divination was unerring. He wasted no effort in battling with
+the current or paddling around in a circle, but turned at once and
+swam rapidly with the stream. He spent no breath in useless
+vociferation. All his canine strength was put forth to an end. And
+these instincts were quickly rewarded by the sight <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>of a strange
+object floating ahead of him,&mdash;something a little higher, than the
+water.</p>
+
+<p>The fiend who had packed the old rags into the bottom of the pannier
+with the double motive of indicating an accident and of carrying the
+child under beneath its weight had overdone the trick. For the rags,
+once soaked, proved so much heavier than the frail body that it turned
+turtle and threw the child face upward and partially above the
+surface. The load instead of sinking buoyed her up, and, being
+strapped securely to it, she could not fall off. Whereas if she had
+simply been thrown into the river without these precautions, she would
+have gone to the bottom.</p>
+
+<p>With a succession of low whines now that were almost human sobs, the
+excited spaniel quickened his stroke, if, indeed, such a thing were
+possible, and redoubled his energies. He saw that it was the body of
+his beloved mate.</p>
+
+<p>But when he reached the floating object and seized it with his teeth
+it was to find that he was powerless to drag it ashore. In vain he
+struggled and splashed and tugged at it. The load was too much for
+him. Almost frantic from disappointment, he soon became exhausted. He
+seemed to realize that he would not only be unable to save his little
+mistress, but was likely to perish with her. It was not long before
+his fight ceased. He hung on by his teeth now to keep from sinking.</p>
+
+<p>Thus the combination, waterlogged basket, unconscious girl, and
+exhausted dog, floated silently along, under the National Bridge, past
+the bridge of Tolbiac, and came opposite the great freight-yards of
+the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>Orleans Railway on the left and the greater Entrep&ocirc;ts de Bercy on
+the right.</p>
+
+<p>The homeless of both sexes that swarm the shelter of the bridges of
+the Seine were just awakening to life and a renewed sense of misery.
+The thin fog had begun to lift. The sharper eyes of the dog discovered
+the proximity of human beings before the latter could see him, and he
+let go of his floater long enough to utter a few sharp yelps of
+distress.</p>
+
+<p>A tramp, wider awake or less benumbed by liquor than his fellows,
+heard the sounds from the river and called the attention of
+companions.</p>
+
+<p>A dog in distress,&mdash;it was enough to rouse the sympathetic blood of
+any true Parisian. The more active of the men ran vociferously along
+the bank, raising the watchmen of either shore.</p>
+
+<p>Numerous barges and tugs lay moored along the Quai de la Gare. From
+these lights began to show. Men sprang up as if by magic. Those on one
+side of the river shouted to those on the other side to find out what
+was the matter, and the other side shouted back that they didn't
+know,&mdash;but it was somebody or something in the river. As there is
+always "somebody" in the river, the idea did not attract so much
+attention as the possibility that it was "something."</p>
+
+<p>When it was ascertained that it was a dog&mdash;which followed upon
+additional pathetic appeals from the water&mdash;there was wild excitement
+all along the line. Men tumbled over barrels and boxes, and ran plump
+up against walls, and fell into pits, and even into the river itself,
+in their anxiety to keep pace with the sounds from the fog.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>Others began hastily to get out boats, and ran about with lanterns and
+oars and ends of rope and other life-saving paraphernalia. These boats
+put off simultaneously from either side, and contained police agents,
+bargemen, roustabouts, watchmen, watermen, and bums. As the
+inhabitants of the Long Island shore at the cry of "A whale!" man the
+boats and race to get in the first harpoon, so these rivermen of the
+Seine now pulled for a drowning dog.</p>
+
+<p>The conflicting sounds of human voices, the grating of boats against
+the stones, the rattle of chains, the splash of oars, were plainly
+heard and as plainly understood by the intelligent animal now
+struggling with death. Through his set jaws, which still clung to the
+child's clothing, or, rather, through his nose, there came occasional
+whines of distress that were almost heart-rending in their intensity.</p>
+
+<p>These last faint appeals for help directed the rescuers.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed a waterman, nearing the spot and rowing
+alongside.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a child!" screamed another.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it's a dog," said a third.</p>
+
+<p>The light was still uncertain and objects confusing.</p>
+
+<p>"It's dog and child&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It's dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"I mean the child."</p>
+
+<p>"Dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; the dog has held its face above water."</p>
+
+<p>"The dog,&mdash;quick! he's sinking!"</p>
+
+<p>"Here!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>"A rope!"</p>
+
+<p>"There!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! Catch him by the neck!"</p>
+
+<p>"Save the child first!"</p>
+
+<p>"I've got him!"</p>
+
+<p>"And I've got her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hang on to the dog! Pull him into the boat, stupid!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, she's strapped down to something!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is this, anyhow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pull the dog loose, man!&mdash;he'll drown her yet!"</p>
+
+<p>"There!"</p>
+
+<p>"Your knife, Pierre!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hold!"</p>
+
+<p>This was from the river policeman, who held up his bull's-eye lantern
+so that it threw a yellow glare on the white upturned face.</p>
+
+<p>"She's dead, poor little thing!"</p>
+
+<p>"We shall bring in the body just as it is," said the official.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That's the law!"</p>
+
+<p>"Tonnerre! Is it the law to let a child drown in one's sight?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she's dead enough, I'm afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know about that."</p>
+
+<p>"Bring it in just as it is," repeated the official, adjusting a rope
+to the mysterious thing beneath the body.</p>
+
+<p>"Sacr&eacute; bleu! And if she's alive?"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor doggie! He's about done for too."</p>
+
+<p>And so it really seemed, for Tartar lay in the bottom of the boat,
+still breathing, but in convulsive gasps. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>In his teeth remained a
+portion of the child's clothing, torn away with him. He had hung to
+his charge to the last. His jaws had never relaxed.</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time the whole fleet with its spoils had been floating
+steadily down with the powerful current. Amidst the wrangle of
+contending voices, and with some angry altercation, the police boat
+and its accompanying consorts were towing the yet unknown object and
+its silent burden towards the shore.</p>
+
+<p>This was not an easy job, since the river becomes more narrow as it
+threads the city, and the current proportionately stronger, and the
+undertow caught at the low-hanging mass as if determined to bear it
+down to the morgue just below. They had been carried under the Pont de
+Bercy and were drawing near the Quai d'Austerlitz. Finally they got
+ashore at the Gare d'Orl&eacute;ans.</p>
+
+<p>"Parbleu! it's a little chiffonni&egrave;re!"</p>
+
+<p>"Truly!"</p>
+
+<p>"She has evidently fallen into the river with her basket on her back."</p>
+
+<p>They had now, in the rapidly growing daylight, discovered the
+character of the object that held her in its embrace. In fact, when
+half a dozen stout fellows had attempted to lift the whole thing out
+of the water the rags had dropped out unseen and were borne away by
+the current, leaving the light empty pannier and the body of the child
+in their hands. And the men marvelled at the resistance they had
+encountered.</p>
+
+<p>A messenger had been at once despatched for medical assistance. The
+great hospital of Salp&ecirc;tri&egrave;re was near at hand.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>"May as well take her to the morgue," muttered one.</p>
+
+<p>"Soon enough,&mdash;soon enough," replied the river policeman. "Follow the
+custom."</p>
+
+<p>Notwithstanding the general opinion that it was too late, a rough
+boatman had torn off a section of his flannel shirt and was chafing
+the cold little hands, while another rubbed the legs and a third tried
+to restore respiration. These people were familiar with cases of
+drowning, and knew the best and simplest immediate first aid by heart.</p>
+
+<p>To their very great surprise a few minutes sufficed to show that the
+child was still alive. By the time the doctor arrived she gave decided
+signs of returning animation. Under the influence of his restoratives
+she opened her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Tartar!" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that, little one?" inquired the doctor, bending low over her.
+She still lay on the stone quai, a laborer's coat beneath her extended
+figure.</p>
+
+<p>"Tar&mdash;Tartar," she repeated, again closing her eyes. "Oh, mon Dieu! I
+remember now. That wretch!&mdash;it could not have been!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe it's her dog," suggested a man.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;Tartar&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There, my child,&mdash;don't! Is it the dog?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;tell me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he's all right.&mdash;Say!"</p>
+
+<p>He hailed the group gathered about the other victim of the river.</p>
+
+<p>"How's the dog?"</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Monsieur le Docteur!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>Fouchette heard and brightened perceptibly. The doctor increased the
+effect by observing that the dog was coming around all right.</p>
+
+<p>"But he's had a pretty close call."</p>
+
+<p>"So it was Tartar, after all," whispered Fouchette. "Dear Tartar!"</p>
+
+<p>"A brave dog, Tartar,&mdash;stuck to you to the last," put in the
+policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"Truly!"</p>
+
+<p>Half a dozen men cried at once, "Vive Tartar!" with the enthusiasm of
+true Frenchmen.</p>
+
+<p>And if a dog ever did deserve the encomiums that were showered upon
+him Tartar certainly was that dog.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Fouchette began to revive, a stalwart bargewoman, awakened
+in her little cubby by the cries of the men in the vicinity, and who
+had hastily turned out to see for herself, had disappeared for a
+moment in her floating home, and shortly afterwards returned with some
+substantial clothing borrowed from her family wardrobe.</p>
+
+<p>"How thin the child is!" she remarked, as she substituted the dry
+clothing on the spot.</p>
+
+<p>"Thin!" growled a bystander; "she had to be mighty thin to come down
+the river on an empty basket!"</p>
+
+<p>"You see, she must have fallen in with the basket on her back&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I was pushed in," corrected Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Pushed into the river?"</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who did it, child?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>"Impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>"There is some devilish crime here."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a case for the police."</p>
+
+<p>This last observation came from the policeman as he brought out his
+note-book, while a buzz of indignation ran through the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette heard these mutterings and saw the inquisitorial pencil of
+the official in uniform. He had shut off his light with a snap.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment Tartar, having heard the voice of his mistress, had
+struggled to his feet, and now dragged himself over to where she lay.
+The crowd separated for him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Tartar!" exclaimed Fouchette, affectionately, raising her hand to
+his head.</p>
+
+<p>With a whimper of joy the noble animal licked her hand, her face and
+neck, wagging his bedraggled tail with intense satisfaction, winding
+up this demonstration by lying down by her side as closely as he could
+get, and giving a long breath, which in a human being would be called
+a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>The act moved the coarse bargewoman to tears, while the men turned
+away to hide their emotion.</p>
+
+<p>The silence was profound,&mdash;the testimony of a sentiment too deep for
+mere words.</p>
+
+<p>The police agent was the first to come to the practical point in the
+situation. The violence phase of the case made him consequential. It
+would invite the attention of his superiors. It would get his name in
+the daily journals.</p>
+
+<p>"What is your name, child?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>The intended victim of police interrogatory closed her eyes without
+answering.</p>
+
+<p>"You were thrown into the river. It is necessary for us to know the
+name of the person who committed this outrage. If you do not know, it
+is our business to find out. The miscreant must be arrested and
+punished. Where do you live?"</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak, my child! Speak up!"</p>
+
+<p>She had reopened her eyes and now looked at him steadily, stonily, but
+without a word. He was nonplussed.</p>
+
+<p>As Fouchette began rapidly to recover her strength she also recovered
+her self-possession, also the results of her training. Foremost among
+these were her suspicions of the police, whom she had come to believe
+were organized by society to restrain and harass the poor; that the
+informer was the lowest grade of humanity.</p>
+
+<p>In addition to these precepts of the barriers, Fouchette was afraid.
+She knew the character of those whom she had left behind. She felt
+certain that if she betrayed them to the police she would be put out
+of the way.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was this fear at all unreasonable. Without her recent terrible
+experience she would have been fully aware of the danger that attended
+a too loquacious tongue. The question of putting this one or that one
+"out of the way" had frequently been discussed openly and seriously at
+the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. A word from her now would send the
+police down on that resort. Just a little while ago she was nervous
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>and unstrung, but, while she had at first formed the intention of
+bringing le Cochon to book, the very first question brought her face
+to face with the consequences. The second query increased her
+obstinacy. The peremptory command to speak out left her mute. By
+saying nothing she could compromise nobody.</p>
+
+<p>"Only a street waif," suggested the doctor,&mdash;"probably has no home."</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette, who had now risen to a sitting posture, nodded vivaciously.</p>
+
+<p>"Then why didn't you say so?" growled the police agent. "Have you any
+parents?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Whom were you living with, and where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nowhere."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, again,&mdash;what is your name?"</p>
+
+<p>Silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you answer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because it's none of your business," snapped Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll see about that before the Commissaire," retorted the agent.
+"He'll take the sulk out of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Hold on," put in the bargewoman; "don't be harsh with her, monsieur.
+She has been abused dreadfully. Her body is covered with bruises."</p>
+
+<p>"So much more reason we should find out who did it,&mdash;who has attempted
+to murder the child into the bargain."</p>
+
+<p>"She has been cruelly beaten."</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have to take you to the Commissariat, my child."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>"I don't care where you take me,&mdash;that is, if Tartar goes along."</p>
+
+<p>The dog regarded her inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," responded the agent,&mdash;"Tartar is a part of the case.
+Allons!"</p>
+
+<p>He would have picked her up in his powerful arms, but she rebelled
+vigorously, protesting that she could walk.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Good! You're a plucky one. You're the right stuff."</p>
+
+<p>The little official party&mdash;the agent, Fouchette, Tartar, a waterman
+carrying the basket, the stout bargewoman bearing the child's wet
+clothing&mdash;took up the march, followed by several idlers in search of
+sensation.</p>
+
+<p>Having arrived at the Commissariat, it was necessary to await the hour
+when it pleased Monsieur le Commissaire to put in an appearance. In
+the mean time Fouchette was disposed of on a bench within a railed
+space, her bare feet dangling, momentarily growing physically better
+and more mentally perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>What would they do with her?</p>
+
+<p>She dared not return to the Podvins. She knew of no other place to go.
+She was desperately alone in the world. Only Tartar, who once more
+stretched himself at her feet, with his head in a position where he
+could keep a half-open eye on his mistress. Tartar needed rest, and
+was getting it.</p>
+
+<p>The police! Next to the murderer of the barrier she hated and feared
+the police.</p>
+
+<p>Would they send her to prison?</p>
+
+<p>After all, she thought, one might as well have been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>drowned to a
+finish. It would have been an easy escape from this uncertainty and
+agony of mind.</p>
+
+<p>She began to feel hungry. Gradually the thoughts of what she should do
+for something to eat, and where she would be able to get something for
+Tartar, drove out all other thoughts. If they could only get away
+now,&mdash;at this hour something might be found in the streets. She
+calculated the chances of escape by a sudden dash for the door. But
+there were several police agents lounging in the anteroom, and her
+conductor sat at the little gate of the enclosure. So the scheme was
+reluctantly dismissed. Anyhow, if they would let Tartar remain with
+her she didn't care much.</p>
+
+<p>During this time several successive attempts were made by the police
+agents to get her to talk. She responded by "Yes" or "No" or a motion
+of the head to all questions not connected with her case. On this
+subject she was persistently silent.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later the bargewoman, who had been in secret consultation with
+the police agents, went out and got Fouchette a roll and some cheese,
+which she ate eagerly. This woman was a coarse, masculine-looking
+creature with hands as hard and rough as a fowl's foot, a distinct
+moustache and tufts of hair cropping out here and there on her neck
+and chin, but her voice assumed a kindly tone. She led Fouchette to
+the farther corner of the room.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go back to my boat now, ch&eacute;rie. Cheer up! And promise me one
+thing,&mdash;don't try the river again. You were not born to be drowned,
+anyhow. If you really want to die you'll have to try something else."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want to die," protested Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>"And they send people to prison who attempt suicide," continued the
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>"But I didn't, madame."</p>
+
+<p>"The bodies spoil the water. There are so many of them floating by.
+I've seen hundreds of 'em in my time."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed; I would rather live."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right,&mdash;that's a dear! My barge is 'La Th&eacute;r&egrave;se,'&mdash;named after
+me. We are in the coal trade. I want you to come and see me, petite.
+You shall take a trip to Rouen. Yes,&mdash;would you like to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very much, madame!" interrupted Fouchette, joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall."</p>
+
+<p>"And Tartar?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shall go too. We'll have fine times, I promise you. You will find us
+at the Quai d'Austerlitz when in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you,&mdash;so much! I've seen the big boats go by lots of times and
+wished I was on one&mdash;one with flowers and vines and a dog&mdash;Tartar. And
+sometimes I've seen 'em in my sleep&mdash;yes."</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette at once lost herself in this prospect. It would be the most
+delightful thing in her life.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is very nice," continued the bargewoman. "Remember,
+ch&eacute;rie,&mdash;'La Th&eacute;r&egrave;se.' You can bring the clothes with you. Ask for
+me,&mdash;'Th&eacute;r&egrave;se.' My husband named the barge after me long ago."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pretty name," said the child.</p>
+
+<p>"You think so? A name is&mdash;what is your real name, petite?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>"I don't know, madame," replied Fouchette, promptly and truthfully.</p>
+
+<p>"What! Don't know your own name? Impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>The woman was vexed, and made no effort to conceal her vexation. To be
+outwitted by a mere child was too much to bear with equanimity. As
+kindly disposed as she was by nature, she lost her temper at once at
+what she considered a stupid falsehood.</p>
+
+<p>"You're an obstinate little brute!" she exclaimed, in a passion,&mdash;a
+state of mind aggravated by the laughter of the police agents in the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and a little liar," she added.</p>
+
+<p>"M&mdash;mad&mdash;madame!" stammered the trembling child, whose bright visions
+vanished in a twinkling.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't wonder they threw you in the river,&mdash;not a bit!"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette's lips were now set in mute rage. She was up in arms at
+once. Her steely eyes shot fire. The honest bargewoman had almost won
+her childish confidence. Another word or two of kindness and she would
+have gained an easy victory. Now, however, everything was upset and
+the fat was in the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Without a word Fouchette began to hurriedly divest herself of the
+clothing she wore and to throw the garments, piece by piece, on the
+floor.</p>
+
+<p>So quickly was this accomplished that neither the astonished woman nor
+the puzzled police agents could interfere before the child stood there
+perfectly nude in the midst of them. Her frame, which was little more
+than a living skeleton covered with marks of violence, fairly quivered
+with anger. She choked so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>that she could not speak. In another minute
+she had resumed her wet rags.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;!" she finally cried, pointing to the discarded garments. "At
+least you can never say that I asked for them or didn't return them!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu!" The woman was overwhelmed,&mdash;breathless.</p>
+
+<p>To be misunderstood is often the bitterest thing to bear in this life.
+Madame Th&eacute;r&egrave;se and little Fouchette were suffering simultaneously from
+this evil.</p>
+
+<p>"Take 'em away!"</p>
+
+<p>"But listen, child! I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Take 'em away!" she screamed.</p>
+
+<p>Tartar rose with an ominous growl and looked from his mistress to the
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>"We don't need 'em, do we, Tartar? No! Let them take their gall and
+honey with 'em. Yes! They make us tired. Yes!"</p>
+
+<p>To all of these observations&mdash;somewhat heavily weighted with barrier
+billingsgate&mdash;Tartar showed his approval by wagging his tail knowingly
+and by covering the small face bent down to him with canine kisses.</p>
+
+<p>"Better come away, madame," said an agent, in a low voice, to the
+stupefied woman thus assailed. He laughed at her discomfiture. "It is
+waste kindness and waste time. You can't do anything with that sort of
+riffraff. It's only a stray cat fed to scratch you. They're a bad
+lot."</p>
+
+<p>The "bad lot" had overheard this police philosophy, and it confirmed
+her pre-existing opinion of the police.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Commissaire was a grave and burly gentleman of middle
+life, with iron-gray hair and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>moustache, and eyes that seemed to read
+their object through and through. He pulled this moustache
+thoughtfully as he listened to the report of the river police agent,
+all the time keeping the eyes upon the diminutive but defiant child
+before him. When he had learned everything,&mdash;including the scene in
+the station,&mdash;he said, abruptly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Come in here, my child. Don't be afraid,&mdash;nobody's going to hurt you.
+Yes, bring the dog. Brave dog! Splendid fellow! Come! I'd like to own
+that dog, now,&mdash;I would, indeed!" he observed, as he closed the door
+of his private office; "but I suppose you wouldn't part with him for
+the world now, would you?"</p>
+
+<p>"N-no. But he isn't mine, monsieur," she replied, regretfully.</p>
+
+<p>"No? What a pity! Then perhaps I could buy him, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I don't know. Monsieur Podvin&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped suddenly. But the magistrate was looking abstractedly over
+her head and did not appear to notice her slip of the tongue. He was
+thinking. It gave little Fouchette time to recover.</p>
+
+<p>He was something like the enthusiastic physician who sees in his
+patient only "a case,"&mdash;something devoid of personality. He recognized
+in this waif a condition of society to be treated. In his mind she was
+a wholly irresponsible creature. Not the whole case in question,&mdash;oh,
+no; but a part of the case. What she had been, was now, or would be
+were questions that did not enter into the consideration. Nothing but
+the case.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>Instead of putting the child through a course of questions,&mdash;what she
+anticipated and had steeled herself against,&mdash;he merely talked to her
+on what appeared to be topics foreign to the subject immediately in
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>"You must be taken care of in some way," he declared. "Yes,&mdash;a child
+like you should not be left in the streets of Paris to beg or
+starve,&mdash;and it's against the law to beg&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But I never begged, monsieur," interrupted the child,&mdash;"never!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not,&mdash;of course not! No; you are too proud to beg. That's
+right. But you couldn't make a living picking rags, and the law
+doesn't permit a child to pick rags in the streets of Paris."</p>
+
+<p>"I never did, monsieur, never!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not,&mdash;you would be arrested. But outside the barriers the
+work is not lucrative. Charenton, for instance, is not as prolific of
+rags as it is of rascals."</p>
+
+<p>At the mention of Charenton Fouchette started visibly; but her
+interlocutor did not seem to notice it.</p>
+
+<p>"No; it does not even give as brave a child as you enough to eat,&mdash;not
+if you work ever so hard,&mdash;let alone to provide comfortably for
+Tar&mdash;for Tartar. Eh, my brave spaniel? We must get Tartar some
+breakfast. Has Tartar had any breakfast?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, monsieur,&mdash;oh, no! And he is so hungry!"</p>
+
+<p>She was all eagerness and softness when it came to her faithful
+companion. Tartar began to take a lively interest in the conversation
+of which he knew himself the subject.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>"Exactly," said the Commissaire, suddenly getting up. He had reached
+his conclusion. "Now, remain here a few minutes, little one, while I
+see about it."</p>
+
+<p>He disappeared into the outer office and remained closeted in a small
+cabinet with a telephone. Then, calling one of his men in plain
+clothes aside, he gave some instructions in a rapid manner.</p>
+
+<p>When he re-entered the private office he knew that a rascal named
+Podvin kept a disreputable cabaret near the Porte de Charenton, and
+that a small, thin child called Fouchette lived with the Podvins, who
+also kept a dog, liver-colored, with dark-brown splotches, named
+Tartar, but that the child was not yet missed, probably owing to the
+fact that it was her customary hour in the streets of Charenton. In
+the same time he had notified the Pr&eacute;fecture that a murderous attempt
+had been made on a child, probably by some one of the gang that
+infested the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, and had been directed to
+co-operate with two skilled Central men in an investigation.</p>
+
+<p>"All right, petite," said the Commissaire, rubbing his hands and
+assuming his most oily tone. "First we are going to have some dry
+clothes and some shoes and stockings and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I only&mdash;I never wore shoes and stockings," interrupted Fouchette,
+somewhat embarrassed by this flood of finery. "I don't need 'em,
+monsieur. It is only Tartar's&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we'll attend to Tartar also,&mdash;don't be afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur is very kind."</p>
+
+<p>"It is nothing. Come along, now. You're going to ride in a nice
+carriage, too,&mdash;for the crowd might <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>follow you in the street, you
+know,&mdash;and I'll send a man with you to take good care of you."</p>
+
+<p>"But Tartar&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You can take him in the carriage with you if you wish,&mdash;yes, it is
+better, perhaps. He might get run over or lost."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>And thus Fouchette rode in state, and in wet rags at the same time,
+down past the great Jardin des Plantes, the Halle aux Vins, and along
+the Boulevard St. Germain to Rue St. Jacques, where they turned down
+across the Petit Pont and stopped in the court-yard of an immense
+building across the plaza from Notre Dame. Tartar was somewhat uneasy,
+as well as his little mistress, at this novelty of locomotion, but as
+long as they were together it seemed to be all right. So they looked
+out of the carriage windows at the sights that were as strange to
+their eyes as if they had never before been in the city of Paris.
+Meanwhile, to divert the child, the man at her side had gayly pointed
+out the objects of interest.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! and there is grand old Notre Dame," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Notre Dame."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a big house."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but you've seen it, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Never."</p>
+
+<p>"What!" he exclaimed, in astonishment; "you, a little Parisienne, and
+never saw Notre Dame?"</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you, monsieur, you have then seen everything in Paris?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a vein of cold irony in the small voice.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>"Er&mdash;w-well, not quite. Not quite, perhaps," he smilingly answered.</p>
+
+<p>"No, nor I," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"But Notre Dame&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What's Notre Dame to me? Nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>A slight gesture of impatience.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What's it for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's a church, petite."</p>
+
+<p>"A church! And what's that to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, truly, I don't know, child. Nothing, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>She snapped her fingers contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>"Here is the Pr&eacute;fecture."</p>
+
+<p>It was the Pr&eacute;fecture de Police and not Notre Dame that had to do with
+little Fouchette and her kind. She knew what the Pr&eacute;fecture was,
+though she now saw it for the first time. And she shivered in her wet
+rags as the carriage turned into the great court-yard surrounded by
+the immense stone quadrangle that fronts upon the quai.</p>
+
+<p>A troop of the Garde de Paris was drilling at the upper end of the
+court. Sentinels with gay uniforms and fixed bayonets solemnly paraded
+at the three gate-ways.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, petite," said the man, flinging open the carriage doors and
+lifting the child in his arms to the ground. The dog leaped out after
+her and looked uneasily up and down.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later when Fouchette emerged with her conductor she had
+undergone a transformation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>that would have rendered her
+unrecognizable in Charenton. She had not only been washed and combed
+and rubbed down, but had been arrayed in a frock of grayish material,
+a chip hat with flowers in it, and shoes and stockings. She was so
+excited over the grandeur of her personal appearance that she had
+completely lost her bearings. It is true the hat was too old for a
+child of her years, and the coarse new costume was several sizes too
+large for her bony little frame, and the shoes were very embarrassing,
+but to Fouchette they seemed the outfit of a "real lady."</p>
+
+<p>She had entered the Pr&eacute;fecture sullenly, desperately, half expecting
+to be sent to a lonely cell and perhaps loaded with chains,&mdash;she had
+heard tell of such things,&mdash;and, instead, had been treated with
+kindness by a gentle matron, her body washed and clothed, her stomach
+made glad with rich soup and bread and milk, while Tartar was amply
+provided for before her own eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was still in a daze when she found herself again in the
+closed carriage, with Tartar at her feet, being whirled away at a pace
+that seemed to threaten the lives of everybody in the streets. The
+same man sat beside her, and an extra man had, at the last moment,
+clambered up by the side of the driver.</p>
+
+<p>This furious speed was continued for a long time, until Fouchette
+began to wonder more and more where they were going. She could not
+recognize anything en route, and the man was now serious and taciturn.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she saw that they were approaching the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>barrier. Things
+looked differently from a carriage window, and yet there was a
+familiar air about the surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>The man noticed her uneasiness and pulled down the blinds.</p>
+
+<p>A terrible fear now seized her. Were they going to take her back to
+the Podvins?</p>
+
+<p>This fear increased as the speed of the vehicle lessened and as Tartar
+began to move about impatiently. He was trying to get his nose under
+the curtain.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold him down!" said the man in a low voice. He was afraid to touch
+the dog himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, monsieur!" she finally exclaimed, "we are not going to&mdash;to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, my little Fouchette," he put in, with a
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mon Dieu! Please, monsieur! Take me anywhere else,&mdash;back to the
+Pr&eacute;fecture&mdash;to prison&mdash;anywhere but to this place! They'll kill me!
+Oh, they'll kill me, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! No, they won't, little one. We'll take care of that."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Besides," he continued, reassuringly, "we're not going to leave you
+there, so don't be afraid. Maybe you won't have to get out, or be seen
+even, if you do as I tell you. Have no fear."</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! monsieur does not know. They'll kill you, too!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, they won't. And I know all about them, my child. There are four
+of us, and&mdash;&mdash; Keep the dog down till I open the door."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>The carriage had stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay right where you are," he whispered. "Let the dog out."</p>
+
+<p>Tartar could not have been held in by both of them. He jumped to the
+ground with joyous barks of recognition.</p>
+
+<p>It was now ten o'clock, and the usual odors of a Parisian second
+breakfast permeated the atmosphere of the cabaret.</p>
+
+<p>Four or five rough-looking men were lounging about, gossiping over
+their absinthe or ap&eacute;ratif. Monsieur Podvin was already, at this early
+hour in the day, on his second bottle of ordinaire. Opposite, as
+usual, sat le Cochon.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin was busily burnishing up the zinc bar, and the vigorous
+and spiteful way in which she did this betrayed the fact that she was
+in bad temper. She was reserving an extra force of pent-up wrath
+against the moment when that "lazy little beast Fouchette" should put
+in an appearance.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur Podvin was also irritated, but not because of Fouchette's
+prolonged absence. He was concerned about Tartar.</p>
+
+<p>Le Cochon sympathized with both of them.</p>
+
+<p>Among the various theories offered for these disappearances madame
+thought that Fouchette was simply playing truant. The dog did not
+bother her calculation, as he would not share the punishment.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur was certain that the girl had enticed the dog away from home;
+though why she had taken her basket and hook if she were not coming
+back he could not say.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>Le Cochon took a gloomy view of it. He was afraid some accident had
+befallen her,&mdash;she might have got run over by a fiacre, or have fallen
+into the river.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" protested M. Podvin. "The dog would come home. He wouldn't
+get run over too, and you couldn't drown a spaniel."</p>
+
+<p>It was precisely at this moment that the loud barking of Tartar broke
+upon their ears, confirming his master's judgment and sending a thrill
+through everybody in the room. This sensation, however, was by no
+means the same.</p>
+
+<p>The brute master alone rejoiced for pure love of the dog and for the
+dog's sake.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin went in search of a certain stout strap used upon
+Fouchette on special occasions of ceremonial penological procedure.</p>
+
+<p>Two strange men seated at some distance from each other, and who up to
+that moment had ignored each other's existence, exchanged looks of
+intelligence and rose as if to leave the place.</p>
+
+<p>Le Cochon alone seemed disconcerted. His beetle brows clouded, and his
+right hand involuntarily sought the handle of his knife.</p>
+
+<p>The instincts of the robber were this time unerring. For Tartar had
+scarcely licked the dirty hand of his master, when his eyes fell upon
+the would-be murderer of his beloved mistress. The sight appeared to
+startle the animal at first. But only for a second. Then, with a growl
+of rage that began low and ominously, like the first notes of a
+thunder-storm, and swelled into a howl, the spaniel sprang upon the
+villain and fastened his fangs in his fleshy throat.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER III<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>The onset was so sudden and swift, and the animal had received such a
+powerful impetus from his spring, that the burly robber went down with
+a tremendous crash.</p>
+
+<p>Man and dog rolled together in the dirt, upsetting tables and chairs
+and raising a terrible uproar. The desperate wretch plunged his knife
+again and again into the body of the enraged spaniel; the latter only
+clinched his teeth tighter and endeavored to tear his enemy by main
+brute strength.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin, having been diverted from her original purpose by this
+unexpected m&ecirc;l&eacute;e, set up a scream that would have drowned an active
+calliope.</p>
+
+<p>"That's our bird!" shouted the man who had been serving as Fouchette's
+footman.</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon his partner and the two agents from the Pr&eacute;fecture who had
+been waiting within fell upon the struggling pair.</p>
+
+<p>It was all over in a few seconds.</p>
+
+<p>Yet within that brief period Tartar lay dead from a knife-thrust in
+the heart, and the robber was extended alongside of his victim, his
+hands securely manacled upon his back.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold on, gentlemen!" broke in M. Podvin at this juncture, having
+found his voice for the first time, "what does this mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"It means, my dear Podvin, that this amiable gentleman, who has always
+been so handy with his knife, is wanted at the Pr&eacute;fecture&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And that you are politely requested to accompany <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>him," added the
+other Central man, tapping M. Podvin on the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"But, que diable!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come! Madame will conduct the business all right, no doubt, while her
+patriot husband serves the State."</p>
+
+<p>"That cursed dog has finished me," growled the prostrate robber.
+"C'est &eacute;gal! I've done for him and F&mdash;&mdash; If it had only been one of
+you, curse you!"</p>
+
+<p>This benevolent wish was addressed to the police agent who was at that
+moment engaged in binding up the horrible wound in the man's throat.
+Both were drenched with blood, partly from the dog and partly from the
+man. Le Cochon had been assisted to a sitting posture, sullen,
+revengeful, with murder in his black heart.</p>
+
+<p>All at once his inflamed eyes rested upon something in the doorway. At
+first it was but casually, then fixedly, while the bloated face turned
+ashen.</p>
+
+<p>He started to rise to his feet, and would have warded off the
+apparition with his hands, only they were laced in steel behind him,
+then, with a deep groan of terror, pitched forward upon his face,
+senseless.</p>
+
+<p>It was Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>The others turned towards the doorway to see,&mdash;there was nothing
+there.</p>
+
+<p>Cowering for a few moments in the darkest corner of the carriage, she
+had heard the voice of Tartar raised in anger, followed by the tumult.
+The latter she had anticipated with fear and trembling. She had
+divined at the last moment that these were agents of the police, and
+that the object was arrests. The noise <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>of combat roused her fighting
+blood, the silence that so soon followed heated her curiosity to the
+boiling-point. It was intolerable. Perhaps the agents were being
+killed. The suspense was dreadful. She felt that she could not endure
+it another second.</p>
+
+<p>The man had ordered her to remain in the carriage. The blinds were
+down; the coachman stood on the side next to the cabaret.</p>
+
+<p>Come what might, she must know. So Fouchette slipped softly out on the
+opposite side and sneaked swiftly around the horses' heads.</p>
+
+<p>The coachman on guard was for the same moment completely wrapped up in
+the riot that had been going on inside the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers;
+he saw the child just as she reached the doorway, and then he made a
+dash for her, grabbed her, and put her back in the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>Thus, it so happened that but a single pair of eyes within had seen
+Fouchette, and these eyes belonged to the man who believed her to be
+dead.</p>
+
+<p>It was for the purpose of the identification of her assailant that
+Fouchette had been brought to the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. Tartar had
+spared her that trouble, though it was for quite another reason that
+le Cochon fell into the grip of the police.</p>
+
+<p>The latter had experienced no difficulty in identifying Fouchette in
+spite of her obstinate silence. As she had come down the river from
+outside the barrier, it was clear that she made her living in some
+river suburb. A telephonic inquiry brought not only immediate
+confirmation from the authorities at Charenton, but had elicited the
+important details that brought the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>specials from the Pr&eacute;fecture down
+upon the suspected cabaret. In the man described as "le Cochon" the
+officials at once recognized a notorious escaped convict.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until Fouchette was on her way back to the Pr&eacute;fecture that
+it was learned that in their prisoner, le Cochon, they also had an
+assassin who up to this moment had eluded arrest.</p>
+
+<p>When the agent had informed her of the death of Tartar she was first
+overcome with grief. The sense of her utter loneliness rushed upon
+her. She wept convulsively. Her sorrow was bitter and profound.</p>
+
+<p>"Cheer up, my child; don't give way like that."</p>
+
+<p>Her companion tried now and then to comfort her in his rough way.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, monsieur! but he was the only friend I had in the world!" she
+sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>"There, there!" he said, soothingly; "you'll have more friends. You'll
+be taken care of all right."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care what becomes of me, now poor Tartar's gone! He loved me!
+Nobody will ever love me like he did,&mdash;never!"</p>
+
+<p>But when she had recovered from this tempest of tears it was to
+succumb to a tempest of wrath.</p>
+
+<p>"That wretch! I'll see him under the razor!" she exclaimed, meaning
+the guillotine. "He tried to drown me, the assassin! Yes, I know him
+for an assassin,&mdash;a murderer! It was he who pushed me into the river!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oho!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is true! That man is a fiend,&mdash;an assassin! I am ready to tell
+everything, monsieur! Everything!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>Not for love of truth,&mdash;not for fear of law,&mdash;but for the love of a
+dog.</p>
+
+<p>In this mood she was encouraged by all the wiles and insinuating ways
+known to the professional student of human nature. So that, when
+Fouchette reached the Pr&eacute;fecture, she had not only imparted valuable
+information, she had astounded her official auditor. Not altogether by
+what she had revealed, but quite as much by her precocious cleverness
+and judgment.</p>
+
+<p>She was taken at once before Inspector Loup, of the Secret Service.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was not in the least intimidated when she found herself
+closeted alone with this mighty personage. For she did not know the
+extraordinary power wielded by Inspector Loup, and was in equal
+ignorance of the stenographer behind the screen. She was thinking only
+of her revenge. She had sworn, mentally, to have the head of le
+Cochon. She would see him writhing under the guillotine. Not because
+he had tried to drown her,&mdash;she would never have betrayed him for
+that,&mdash;but because he had murdered her dog. She would have vengeance.
+She would have overlooked his cowardly butchery of a stranger in the
+wood of Vincennes; but for the killing of Tartar she was ready and
+eager to see the head of le Cochon fall in the Place de la Roquette.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore Fouchette confronted Inspector Loup intent upon her own
+wrongs, and with a face which might have been deemed impudent but for
+its premature hardness.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup was a tall, thin man, with small, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>keen, fishy
+eyes,&mdash;so small they seemed like beads, all pupil, so keen they
+glistened like diamonds, so fishy they appeared to swim round in two
+heavily fringed ponds. And they were always swimming,&mdash;indolently, as
+if it were not really worth while, but still leaving the vague and
+sometimes uncomfortable impression that they were on you, under you,
+around you, through you; that they were weighing you, analyzing you,
+and knew what was in your mind and stomach, as well as the contents of
+your inside pockets.</p>
+
+<p>It was the habit of Inspector Loup to turn these peculiar orbs upon
+whoever came under his personal jurisdiction for a minute or two
+without uttering a word, though usually before that time had expired
+the individual had succumbed to their mysterious influence and was
+ready to make a clean breast of it.</p>
+
+<p>Their awful influence upon the wrongdoer was intensified by the
+softness of his insinuating voice, that seemed to pry down into human
+secrets as a sort of intellectual jimmy, delicate but powerful, and by
+the noiselessness of his tread, which had the effect of creeping upon
+his victim preparatory to the final spring.</p>
+
+<p>In other words, Inspector Loup accomplished by moral force what others
+believed possible only to physical intimidation. Yet those
+law-breakers who had presumed too much upon his gentleness had
+invariably come to grief, and Inspector Loup had reached his present
+confidential position through thrilling experiences that had left his
+lank body covered with honorable scars.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup was practically chief of the Secret <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>System,&mdash;or,
+rather, was director of that system under the eye of the Minister of
+the Interior. He had served a dozen ministries. He had adopted the
+great Fouch&eacute; as a standard, and no government could change quicker
+than Inspector Loup could. If he had been of the Napoleonic period he
+might have rivalled his distinguished model. As it was, he did as well
+as was possible with the weak governing material with which France was
+afflicted.</p>
+
+<p>The word "spy" being obnoxious in all languages and at all times and
+in all places, the myriad smaller particles of the Secret System were
+called "Agents."</p>
+
+<p>The Paris "agent" of this class has, happily, no counterpart in the
+American government. Our "detectives," or "plain clothes men," are
+limited to legitimate police duties in the discovery of crime and
+prosecution of criminals. They are known, are borne on pay-rolls,
+usually have good character and some official standing.</p>
+
+<p>The Paris "agent" is a widely different individual, speaking of that
+branch not in uniform and not regularly employed on routine work. This
+class is formed of government employ&eacute;s, all persons holding government
+licenses of any kind, all keepers of public-houses and places of
+public resort subject to government inspection, returned convicts
+under police surveillance, criminals under suspension of sentence, all
+persons under the eye of the police subject to arrest for one thing or
+another, or who may be intimidated.</p>
+
+<p>Add to these the regular service men and women, then bear in mind that
+the names of all "agents" are secure from public knowledge, even of a
+military <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>court, that they can stab in the dark and never be held
+accountable by their victims, and that appropriations are made in bulk
+for this service without an accounting, and you will then understand
+the full strength and appreciate the unique infamy of the French
+Secret System.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, bien?"</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup had finished his inspection of the childish figure
+before him and was compelled to break the ice.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, bien, monsieur; it is me."</p>
+
+<p>An obstinate silence ensued.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what do you want?" finally inquired the inspector, in a tone
+that clearly implied that, whatever it was, she would not get it.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what are you here for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I was brought."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now you are here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"What have you got to say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Que diable! child, no fencing!"</p>
+
+<p>Another awkward silence, during which each coolly surveyed the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you speak?"</p>
+
+<p>"About what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Of what good is it to speak?" she asked, simply,&mdash;"monsieur knows."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>"Indeed!"</p>
+
+<p>This child was breaking the record. Inspector Loup contemplated her
+petite personality once more. Here was a rare diplomate.</p>
+
+<p>"You are called Fouchette?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mon&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You come from Nantes. No; you don't remember. You were picked up in
+the streets by the Podvins and have been living with them ever since.
+Fouchette is the name they gave you. It is not your real name. You are
+ostensibly a ragpicker, but are the consort and associate of thieves
+and robbers and assassins, who have used you as well as abused you.
+You are suspected to be a regular go-between for these and the
+receivers of stolen goods."</p>
+
+<p>"M-monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>Truly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur knew more of her than she did.</p>
+
+<p>"And I know that it is true. You would have been arrested in the act
+the next trip. This ruffian, so-called le Cochon, threw you in the
+river with the intention of drowning you. You were rescued through the
+sagacity and devotion of a dog. Both this man le Cochon and Podvin
+have been arrested. There are others&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There are others," repeated Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Which you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"The dead man of the wood of Vincennes&mdash;last year. Did they ever find
+the one who did that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>"Le Cochon!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very sure."</p>
+
+<p>"You saw it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. I heard them talking."</p>
+
+<p>"Who?"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Podvin and le Cochon."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, mon enfant; you grow interesting at last."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Podvin was very angry because of it. They quarrelled. I
+heard them from my bed in the cellar. The man had resisted,&mdash;over a
+few sous, think! And Monsieur Podvin said it was not worth while, for
+so little, to bring the police down on the neighborhood. It spoiled
+business. For the twelve sous Monsieur Podvin said he'd lose a
+thousand francs."</p>
+
+<p>"M. Podvin was undoubtedly right."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but le Cochon said it was worth a thousand francs to hear the
+man squeal."</p>
+
+<p>"So!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. And then Monsieur Podvin wanted to take it out of his share."</p>
+
+<p>"So?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and so they quarrelled dreadfully."</p>
+
+<p>"And Madame Podvin,&mdash;she heard this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Madame is not deaf, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>"She was at the zinc."</p>
+
+<p>"Truly, Madame Podvin may become of value," muttered Inspector Loup.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>"Oh! And so you've kept this to your little self all this time. Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was afraid; then&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand. But you got bravely over all this as soon as this
+miscreant undertook to put you out of the way, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was not that, monsieur, for what I would be avenged."</p>
+
+<p>"So you confess to the motive?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would surely be revenged, monsieur," she avowed, frankly.</p>
+
+<p>"A mighty small woman, but still a woman, and sure Fran&ccedil;aise,"
+observed the inspector.</p>
+
+<p>"He killed my only friend, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"What! Another murder? Le Cochon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Tr&egrave;s bien! Go on, mon enfant; you grow more and more interesting!"</p>
+
+<p>"It was only this morning, monsieur," said the child, again reminded
+of her irreparable loss.</p>
+
+<p>"This morning, eh? The report is not yet in.&mdash;There, now, don't
+blubber, little one.&mdash;Another murder for le Cochon! Pardieu! we shall
+have his head!"</p>
+
+<p>"Truly?" Fouchette brightened up immediately at this prospect.</p>
+
+<p>"The infamous wretch!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; go on, monsieur. You grow more interesting!"</p>
+
+<p>"What an infernally impudent child!" observed the inspector to
+himself, yet aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"What&mdash;how about this morning's murder?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>"Le Cochon's dreadful knife! Oh! I would love to see him strapped to
+the plank and his head in the basket! Yes, ten thousand curses on&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;! l&agrave;! l&agrave;! Mon Dieu! will you never get on? Who was le Cochon's
+victim this time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Tartar, monsieur,&mdash;yes! Ah! Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"Tartar? Tartar? Why, that's the name of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur, the dog! Poor Tartar!"</p>
+
+<p>"So le Cochon killed your dog, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur," sobbed Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur l'Inspecteur was silent for a while, thoughtfully regarding
+the grieving child with his fishy eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"After all, it was murder," he said. "Had this man committed no other
+crime, he deserves death for having killed such a noble beast."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! thank you, monsieur! Thank you very much!"</p>
+
+<p>Having established this happy entente, Inspector Loup and Fouchette
+entered into a long and interesting conversation,&mdash;interesting
+especially to the chief of the Secret System.</p>
+
+<p>When the interview was over Fouchette was led away almost quite happy.
+Happier, at least, than she had ever been,&mdash;far happier than she had
+ever hoped to be. First, she had been promised her revenge; second,
+she was neither to go back to the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers nor to be
+turned into the street; third, she was to be sent to a beautiful
+retreat outside of Paris, where she would be taught to read and write
+and be brought up as a lady.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to the child that this was too good to be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>true. The
+country, in her imagination, was the source and foundation of all real
+happiness. There was nothing in cities,&mdash;nothing but dust and crowds,
+and human selfishness and universal hardness of heart, and toil and
+misery.</p>
+
+<p>In the country was freedom and independence. She had tasted it in her
+furtive morning excursions in the wood of Vincennes. Tartar had loved
+the country. The woods, the fields, and the flowers,&mdash;to range among
+them daily, openly and without fear, would be heaven!</p>
+
+<p>To the Parisian all outside of Paris is country.</p>
+
+<p>And to learn to read and to write and understand the newspapers and
+what was in books!</p>
+
+<p>Yes, it seemed really too much, all at once. For of all other things
+coveted in this world, Fouchette deemed such a knowledge most
+desirable. Up to this moment it had been beyond the ordinary flight of
+her youthful imagination. It was one of the impossibilities,&mdash;like
+flying and finding a million of money. But now it had come to her. She
+might know something she had never seen, or of which she had never
+heard.</p>
+
+<p>To accomplish all of this and to be in the country at the same time,
+what more could anybody wish?</p>
+
+<p>Yet she was to have more. The inspector,&mdash;what was this wonderful man,
+anyhow, who knew everything and could do anything?&mdash;he, the inspector,
+had promised it. She was to have human kindness and love!</p>
+
+<p>The inspector was a nice gentleman. And the agents,&mdash;it was all a lie
+about the agents de police. They were all nice men. She had hated and
+dreaded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>them; and had they not been good to her? Had they not taken
+her from the river and fed her and clothed her and visited with swift
+punishment those who had cruelly abused her?</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was learning rapidly. The change was so confusing, and
+events had chased one another so unceremoniously, that she must be
+pardoned if she grasped new ideas with more tenacity than accuracy. It
+is what all of us are doing day by day.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>It was a long distance by rail.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette had never dreamed that a railroad could be so long and that
+the woods and fields with which her mind had been recently filled
+could become so monotonous and tedious. Even the towns and
+villages,&mdash;of which she had never heard,&mdash;that were interesting at
+first, soon became stupid and tiresome. She had long ceased to notice
+them particularly, her mind being naturally filled with thoughts of
+the place to which she was going, and where her whole future seemed to
+lay yet undeveloped. She finally fell into a sound sleep.</p>
+
+<p>The next thing she knew was that she was roughly shaken by the
+shoulder, and a voice cried, somewhat impatiently,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come! What a little sleepyhead!"</p>
+
+<p>It was that of a "religieuse," or member of a religious order, and its
+possessor was a stout, ruddy-faced woman of middle life, garbed in
+solemn black, against which sombre background the white wings of her
+homely headpiece and the white apron, over which dangled a cross,
+looked still more white and glaring than they were.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>Another woman in the same glaring uniform, though less robust and
+quite colorless as to face, stood near by on the station platform.</p>
+
+<p>"Bring her things, sister,&mdash;if she has anything."</p>
+
+<p>Following these instructions, the red-faced woman rummaged in the
+netting overhead with one hand while she pulled Fouchette from her
+corner with the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, petite! Is this all you've got, child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, madame," replied the child, respectfully, but with a sinking
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>"So this is Fouchette, eh?" said the white-faced woman, as her
+companion joined her with the child and her little bundle.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, madame," faltered Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>But for the eyes, which were large and dark and luminous, and which
+seemed to grasp the object upon which they rested and to hold it in
+physical embrace, the face might have been that of the dead, so
+ghastly and rigid and unnatural it was.</p>
+
+<p>"She's not much, very sure," observed the other, turning Fouchette
+around by the slender shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll never earn her salt," said the pale-faced sister.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette noticed that her lips were apparently bloodless and that she
+scarcely moved them as she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Not for long, anyhow," responded the other, with a significance
+Fouchette did not then understand.</p>
+
+<p>Without other preliminary they led Fouchette down the platform.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>"Where's your ticket?" asked the white-faced woman, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette nervously searched the bosom of her dress. In France the
+railway ticket is surrendered at the point where the journey ceases,
+as the traveller leaves the station platform.</p>
+
+<p>"Sainte Marie!" exclaimed the ruddy-faced sister,&mdash;"lost it, I'll
+wager!"</p>
+
+<p>"Where on earth did you put it, child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here, madame," said the latter, still fumbling and not a little
+frightened at the possible consequences of losing the bit of
+cardboard. "Ah! here&mdash;no, it isn't. Mon Dieu!"</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>The voice of the pale religieuse was stern, though her face rested
+perfectly immobile, no matter what she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Search, Sister Agnes."</p>
+
+<p>The ruddy-faced woman obeyed by plunging her fat hand down the front
+of the child's dress, where she fished around vigorously but
+unsuccessfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing but bones!" she ejaculated.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, everybody else had left the platform, and the gatekeeper
+was growing impatient.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes was a practical woman. She wound up her fruitless search
+by shaking the child, as if the latter were a plum-tree and might
+yield over-ripe railway tickets from its branches.</p>
+
+<p>It did. The ticket dropped to the platform from beneath the
+loose-fitting dress.</p>
+
+<p>"There it is!" cried the gatekeeper.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>"Stupid little beast!"</p>
+
+<p>And Sister Agnes shook her again, although, as there were no more
+tickets, the act seemed quite superfluous.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the station waited a sort of carryall, or van, drawn by a
+single horse, which turned his aged head to view the new-comer, as did
+also the driver.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! so you're coming, eh?" said the latter.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;long enough!" grumbled Sister Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>They had driven some distance through the streets of a big town
+without a word, when the last speaker addressed her companion in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"You noted the ticket?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Another silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see what they sent her to us for, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is for the Sup&eacute;rieure."</p>
+
+<p>A still longer silence.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pity," continued Sister Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they ought to go to the House of Correction."</p>
+
+<p>"These Parisian police&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Chut!"</p>
+
+<p>But they need not have taken even this little precaution before
+Fouchette. She had long been lost in the profound depths of her own
+gloomy thoughts. In her isolation she required but a single, simple
+thing to render her happy,&mdash;a thing which costs nothing,&mdash;something of
+which there is an abundance and to spare in the world, thank God!&mdash;and
+that was a little show of kindness.</p>
+
+<p>The child was not very sensitive to bad treatment. To that she was
+inured; but she had tasted the sweets <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>of kindness, and it had
+inspired hopes that already began to wither, encouraged dreams that
+had already vanished.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was fast falling into her habitual state of childish
+cynicism. The police had tricked her, no doubt. She was more than
+suspicious of this as she noted their approach towards a pile of
+buildings surrounded by a high wall, which reminded her of La
+Roquette. This wall had great iron spikes and broken glass bottles set
+in cement on top, and seemed to stretch away out of sight in the
+growing shadows of evening. Once proceeding parallel with the wall,
+the buildings beyond were no longer visible to those outside.</p>
+
+<p>They stopped in front of an immense arched gateway, apparently of the
+medi&aelig;val period, with a porter's lodge on one side, slightly recessed.
+The gates were of stout oak thickly studded with big-headed nails and
+bolts. In the heavy oaken door of the lodge was set a brass "judas," a
+small grille closed by an inner slide, and which might be operated by
+an unseen hand within so as to betray the identity of any person
+outside without unbarring the door,&mdash;a not uncommon arrangement in
+French gates and outside doors.</p>
+
+<p>If Fouchette had not been restricted by the sides and top of the van,
+she might have seen the words "Le Bon Pasteur" carved in the ancient
+stone above the great gateway. But, inasmuch as she could not have
+read the inscription, and would not have been able to understand it in
+any case, it was no great matter.</p>
+
+<p>The driver of the van got down and let fall the old-fashioned iron
+knocker. The judas showed a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>glistening eye for a second, then closed.
+This was immediately followed by a slipping of bolts and a clanging of
+iron bars, and then the big gates swung inward. They appeared to do
+this without human aid, and shut again in the same mysterious way when
+the vehicle had passed.</p>
+
+<p>"Supper, thank goodness!" said Sister Agnes, with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"You're always hungry&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty nearly."</p>
+
+<p>"Always thinking of something to eat," continued the other,
+reprovingly. "It is not a good example to the young, sister. The
+carnal appetite, it is a sin, my sister, to flatter it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dame! As if one could possibly be open to such a charge here!"
+retorted the ruddy-faced Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>"We are taught to restrain,&mdash;mortify,&mdash;pluck out,&mdash;cut off the
+offending member. It is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But what are we going to do with this child, Sister Ang&eacute;lique?"
+interrupted Sister Agnes, and abruptly shutting off the religious
+enthusiast. "She must be hungry. And the Sup&eacute;rieure&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Cannot be disturbed at this hour. In the morning is time enough for
+an unpleasant subject. Take her to No. 17,&mdash;it is prepared,&mdash;in the
+right lower corridor."</p>
+
+<p>"Sainte Marie!" cried Sister Agnes, crossing herself, "as if I didn't
+know! Why, I was taken to that cell myself when I came here forty
+years ago!"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps, and have never had reason to regret it, quite surely. But
+take this child there. Let her begin her new life with fasting and
+prayer, as you doubtless <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>did, sister. It will serve to fit her to
+come before the Sup&eacute;rieure in the morning with the humble spirit of
+one who is to receive so much and who, evidently, can give so little."</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was so bewildered with her surroundings that she paid little
+attention to what was being said. The great irregular piles of
+buildings, the going and coming of the ghostly figures, the silence,
+impressed her vividly. Of the nearest building, she could see that the
+windows were grated with iron bars; her ears registered the word
+"cell." Fouchette did not understand what was meant by the expression
+"fasting and prayer," but she had a definite idea of a "cell" in a
+house with grated windows within a high wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Come! hurry up, my child; I want my supper. Yes, and I'll see that
+they treat you better than they did me. Come this way! Yes,&mdash;mon Dieu!
+Mortify the flesh! Flatter the carnal appetite!"</p>
+
+<p>She muttered continuously, as she led Fouchette along a dark corridor
+with which her feet were familiar.</p>
+
+<p>"Forty years! Ah! Mother of God! Pluck it out! Cut it off! Blessed
+Sainte Agnes, give me patience! Forty years! Holy Mother, pardon me!
+Forty years! Yes! Reason to regret? May the good God forgive me!&mdash;Here
+we are, my child."</p>
+
+<p>She suddenly stopped and turned a key, opened a door, thrust the child
+within, and paused to look around, as if pursuing her reminiscences,
+oblivious of everything else.</p>
+
+<p>It was a plain cell, such as was used by the early <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>monks when this
+building was a monastery, possibly nine by six feet, with a high,
+small, grated hole for the only light and air. A narrow iron cot, a
+combination stand, and a low stool constituted the sole furniture. A
+rusty iron crucifix in the middle of the wall opposite the bed was the
+only decoration. The rest was blank stone, staring white with
+crumbling whitewash.</p>
+
+<p>Stone floor, stone walls, stone ceiling,&mdash;cold, clammy, cheerless.</p>
+
+<p>The floor was worn into a smooth, shallow furrow lengthwise, showing
+where countless weary inmates had paced up and down, up and down,
+during the long hours. And beneath the crucifix were scooped out two
+round hollows in the solid rock, where countless knees had bent in
+recognition of the Christ.</p>
+
+<p>The religieuse seemed to forget the presence of Fouchette, for she
+dropped upon her own knees in the little hollows in the cold stone
+floor beneath the rusty iron crucifix on the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, pardon, my child!" she exclaimed, coming back to the present as
+she arose from prayer, "I forgot. Forty years ago,&mdash;it comes upon me
+here."</p>
+
+<p>She gently removed the little hat with its cheap flowers, then bent
+over and kissed the thin cheeks, promising to return soon with
+something to eat.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette heard the door close, the key grate harshly in the lock.</p>
+
+<p>The moisture of the lips and eyes remained upon her cheeks. She felt
+it still warm, and involuntarily put up both hands, as if to further
+convince herself that the kisses were real and to hold them there.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>The Christ was to her a myth, the crucifix a vague superstition,
+prayer a mere unmeaning mummery. But the kisses were tangible and
+easily understood.</p>
+
+<p>But oh! the country!&mdash;the woods! the fields! the flowers!&mdash;freedom!</p>
+
+<p>She threw herself on the iron cot and wept passionately.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER IV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>"L&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;!" came the cheery but subdued voice of Sister Agnes. She
+had re-entered the cell to catch the last faint sounds of childish
+grief coming out of the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"There! Softly now, petite! Where are you? Oh! If they catch me here
+at this hour and bringing&mdash;sh!"</p>
+
+<p>The good-hearted woman had groped her way to the cot, raised Fouchette
+to a sitting posture, and, sitting down by her side, pulled the child
+over in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette, who had almost ceased to weep by this time, was at once
+overcome anew by the motherly caress and broke down completely. She
+flung her arms wildly about Sister Agnes's neck and buried her face in
+the ample bosom.</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;! my little skeleton, there is nothing to be afraid of
+here. Nothing at all! Don't take on so. God is everywhere, and takes
+care of us in the night as well as by day. Fear not! And here, my
+child, see what I've brought you! Feel, rather,&mdash;taste; you must be
+half starved. Here is a big, fat sandwich, and here's another. And
+here's a small flacon of the red wine of Bourgogne. You poor child!
+You need something for blood. Here's a bit of cheese, too, and, let's
+see,&mdash;by the blessed Sainte! I was told to let you have bread and
+water and I've actually forgotten the water!</p>
+
+<p>"Now eat! The idea of a big girl like you being afraid in the dark!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>"No, it was not that, madame. Mon Dieu, no! I'm used to that. Indeed,
+I'm not afraid. It&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then what on earth have you been crying about, child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, madame! it is because&mdash;because you are so good to me. Yes, that
+is it. I'm not used to that,&mdash;no!"</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes must have been quite agitated by this frank and
+unexpected avowal, for she pressed the child to her with still greater
+fervor, kissing her time and again more affectionately, after which
+she immediately slipped into the religious rut again below the
+crucifix.</p>
+
+<p>A single ray of moonlight from the high loophole in the wall fell
+athwart the sombre cell and rested caressingly upon her bowed head as
+she knelt and seemed to bless her.</p>
+
+<p>When she had recovered her self-possession she resumed her seat by the
+side of Fouchette, who, meanwhile, had been making havoc with the
+provisions.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I was afraid&mdash;dreadfully afraid&mdash;that night, forty years ago,"
+she whispered. "It was in this same place. And when they left me I
+almost cried my eyes out&mdash;and screamed,&mdash;how I screamed! Yet no one
+came. The next morning I had bread and water. And the next night and
+day, too. Ah! Sainte M&egrave;re de Dieu! how I suffered!"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>"And I was a strong, healthy child, but wilful; yet the dark seemed
+terrible to me&mdash;because I was wicked."</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette wondered what dreadful crime this child <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>of forty years ago
+had committed to have been thus treated. She must have been very, very
+wicked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, forty years ago&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How much did they give you, madame?"</p>
+
+<p>"Er&mdash;what's that, petite?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, madame, but how much time yet do you have to serve?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," replied the puzzled woman, unfamiliar with
+worldly terms.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I mean, how long did they send you up for?" asked the child.</p>
+
+<p>"Send?&mdash;they?&mdash;who?"</p>
+
+<p>"The police."</p>
+
+<p>"Police? Mon Dieu! my child, the police had nothing to do with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the gendarmes."</p>
+
+<p>"The gendarmes?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; you could never have been guilty, madame! Never! Whatever it was
+they charged you with&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Charged? Sainte Marie be praised, I never committed any crime in my
+life,&mdash;unless it was a crime to be thoughtless and happy."</p>
+
+<p>"I was sure of that!" cried Fouchette, much relieved nevertheless.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I never was charged with any!" protested the astonished Sister
+Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>"Then they imprisoned you without trial, as they have me. Ah! mon
+Dieu! madame, I see it all now! And forty years! Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, blessed be the saints in heaven!" exclaimed the enlightened
+religieuse. "What do you think this place is, Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>"It is"&mdash;she hesitated and changed the form of speech&mdash;"is it a&mdash;a
+prison?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no! Holy Mother, no!&mdash;not a prison, child! You thought it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, madame," faltered Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"You poor child! Not so bad as that; yet&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I see,&mdash;a house of correction?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, not that. At least, not&mdash;ah! if Sister Ang&eacute;lique had heard you
+call 'Le Bon Pasteur' a house of correction it would have been worth
+three days of bread and water!"</p>
+
+<p>"'Le Bon Pasteur?'" repeated Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my child. Didn't you really know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, madame."</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes pondered.</p>
+
+<p>"Then why should you remain here?" pursued the curious child. "Can't
+you go away if you want to?"</p>
+
+<p>"But I do not wish to go now,&mdash;not now."</p>
+
+<p>"But if you had wished it at any time."</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what is this place, madame?"</p>
+
+<p>"A retreat for the poor,&mdash;an orphan asylum,&mdash;where little girls who
+have neither father nor mother, and no home, are sent. And where they
+are brought up to be good and industrious young women."</p>
+
+<p>"D-don't they ever get out again?" asked Fouchette, somewhat
+doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. They are set free at twenty-one years of age if they wish to
+go, and even sooner if their friends come for them. If they don't wish
+to go, they can remain and become members of the order, if they are
+suitable. I was brought here at ten years of age by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>my aunt and left
+temporarily, but my uncle died and she was too poor, or else did not
+want me, so I was compelled to remain. When I became twenty-one I owed
+the institution so much from failure to do my tasks and fines, and
+what my aunt had promised to pay and didn't pay, that I had to stay a
+long time and work it out, and by that time I had become so accustomed
+to living here that I was afraid to leave the institution and begged
+them to let me become one of the community.</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes girls are bad and so lazy they won't work, and then they
+are punished. And when they prove incorrigible they are put in the
+other building, which is a house of correction. But if a girl is good
+and obedient and industrious she has no trouble, and may save up money
+against the day when she is set at liberty, besides receives the good
+recommendation of the Sup&eacute;rieure, on which she may find honest
+employment."</p>
+
+<p>While the good Sister Agnes spoke truly, she dared not tell this child
+the whole truth.</p>
+
+<p>She dared not say that Le Bon Pasteur,&mdash;The Good Shepherd,&mdash;although
+ostensibly a charitable institution, under religious auspices and
+subsidized by the State, for the protection and education of orphan
+girls during their minority, was practically a great factory which did
+not come under the legal restrictions governing free labor in France,
+and where several hundred girls and young women, whose only offence
+against society had been to lose their natural protectors, were
+subjected to all the rigors of the most benighted penal institutions.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>She dared not warn this poor little novice that her commitment to The
+Good Shepherd was equivalent to a sentence of nine years at hard
+labor; that good conduct and industry would not earn a day from that
+term, but that bad conduct, neglect, or inability to perform allotted
+tasks would result not only in severe punishments but an extension of
+imprisonment indefinitely, at the pleasure of those who reaped the
+financial reward from the product of the sweat of the orphans.</p>
+
+<p>She dared not notify this frail waif that these tasks of the needle
+were measured by the ability of the most expert, and that the majority
+of girls were obliged to work overtime in order to accomplish them;
+that to many this was an impossibility, and to some death.</p>
+
+<p>She dared not add to her recital of the money that might be earned and
+saved up against the day of liberty that comparatively few were able
+to perform the extra work necessary; that fines and charges of all
+kinds were resorted to in order to reduce such earnings to minimum;
+and that at the close of her nine years of hard labor for Le Bon
+Pasteur the most she could expect was to be thrust into the street in
+the clothes she wore, without a cent, without a friend, without a
+shelter.</p>
+
+<p>She dared not more than hint at the terrible alternatives placed
+before these young women from their long isolation from the world,&mdash;to
+remain here prisoners for life, or to cast themselves into the
+seething hell of Paris.</p>
+
+<p>More than all, she dared not add that all of this was done in a
+so-called republic, in the name of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>Civilization, to the glory of
+modern Religion, in love of the Redeemer.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette would learn all of this quite soon enough through her own
+observation and experience. Why needlessly embitter her present?</p>
+
+<p>And this was well. Besides, the religieuse was ashamed to admit these
+things, as she would have been afraid to deny them, being divided
+between the vows of her order and her own private conscience.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes was a plain, honest woman of little sentiment, but this
+little had been curiously awakened in her breast by the coincidence of
+the time and place which had recalled minutely the circumstances of
+her own entrance to the institution.</p>
+
+<p>She had unconsciously adopted Fouchette from that moment. She mentally
+resolved that she would keep an eye on this child. If it could be so
+managed, Fouchette should come into her section. And, since the child
+was ignorant and ambitious, she should receive whatever advantages of
+instruction were to be had.</p>
+
+<p>Quick to respond to this sympathy, Fouchette, on her part, mentally
+resolved to deserve it. She would be good and obedient, so that the
+sweet lady would love her and continue to kiss her. How could girls be
+wicked if all the women of the community of Le Bon Pasteur were like
+Sister Agnes?</p>
+
+<p>And it would have been quite unnatural and unchildlike, owing to the
+marked improvement in her condition, if Fouchette had not gone to
+sleep forgetting her earlier disappointment.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>Five years in such a place are as one year,&mdash;the same monotonous daily
+grind in oblivion of the great world outside,&mdash;and need not be dwelt
+upon here beyond a brief reference to its results upon Fouchette's
+character, when we must hurry the reader on to more eventful scenes.</p>
+
+<p>In this life of seclusion there were three saving features in
+Fouchette's case. First, its worst conditions were very much better
+than those under which she had formerly lived; second, she had been
+torn from no family or friendly ties which might have weighed upon her
+fancy; third, but not least, there was the love of Sister Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>The petite chiffonni&egrave;re's ideas of life had been cast in a lowly and
+humble mould, so that from the beginning these new surroundings seemed
+highly satisfactory, if not in many respects absolutely joyous. For
+instance, the beds were prison beds, but they were clean and the
+dormitories fairly well ventilated,&mdash;luxury to one who was accustomed
+to sleep in a noisome cellar on filthy and envermined straw. The food
+was coarse and frugal, but it was regular and almost prodigal to one
+habituated to disputing her breakfast with vagrant dogs. The clothes
+were coarse and cheap and often shabby, but to the child of rags they
+were equivalent to royal gowns. The discipline was severe, but it was
+unadulterated kindness by the side of the brutality of the Podvin.</p>
+
+<p>The society of respectable young girls of her own age, and constant
+contact with those who were older and of superior birth and breeding,
+opened up a new world to Fouchette. That these companions were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>more
+or less partakers of similar misfortunes engendered ready sympathies,
+though the feeling of caste was as powerful among these orphans of the
+State as in the Boulevard St. Germain. Tacitly acknowledging the lowly
+origin of the rag-heap, Fouchette was content to fag, to go and come,
+fetch and carry, and to patiently endure the multitude of petty
+tyrannies put upon her. She accepted this position from the start as a
+matter of course.</p>
+
+<p>But it was chiefly in the daily intercourse with the cheerful,
+ruddy-faced, and rather worldly as well as womanly Sister Agnes that
+Fouchette found life worth living. It was Sister Agnes who patiently
+instructed her in the mysteries of reading and writing and spelling
+and the simple rudiments of language and figures. Sister Agnes
+smoothed her young prot&eacute;g&eacute;e's pathway through a sea of new
+difficulties. Sister Agnes had secret struggles of her own, and had
+worn away considerable stone before the image of the Virgin in the
+course of her seclusion; though precisely what the nature of her
+private troubles was must have been known to nobody else. Sister Agnes
+was not a favorite with the Sup&eacute;rieure, apparently, since every time
+she was called before that dreaded female functionary she seemed much
+agitated and held longer conferences with the image of the Virgin in
+the little bare chapel. Whatever her mental and moral disturbances,
+however, Sister Agnes never faltered in her attention to Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>For the most part these were surreptitious, though to the recipient
+there did not appear to be any reason for this concealment. As one
+year followed another Fouchette saw more clearly, and it caused her
+to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>redouble her exertions to please the good woman who risked the ill
+will of her superiors to shower kindnesses upon the otherwise
+friendless.</p>
+
+<p>Five years to a girl of twelve brings considerable change physically
+as well as otherwise. The change in Fouchette was really wonderful.
+She remained still rather stunted and undersized at seventeen, though
+face and figure had developed to her advantage. The hardness of the
+first had not wholly disappeared, but it was much modified, while the
+bones no longer showed through her dress. Her blonde hair had become
+abundant, and, being of peculiar fineness and sheen, lent an
+attractiveness to features that only a slightly tigerish fulness of
+cheeks prevented from being almost classical. This feline expression
+of jaws became more marked when she smiled, when a rather large mouth
+displayed two rows of formidable teeth. The pussy-cat and monkey-faces
+are too common among the French to be called peculiar.</p>
+
+<p>Her hands and feet were small, her frail body and limbs straight and
+supple as those of a young dancer. While she excelled at lively games
+in the great playground under the trees, her complexion was extremely
+delicate, even to paleness. Being naturally a clever imitator and
+always desirous of the good opinion of Sister Agnes, Fouchette had
+acquired graceful and lady-like manners that would have been
+creditable to any fashionable pension of Paris. Continuous happiness
+had left her light-hearted even to shallowness.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette latterly was not popular. She had been first a fag and
+drudge, then had been withdrawn from the work-room to serve in the
+kitchen; from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>scullery-maid she had been promoted to the chambers of
+Sister Ang&eacute;lique, who was the stern right arm of the Sup&eacute;rieure; and,
+finally, was transferred to the holy of holies of the Sup&eacute;rieure
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>All through her tractability and adaptability. She was quick to see
+what was wanted, and lent herself energetically to the task of
+performance. The good sisters encouraged her. Especially in bringing
+to them any stray ideas she had picked up among her companions. Sister
+Ang&eacute;lique, severe to fanaticism in all the forms of religion, early
+impressed upon the child the importance and imperative duty of the
+truth. It was not only a service to the community, but a service to
+the Church and to God for her to keep her superiors posted as to what
+was going on among the inmates of the institution.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very trivial thing at first, then more trivial things,&mdash;mere
+gossip of children. Then her information resulted in the cell and
+paddle for the unfortunate and began to be talked about on the
+playground and in the work-room. When she heard what had happened,
+Fouchette was conscience-stricken and ran to Sister Agnes for
+consolation. The latter was so confused and contradictory in her
+definition of right and wrong, as to how far one might go for Christ's
+sake, that Fouchette was left in doubt. And when Sister Ang&eacute;lique
+asked her for the name of the girl who committed an offence in the
+dormitory, Fouchette hesitated and wanted to consult Sister Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>The result was that Sister Agnes was called before the Sup&eacute;rieure, and
+was compelled to instruct Fouchette that whatever was required of her
+by those in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>authority was right and should be done. It is a doctrine
+as universal as the Christian religion.</p>
+
+<p>So Fouchette told, and the tale brought to the offender five days'
+diet of bread and water in a cell.</p>
+
+<p>As a tale-bearer who was not afraid to tell the truth Fouchette had in
+the course of time ingratiated herself into the favor of Sister
+Ang&eacute;lique, and finally, as has been shown by her transfer to the
+governing regions, became the factotum of the Sup&eacute;rieure. These
+services carried privileges.</p>
+
+<p>They also brought unpopularity. On the playground Fouchette began to
+be avoided. In the work-room voices suddenly became hushed as she
+passed. In the dormitory she began to experience coldness and hostile
+demonstrations.</p>
+
+<p>Yet up to the present she had been suspected only. When the growing
+suspicion became a certainty she was assaulted in the dormitory in the
+presence of a matron. The biggest and stoutest girl of the section
+pulled her from her bed in the dark and began to beat her. There was
+no outcry at first,&mdash;only a silent struggle on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>But the stout young woman had counted too much on her physical
+strength and upon the supposed weakness of her frail antagonist. For
+Fouchette was like a cat in another respect,&mdash;she fought best on her
+back, where she was all hands and feet and teeth. Before the fat
+matron could find them between the beds the big girl was yelling for
+mercy and the whole section of a hundred girls was in an uproar.</p>
+
+<p>"Help! help!" screamed the girl. "She's murdering me!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>"Who? Where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Silence!"</p>
+
+<p>"Quick! Help! She's killing me! Fouchette! It's Mademoiselle
+Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>The matron was thus guided to Fouchette's bed, where she found the
+latter tearing the big girl's ear with her teeth, and with her hands
+clawing the big girl's face.</p>
+
+<p>To this moment Fouchette had not uttered a word. Then she let flow a
+torrent of language such as had never before been heard within the
+sacred precincts of Le Bon Pasteur. She could no more be stopped than
+an avalanche.</p>
+
+<p>The girls of the dormitory closed their ears in their fright at this
+flood of profanity.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop! stop! stop!" cried the matron, now overcome with horror. "You
+belong in the Reformatory! You shall go to the Reformatory! You shall
+have the bath and the paddle, you vile vixen!"</p>
+
+<p>And Fouchette's vocabulary having been exhausted for the time being,
+she ceased.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, a light was brought, and attendants came running in from
+the other parts of the building.</p>
+
+<p>Notwithstanding the confused explanation, and the fact that the
+aggressor's bed was at some distance from the spot where the two were
+discovered, which sustained the charge of Fouchette that the latter
+had been first attacked, the terrible condition of the big girl was
+such that Fouchette was sent to a cell and held in close confinement
+till the next evening.</p>
+
+<p>She was then taken to Sister Ang&eacute;lique, where she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>was examined as to
+her version of the occurrence. The victim of her nails and teeth also
+had a hearing.</p>
+
+<p>Between the two, and considering all the circumstances, Sister
+Ang&eacute;lique came to the proper conclusion, and so reported the case to
+the Sup&eacute;rieure.</p>
+
+<p>The latter had Fouchette brought before her. She was a very flabby and
+masculine woman, of great brains and keen penetration, and invariably
+had an oleaginous Jesuit priest at her elbow on important occasions to
+strengthen her religious standing and to give her decisions the force
+and effect of ecclesiastical law.</p>
+
+<p>"Father S&eacute;bastien," said the Sup&eacute;rieure, "this is a grievous case.
+What are we to do with these girls that fight like tigers,&mdash;that set
+the whole blessed institution of Le Bon Pasteur by the ears?"</p>
+
+<p>The Jesuit rubbed his hands, eying the slender figure before them
+curiously.</p>
+
+<p>"A sad case,&mdash;a very sad case," he muttered; "and yet&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Fouchette has been of good service to us, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And has invited this attack by her friendliness for the institution.
+No doubt,&mdash;no doubt at all," said the priest.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is necessary to punish somebody," persisted the Sup&eacute;rieure,
+"else we shall lose control of these hot-heads."</p>
+
+<p>"How about the other one? Mademoiselle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Angot&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"She's pretty well punished as it is. She looks as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>if she had been
+through a threshing-machine. How such a chit could&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Father S&eacute;bastien laughed, in his low, gurgling way, and rubbed his
+hands some more, still eying Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"She's been a good girl for five years, you say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Father; we could not complain."</p>
+
+<p>"Five years is a very long time to&mdash;to&mdash;for a girl like her to be
+good. Is it not so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Truly."</p>
+
+<p>"And yet they say her language was dreadfully&mdash;er&mdash;ah&mdash;improper."</p>
+
+<p>"If you were pulled out of bed in the night and beaten because you
+spoke the truth to the Sup&eacute;rieure," broke in Fouchette at this point,
+"you'd probably use bad language too!"</p>
+
+<p>"Chut! child," said the Sup&eacute;rieure, smiling in spite of herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! me?"</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;, l&agrave;! Father." The Sup&eacute;rieure now laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite possibly," he added,&mdash;"quite possibly. But in a demoiselle like
+you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid to send her back to the dormitory. Are you afraid to go
+back there, Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, madame," replied Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"I think they'll leave her alone after this," said the priest.</p>
+
+<p>"They'd better," said Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Oho!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you must not quarrel, my dear,&mdash;remember that. And if they&mdash;well,
+you come to me or to Sister&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sister Agnes, yes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>"No, no; Sister Ang&eacute;lique," interrupted the Sup&eacute;rieure, tartly.
+"Sister Agnes has nothing to do with you hereafter."</p>
+
+<p>"Wh-at? But Sister Agnes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now don't stand there and argue. I repeat that Sister Agnes is to
+have nothing to do with you hereafter. Sister Agnes has gone&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Gone!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the worst blow&mdash;the only blow she had received in these five
+years. Her swollen lips quivered.</p>
+
+<p>"I say Sister Agnes has gone. You will never see her again. And it's a
+good riddance! I never could bear that woman!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, madame! madame!"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette sank to her knees appealingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Get up!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, madame!"</p>
+
+<p>"Get up! Not another word!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, madame!"</p>
+
+<p>"There, my child," put in the priest. "You hear?"</p>
+
+<p>"But Sister Agnes was my only friend here. Where has she gone? Tell me
+why she has gone. Oh, mon Dieu! Gone! and left me here without a word!
+Oh! oh! madame!"</p>
+
+<p>"She's gone because I sent her,&mdash;because it is her sworn duty to
+obey,&mdash;to go where she is sent. Where and why is none of her business,
+much less yours. Now let us hear no more from you on that point, or
+you will forfeit the leniency I was about to extend to you. Go!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, madame," supplicated Fouchette, "hear me! Sister Agnes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>The Sup&eacute;rieure was now furious. She rang a little bell, waving Father
+S&eacute;bastien aside. Two sisters appeared,&mdash;her personal attendants, well
+known to those who had suffered punishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Give this girl the douche!"</p>
+
+<p>"Madame!" screamed Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Give her the douche&mdash;for fighting in the dormitory. In the refectory.
+Assemble everybody! And if she resists let her have the paddle. If
+that doesn't bring her to her senses, give her five days on bread and
+water. I'll take that rebellious spirit out of her or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The two women hustled the trembling Fouchette away from the Presence.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette knew the disgrace of the douche. She had seen grown young
+women stripped stark naked before five hundred girls and have a bucket
+of ice-cold water thrown over them. One of them had been ill and was
+unable to do her work. She had died from the effects.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette understood the terrible significance of the paddle. A girl
+was stripped and strung up by the wrists to a door and was beaten with
+a heavy leather strap soaked in brine until the blood ran down her
+thighs.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette comprehended the character of the five days on bread and
+water, wherein the victim was forced to remain in her own filth for
+five days with nothing to eat but a half-loaf of stale bread and a
+small pitcher of water per twenty-four hours.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, dreadful as was this immediate prospect, and as cruel as was the
+injustice meted out to her, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>Fouchette thought only of Sister Agnes.
+She would have gone to punishment like a Stoic of old could somebody
+have assured her that what she had just heard was false and that
+Sister Agnes was yet in the institution. Everything else and all
+together seemed dwarfed by the side of this one great overwhelming
+calamity.</p>
+
+<p>"How could you have so angered Madame?" said one of her
+conductors,&mdash;both of whom were aware that she was to be unjustly
+punished.</p>
+
+<p>"Be good, now, Fouchette," whispered the other; "besides, it is
+nothing,&mdash;a little water,&mdash;bah!"</p>
+
+<p>They were leading her along a dark corridor, the same through which
+she had been taken five years before. It rushed over her now,&mdash;dear
+Sister Agnes!</p>
+
+<p>"I only wanted to know about Sister Agnes," protested Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>Her conductors stopped short.</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh! Mademoiselle did not know that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Better tell her, sister," encouraged the other woman.</p>
+
+<p>"That Sister Agnes was&mdash;was suspected of being a creature of the
+Secret Police?"</p>
+
+<p>"N-no, madame," faltered the girl,&mdash;"I don't understand. And if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And we are for the restoration&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The restoration&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of the throne of France."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it Inspector Loup?" asked Fouchette, suddenly recalling that
+personage.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>"Inspector Loup,&mdash;it is he who is responsible for the withdrawal of
+Sister Agnes, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Paris,&mdash;I will go to Paris!" said Fouchette, brightening up all at
+once.</p>
+
+<p>To the two who heard her it was as if Fouchette had said, "I will go
+to the moon."</p>
+
+<p>She slipped from between them and darted down the corridor. Before
+they had recovered from their astonishment she was out of the building
+and out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing could have been more absurd.</p>
+
+<p>But one girl had succeeded in scaling the high walls that surrounded
+the establishment of Le Bon Pasteur, and she had been pursued by
+savage dogs kept for such exigencies and brought back in mere shreds
+of clothing, with her flesh terribly lacerated. Even once outside, if
+the feat were possible and the dogs avoided, how was a bareheaded girl
+without a sou to get to Paris, three hundred kilometres? And, that
+surmounted, what would become of her in Paris?</p>
+
+<p>It was absurd. It was impossible.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Fouchette evaded the now lighted buildings in the rear and
+was skirting the high walls towards the north with the fleetness of a
+young deer.</p>
+
+<p>The grounds of Le Bon Pasteur embraced about ten acres, a well-wooded
+section of an ancient park, the buildings, old and new, being on the
+side next to the town. By day one might easily see from wall to wall,
+the lowest branches of the trees being well clear of the ground, the
+latter being trampled grassless, hard, and smooth by thousands of
+youthful feet.</p>
+
+<p>It was now growing too dark to see more than a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>few yards. This did
+not prevent Fouchette from making good speed. She knew every inch of
+the park. And as she ran her thoughts kept on well ahead.</p>
+
+<p>She had started with the definite idea of leaving the place, but
+without the slightest idea of how that was to be accomplished. Like a
+frightened rabbit running an enclosure, she sought in vain for some
+unheard-of opening,&mdash;some breach in the wall, some projections by
+which she might scale the frowning barrier.</p>
+
+<p>Now and then she paused to listen intently. There were no pursuers,
+apparently. Her heart sank rather than rose at the thought; for it
+implied that the chances of her escape were not considered worth an
+energetic effort,&mdash;that she must inevitably return of her own accord.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was mistaken. It was only that the pursuers were not so sure
+of their route and were not so fleet of foot. They had called in
+re-enforcements and were approaching in extended order beneath the
+trees, with the moral certainty of rounding her up.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Fouchette realized this she felt that she was lost. There
+was no place to hide from such a search,&mdash;then they could let loose
+the dogs!</p>
+
+<p>With a fresh energy born of desperation she sprang at the
+chestnut-tree in front of her and began to shin up the rough trunk,
+boy fashion. Like most generalizations, the statement that a woman
+cannot climb a tree is not an axiomatic truth. It depends wholly upon
+the woman and the occasion. Fouchette had often amused her playmates
+by going up trees, and was considered a valuable addition to any party
+of chestnut <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>hunters. So in this instance the woman and the occasion
+met. She was securely perched in the foliage when the scouting party
+went by. One sister walked directly beneath the tree.</p>
+
+<p>"We ought to have brought the dogs," she muttered.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was breathless.</p>
+
+<p>Immediate danger past, she began to think of what she should do next.
+She could not remain up there forever; and if she came down she would
+be just where she was before,&mdash;would probably be run down by the dogs.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she saw a light glimmering through the trees. Cautiously
+pushing the leaves aside, she saw it more distinctly. It was bobbing
+up and down. It was a lantern. It was coming towards her. Being a
+lantern, it must be carried by somebody, and that this somebody was in
+search of her she had no doubt. All the world was out after her.</p>
+
+<p>The lantern came closer. And then she saw the barbed iron wall
+immediately below her, between her and the lantern. It was outside,
+then; and the tree she was in seemed to overhang the wall.</p>
+
+<p>A desperate hope arose within her,&mdash;scarcely a hope yet,&mdash;rather a
+vague fancy. They could not have spread the alarm outside so
+quickly,&mdash;the lantern and its bearer could have no reference to her
+escape.</p>
+
+<p>It was now almost immediately beneath her, and she saw that it was
+borne by a stalwart young man. It was a chance,&mdash;a mere chance,&mdash;but
+she at once resolved to risk it.</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>The bearer of the lantern stopped, raised it high, and peered about in
+every direction.</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh!" repeated Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh yourself!" said the young man, evidently suspecting some trick.</p>
+
+<p>"Not so loud if you please, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Not so&mdash;but where the devil are you, anyhow?" He had looked in every
+direction except the right one.</p>
+
+<p>"Here," whispered Fouchette. "Up in the tree."</p>
+
+<p>"Tonnerre! And what are you doing up there in the tree, mademoiselle?"
+he inquired with astonishment, elevating his lantern so as to get a
+glimpse of the owner of the voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," said Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if this don't&mdash;say, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't talk so loud, monsieur. They will hear you, and I will
+be lost."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed! So you're running away, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"What for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because they are going to give me the douche, the paddle, and
+prison."</p>
+
+<p>"The wretches!" whispered the young man through his half-set teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'll help me, monsieur?" asked Fouchette, in a tone of
+entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>"That I will," said he, promptly, "if I can. If you could swing
+yourself over the wall, now; but, dame! no girl can do that," he added
+half to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try it," said Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't do it, mademoiselle; you'll break your neck."</p>
+
+<p>For answer to this, Fouchette, who had been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>working her dangerous way
+out on the uncertain branches, holding tenaciously to those above, so
+as to wisely distribute her weight, only said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Look out, now!"</p>
+
+<p>There was no time to parley,&mdash;it was her only hope,&mdash;and if she fell
+inside the wall&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A splash among the leaves and a violent reversal of branches relieved
+of her weight and&mdash;and a ripping sound.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mon Dieu!" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>She had swung clear, but her skirts had caught the iron spikes as she
+came down and now held her firmly, head downward,&mdash;a very embarrassing
+predicament.</p>
+
+<p>"Put out the light, monsieur, please!"</p>
+
+<p>He gallantly closed the slide and sprang to her assistance.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be afraid, mademoiselle. Let go,&mdash;I'll catch you. Let go!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Let go!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sacr&eacute; bleu! I can't, monsieur! I'm stuck like a fish on a gaff! My
+skirts&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>This startling intelligence, while it relieved his immediate anxiety,
+involved the young man in a painful quandary. He dared not call for
+help; he was likely to be arrested in any case; he could not go away
+and leave the girl dangling there. She was at least three feet beyond
+his extreme reach.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's see," he said, hastily grabbing his lantern to make an
+examination.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, put out that light!" exclaimed the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"But, mademoiselle, I can't see&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>"Mon Dieu! monsieur, I don't wish you to see! No! I should&mdash;put down
+the lantern!"</p>
+
+<p>Having complied with this request, he stood under her in despair.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you tear the&mdash;the&mdash;what-you-may-call-it loose?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; it's my skirt,&mdash;my dress,&mdash;I'm slipping out of it. Look out,
+monsieur, for&mdash;I'm&mdash;coming&mdash;oh!"</p>
+
+<p>And come she did, head first, minus the dress skirt, plump into the
+startled young man's arms.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER V<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>"Me voil&agrave;!" said Fouchette, gaining her feet and lightly shaking her
+ruffled remains together, as if she were a young pullet that had
+calmly fluttered down from the roost.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you're a bird!" he ejaculated, the more embarrassed of the two.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! monsieur, but for you I'd soon have been a dead bird! I
+thank you ever so much."</p>
+
+<p>She reached up at him and succeeded in pecking a little kiss on his
+chin. It was her first attempt at the masculine mouth and she could
+scarcely be censured if she missed it.</p>
+
+<p>"It certainly was a lucky chance that I came this way at the moment,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It was, indeed," she assented.</p>
+
+<p>He was surveying her now by the light of his lantern; and he smiled at
+her slight figure in the short petticoat. Her blind confidence in him
+and her general assurance amused him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where were you thinking of going, mademoiselle?"</p>
+
+<p>"To Paris."</p>
+
+<p>"Paris!"</p>
+
+<p>The young man almost dropped his lantern. Paris seemed out of reach to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"And why not, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Er&mdash;well, mademoiselle, climbing a tree and throwing one's self head
+over heels over a wall&mdash;er&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>"And leaving ones skirt hanging on the spikes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;is not the customary way for young ladies to start for Paris.
+But I suppose you know what you are about."</p>
+
+<p>"If I only had my skirt."</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette glanced up at the offending member of her attire which she
+had cast from her.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind that,&mdash;I'll return and get it. Come with me, mademoiselle.
+I live near by, and my mother and sisters will protect you for the
+time being. Come! Where's your hat?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't have time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't stop to pack your bundle, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>They walked along silently for a few yards, following the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"You have relatives in Paris, mademoiselle?" he finally asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Friends, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"It is good. Paris is no place for a young girl alone. Besides, it is
+just now a scene of riot and bloodshed. It is in a state bordering on
+revolution. All France is roused. Royalists and Bonapartists have
+combined against the life of the republic. Paris is swarming with
+troops. There will be barricades and fighting in the streets,
+mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette recalled the fragments of conversations
+overheard,&mdash;conversations between the Sup&eacute;rieure and Father S&eacute;bastien
+and certain visitors. Beyond this casual information she knew
+absolutely nothing of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>what was going on in the outer world. He
+misconstrued her silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Whom do you know in Paris, mademoiselle?&mdash;somebody powerful enough to
+protect you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, monsieur," she promptly answered. "I know one man,&mdash;one who
+sent me here,&mdash;who is powerful&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The Chief of the Secret Police," she said, lowering her tone to a
+confidential scale,&mdash;"Inspector Loup."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, pardon, mademoiselle!" quickly responded the young man. "Pardon!
+I meant it for your welfare, not to inquire into your business. Oh,
+no; do not think me capable of that!"</p>
+
+<p>He appeared to be somewhat frightened at what he had done, but became
+reassured when she passed it with easy good nature.</p>
+
+<p>"It is important, then, mademoiselle, that you reach Paris at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is very important, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"The royalist scoundrels are very active," he said. "They must be
+headed off&mdash;exposed!"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke enthusiastically, seizing Fouchette's hand warmly. That
+demoiselle, who was floundering around in a position she did not
+understand, walked along resolved to keep her peace. He assured her
+that she might fully rely upon him and his in this emergency. Let her
+put him to the test.</p>
+
+<p>The enigmatical situation was more confounding to Fouchette when she
+was being overwhelmed with the subservient attentions of the young
+man's family; but the less she comprehended the more she held her
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>tongue. They were of the class moderately well-to-do and steeped in
+politics up to the neck.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette knew next to nothing about politics. Only that France was a
+republic and that many were dissatisfied with that form of government;
+that some wanted the empire, and others the restoration of the kings,
+and still others anything but existing things. Having never been
+called upon to form an opinion, Fouchette had no opinion on the
+subject. She did not care a snap what kind of a government ruled,&mdash;it
+could make no difference to her.</p>
+
+<p>Coming in contact with all of this enthusiasm, she now knew that Le
+Bon Pasteur was royalist for some reason; and she shrewdly guessed,
+without the assistance of this family conviction, that all Jesuits,
+whatever they might otherwise be, were also royalists. And, as
+Inspector Loup was a part of the existing government, he must be a
+republican,&mdash;which was not so shrewd as it was logical; therefore that
+if Sister Agnes was suspected of being friendly to Inspector Loup, the
+good sister was a republican and naturally the political enemy of the
+managers of Le Bon Pasteur. Whatever Sister Agnes was it must be
+right.</p>
+
+<p>But in holding her tongue Fouchette was most clever of all,&mdash;whereas,
+usually, the less people know about government the more persistently
+they talk politics.</p>
+
+<p>The young man went back to the wall with a fish-pole and rescued the
+recalcitrant skirt, much to her delight. His mother mended the rents
+in it and his sisters fitted her out with a smart hat.</p>
+
+<p>It was soon developed that Fouchette had no money. This brought about
+a family consultation.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>"I must go to Paris," said Fouchette, determinedly, "if I have to
+walk!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" said the young man.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" chimed in mother and sisters.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll fix you all right," finally declared the young man, "on a single
+condition,&mdash;that you carry a letter from me to Inspector Loup and
+deliver it into his own hands, mademoiselle. Is it a bargain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, monsieur,&mdash;very sure!" cried the girl, almost overcome by
+this last good fortune. "You are very good,&mdash;it would be a pleasure,
+monsieur, I assure you."</p>
+
+<p>"And if you were to tell him the part I have taken to-night in your
+case it would be of great service,&mdash;if you would be so good,
+mademoiselle. Not that it is anything, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You may be assured of that, too," said Fouchette, who, however, did
+not understand what possible interest lay in this direction.</p>
+
+<p>They were all so effusive and apparently grateful that she was made to
+believe herself a very important personage.</p>
+
+<p>As the letter was brought out immediately, she saw that it was already
+prepared, and wondered why it was not sent by post.</p>
+
+<p>Another family consultation, and it was decided that Fouchette might
+lose the letter by some accident; so, on the suggestion of the mother,
+it was carefully sewn in the bosom of their emissary's dress.</p>
+
+<p>It was also suggested that, since an effort for Fouchette's recapture
+might include the careful scrutiny of the trains for Paris the next
+day, she should be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>accompanied at once to a suburban town where she
+could take the midnight express.</p>
+
+<p>All of these details were not settled without considerable discussion,
+in which Fouchette came to the private conclusion that they were even
+more anxious for her to get to Paris than she was herself, if such a
+thing were possible.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>Fouchette arrived in Paris and alighted at the Gare de l'Est at a very
+early hour in the morning. Her idea had been to go direct to the
+Pr&eacute;fecture and demand the whereabouts of Sister Agnes. Incidentally
+she would deliver the mysterious letter intrusted to her.</p>
+
+<p>But during her journey Fouchette had enjoyed ample time for
+reflection. She was not absolutely certain of her reception at the
+hands of Inspector Loup; could not satisfy her own mind that he would
+receive her at all. Besides, would he really know anything about
+Sister Agnes?</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette's self-confidence had been oozing away in the same ratio as
+she was nearing her journey's end. When she had finally arrived she
+was almost frightened at the notion of meeting Inspector Loup. He had
+threatened her with prison. He might regard her now as an escaped
+convict. On the whole, Fouchette was really sorry she had run away.
+Back again in Paris, where she had suffered so much, she realized
+again that there were worse places for a girl than Le Bon Pasteur.
+Anyhow, it was early,&mdash;there was plenty of time,&mdash;she would consider.</p>
+
+<p>She took the tramway of the Boulevards <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>Strausbourg and S&eacute;bastopol,
+climbing to the imperial, where a seat was to be had for three sous.</p>
+
+<p>What crowds of people!</p>
+
+<p>She was surprised to see the great human flood pouring down the
+boulevards and side streets at such an early hour in the morning. But
+her volatile nature rose to the touch of excitement. She at once
+forgot everything else but the street. Fouchette was a true
+Parisienne.</p>
+
+<p>"Paris!" she murmured; "dear Paris!"</p>
+
+<p>As if Paris had blessed her childhood with pleasure, instead of having
+starved and beaten her and degraded her to the level of beasts!</p>
+
+<p>"Where on earth are all of these people going?" she asked herself.</p>
+
+<p>There were now and then cries of "Vive l'arm&eacute;e!" "Vive la r&eacute;publique!"
+and "Vive la France!" while the excitement seemed to grow as they
+reached the Porte St. Denis.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, monsieur?" she finally asked the man at her side.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the 25th of October," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"But, monsieur, what is the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>He looked over his shoulder at the young girl rather resentfully,
+though his doubts as to her sincerity vanished in a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the rentr&eacute;e of the Chambers," he answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she said, "is that it?"</p>
+
+<p>But she knew no more now than she had known before. Presently her
+curiosity again got the better of her timidity.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are they going, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>"They don't know, mademoiselle. Palais Bourbon, Place de la
+Concorde,&mdash;anywhere it happens to be lively enough to suit. But where
+have you been, mademoiselle, to not know,&mdash;in the country?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"And where are you going?"</p>
+
+<p>"Place de la Concorde."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't do it, little one,&mdash;don't you do it! It is not a place for a
+mite like you on such a day. Take my advice,&mdash;go anywhere else."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to the Place de la Concorde, monsieur," she responded,
+quite stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>When she reached the great plaza, however, she found it practically
+deserted. The usual throngs of carriages were passing to and fro.
+Immense black crowds blocked the Rue Royale at the Madeleine and in
+the opposite direction in the vicinity of the Palais Bourbon across
+the river. These crowds appeared to be held at bay by the cordons of
+police agents, who kept the Place de la Concorde clear and pedestrians
+moving lively in the intersecting streets.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette hopped nimbly off the steps of the omnibus she had taken at
+le Ch&acirc;telet, to the amusement of a gang of hilarious students from the
+Latin Quarter, who recognized in her the "tenderfoot."</p>
+
+<p>The Parisienne always leaves the omnibus steps with her back to the
+horses. This keeps American visitors standing around looking for a
+mishap which never happens; for the Parisienne is an expert
+equilibrist and can perform this feat while the vehicle is at full
+speed, not only with safety but with an airy grace that is often
+charming.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>But Fouchette did not mind the laughter; she had found a good place
+from which to view whatever was to be seen. She did not have to wait
+long.</p>
+
+<p>"&Agrave; bas le sabre!" shouted a man.</p>
+
+<p>"&Agrave; bas les traitres!" yelled the students in unison.</p>
+
+<p>One of the latter leaped at the man and felled him with a blow.</p>
+
+<p>The frantic crowd of young men attempted to jump upon this victim of
+public opinion, but as others rushed at the same time to his rescue,
+all came together in a tumultuous, struggling heap.</p>
+
+<p>The angry combatants surged this way and that,&mdash;the score soon became
+an hundred, the hundred became a thousand. It was a mystery whence
+these turbulent elements sprang, so quickly did the mob gather
+strength.</p>
+
+<p>The original offender got away in the confusion. But the struggle went
+on, accompanied by shouts, curses, and groans. One platoon of police
+agents charged down upon the fighters, then another platoon.</p>
+
+<p>Friends struck friends in sheer excess of fury. The momentarily
+swelling roar of the combat reverberated in the Rue Royale and echoed
+and re-echoed from the garden of the Tuileries.</p>
+
+<p>The police agents struggled in vain. They were unable to penetrate
+beyond the outer rows of the mob. And these turned and savagely
+assaulted the agents.</p>
+
+<p>Then the massive grilles of the Tuileries swung upon their hinges and
+a squadron of cuirassiers slowly trotted into the Place de la
+Concorde. They swept gracefully into line. A harsh, rasping sound of
+steel, a rattle of breastplates as the sabres twinkled in the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>sunshine, and the column moved down upon the snarling horde of human
+tigers.</p>
+
+<p>Brave when it was a single unarmed man, the mob broke and ran like
+frightened sheep at the sight of the advancing cavalry.</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time myriads of omnibuses, vans, carriages, and vehicles
+of all descriptions, having been blocked by a similar mob in the
+narrow Rue Royale and at the Pont de la Concorde in the other
+direction, now became tangled in an apparently inextricable mass in
+the middle square.</p>
+
+<p>The individual members of the crowd broke for this cover, while the
+agents dashed among them to make arrests. Men scrambled under
+omnibuses and wagons, leaped through carriages, dodged between wheels,
+climbed over horses, crept on their hands and knees beneath vans.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette ran like a rabbit, but between the rush of police and
+scattering of the mob she was sorely hustled. She finally sprang into
+an open voiture in the jam, and wisely remained there in spite of the
+driver's furious gesticulations.</p>
+
+<p>"This way!" cried a stalwart young student to his fleeing companions.</p>
+
+<p>The agents were hot upon them.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette saw that they were covered with dirt, and one was hatless.
+And this one glared at her as he dodged beneath the horse.</p>
+
+<p>The next vehicle was pulled up short, as if to close the narrow
+passage, whereat the hatless man shook his fist at the driver and
+cursed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Vive la libert&eacute;!" retorted the driver.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>"So! We'll give you liberty, you cur!" and the hatless man called to
+his nearest companion, "Over with him!"</p>
+
+<p>The two seized the light vehicle and overturned it as if it were an
+empty basket. The driver pitched forward, sprawling, to the asphalt.
+Seeing which the wary driver of the voiture in which Fouchette was
+seated turned and called to her behind his hand,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Keep your seat, mademoiselle! It's all right!"</p>
+
+<p>He was terrified lest his carriage should follow the fate of his
+neighbor's. But the young men merely compelled him to whip up and keep
+the lines closed, and with this moving barricade they trotted along
+secure from present assault. Fouchette could have touched the nearest
+student. She was so frightened that the coachman's admonition was
+quite unnecessary. She could not have stirred.</p>
+
+<p>"Jean!" said the hatless man to the other, who was so close, "you saw
+Lerouge there?"</p>
+
+<p>"See him! I was near enough to punch him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" There was a quaver in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand, my friend."</p>
+
+<p>"But I can't understand Lerouge," said the young man called Jean.
+"Don't be afraid, mademoiselle," he added, speaking to Fouchette
+reassuringly. "Our friends the agents&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, there they come, monsieur!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardieu!" exclaimed the hatless. "We're caught!"</p>
+
+<p>A big van loaded with straw blocked the way. Behind it skulked a whole
+platoon of blue uniforms. The fugitives hesitated for a second or
+two.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>"Over with it!" shouted the hatless young man, at the same moment
+appropriating a deserted headpiece.</p>
+
+<p>"Down with the agents!"</p>
+
+<p>A dozen stalwart young men seized the big wheels. The top-heavy load
+wavered an instant, then went over with a simultaneous swish and a
+yell.</p>
+
+<p>The latter came from the police agents, now half buried in the straw.</p>
+
+<p>A second squadron of cavalry, Garde de Paris, drawn up near by,
+witnessed this incident and smiled. These little pleasantries amuse
+all good Parisians.</p>
+
+<p>Safety now lay in separation. Jean kept on towards the Rue Royale; his
+friends broke off, scattering towards the Rue de Rivoli.</p>
+
+<p>"Que diable!" he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped and looked hastily about him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, devil take her anyhow,&mdash;she's gone. And I'm here."</p>
+
+<p>He saw himself, with many others out of the line of blocked vehicles,
+hemmed in by agents, Gardes de Paris, and cuirassiers to the right and
+left, now driven into the Rue Royale as stray animals into a pound.</p>
+
+<p>Double lines of police agents supported by infantry and cavalry held
+both ends of this short street; here, where it opened into the Place
+de la Concorde and there where it led at the Madeleine into the grand
+boulevards.</p>
+
+<p>The roar of the mob came down upon him from the Madeleine, where the
+rioters had forced the defensive line from time to time only to be
+driven back by the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>fists and feet of the police agents and with the
+flat of the cavalry sabre.</p>
+
+<p>The authorities knew their ground. The Rue Royale was the key to the
+military position.</p>
+
+<p>But in the attempt to clear the Place de la Concorde the nearest
+fugitives were thrust into the Rue Royale and driven by horse and foot
+towards the Madeleine, where they were mercilessly kicked outside the
+lines to shift for themselves, an unwilling part of a frenzied mob.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a rat in a trap here," growled the young man, having been
+literally thrown through the lower cordon by two stalwart agents.</p>
+
+<p>The shopkeepers had put up their heavy shutters. The grilles were
+closed. People looked down from window and balcony upon a street
+sealed as tight as wax.</p>
+
+<p>Having witnessed the infantry reserves ambushed behind the Ministry of
+Marine filling their magazines, and being confronted by a fresh &eacute;meute
+above, Jean Marot began to feel queer for the first time of a day of
+brawls.</p>
+
+<p>He recalled the historical fact that here in this narrow street a
+thousand people were slain in a panic on the occasion of the
+celebration of the marriage of Marie Antoinette.</p>
+
+<p>A horseman with drawn sabre rode at him and ordered him to move on
+more quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"But where to, Monsieur le Caporal?"</p>
+
+<p>"Anywhere, mon enfant! Out of this, now! Circulate!"</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>"There is no 'but!' What business have you here? You are not a
+Deputy!" The man urged him with his sabre.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold, Monsieur le Caporal! Has, then, a citizen of Paris no longer
+any right to go home without insult from the uniform?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where do you live, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just around the corner in the Faubourg St. Honor&eacute;," replied the young
+man.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" growled the cavalryman, doubtfully, "and there is another
+route."</p>
+
+<p>All of this time the soldier's horse, trained by much service of this
+sort during the preceding year, was pushing Jean along of his own
+accord,&mdash;now with his breast, now with his impatient nose,&mdash;to the
+considerable sacrifice of that young man's dignity. The latter edged
+up to the wall, but the horse followed him, shoving him along gently
+but firmly under a loose rein.</p>
+
+<p>Jean flattened himself against a doorway to escape the pressure. But
+the horse paused also and leaned against him.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, say, then!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hello! Here they come again!" exclaimed the corporal, reining in his
+horse, with his eyes bent towards the Madeleine.</p>
+
+<p>At this juncture the door was suddenly opened and Jean, who was fast
+having the breath squeezed out of him, fell inside.</p>
+
+<p>The door was as suddenly closed again and barred.</p>
+
+<p>The cavalryman, who had not seen this movement, glanced around on
+either side, behind, then beneath <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>his horse, finally up in the sky,
+and shrugged his shoulders and rode on along the walk.</p>
+
+<p>"Oho, Monsieur Jean!" roared a friendly voice as the young man caught
+his breath; "trying to break into my house, eh? By my saint, young
+man, you were in a mighty tight place! Oh, this dreadful day! No
+business at all, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Business!" gasped Jean,&mdash;"business, man! Never had a more busy day in
+my life!"</p>
+
+<p>"You? Yes! it is such wild young blades as you and that
+serious-looking Lerouge who raise all the row in Paris.&mdash;I say,
+monsieur," broke off the garrulous old restaurateur, and, running to
+the window behind the bar, "they're putting the sand!"</p>
+
+<p>Men with barrows from the Ministry of Marine were hastily strewing the
+smooth asphalt with sand. It meant cavalry operations.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Monsieur Jean, where's your double? Where's the other Marot
+to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>Jean's face clouded. He did not reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I never saw two men look so much alike," continued the restaurateur.</p>
+
+<p>"So the medics all say, and that I do all the deviltry and Henri gets
+sent to d&eacute;p&ocirc;t for it." He had called for something to eat, and looked
+up from the distant table in continuation,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Lerouge has turned out to be the most rabid Dreyfusarde. We met in
+the fun to-day&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Fun!"</p>
+
+<p>"There certainly was fun for a while. George Villeroy, when I last saw
+him, was being chased to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>Rue de Rivoli. Hope he gets back this
+evening at Le Petit Rouge."</p>
+
+<p>"Le Petit Rouge! Faugh! Nest of red republicans, royalists&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No royalists&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Anarchists&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'll admit that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And bloody bones&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bloody noses to-day, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"And this Lerouge and you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, this is George's night to carve," said Jean, changing the
+subject back to surgery.</p>
+
+<p>"Carve?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;certes! Cut into something fresh, if it turns up."</p>
+
+<p>"Turns up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Monsieur Bibb&ocirc;let, you're as clever as a parrot! Yes, turns up.
+Subject, stiff, cadaver,&mdash;see?&mdash;Le caf&eacute;, gar&ccedil;on!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! you medical&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You see, George has a new arterial theory to demonstrate. I tell you,
+he can pick up an artery as easily as your cook can pick a chicken. If
+you'd care to let him try&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How! Pick up my arteries? Not if I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?"</p>
+
+<p>They again ran to the window.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the cuirassiers, Monsieur Jean! Ah! if it came to blows they'd
+pot 'em like rabbits here! You're out of it just in time."</p>
+
+<p>So closely was the squadron of cuirassiers wedged in the street that
+Jean could have put his hand upon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>the jack-boots of the nearest
+soldier. There had been a fresh break in the Madeleine guard, and this
+was the reserve. They slowly pricked their resistless way, and one by
+one the exhausted agents slipped between them to the rear. Some of the
+latter dragged prisoners, some supported bruised and bleeding victims.
+Some persons had been trampled or beaten into insensibility, and these
+were being carried towards the Place de la Concorde. Among them were
+women. There are always women in the Paris mob.</p>
+
+<p>And this particular mob was a mere political "manifestation." That was
+all. It was the 25th of October, 1898, and the day on which the French
+Parliament met. So the Parisian patriots lined the route to the Palais
+Bourbon and "manifested" their devotion to liberty French fashion, by
+clubbing everybody who disagreed with them.</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" said Jean, "they have pushed beyond St. Honor&eacute;. I can get home
+now."</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, monsieur. Do not go yet. It is still dangerous. A bottle of
+old Barsac with me."</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>Night had fallen. Jean Marot was cautiously let out of a side door.</p>
+
+<p>The Ministry had also fallen.</p>
+
+<p>Hoarse-lunged venders of the evening papers announced the fact in
+continuous cries. Travel had been resumed in the Rue Royale. Here and
+there the shops began to take in their shutters and resume business.
+Timid shopkeepers came out on the walk and discussed the situation
+with each other.</p>
+
+<p>The ministerial journals sold by wholesale. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>angry manifestants
+burned them in the streets. Which rendered the camelots more insistent
+and obnoxious with fresh bundles to be sold and destroyed in the same
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot, refreshed by rest and food, lingered a moment at Rue St.
+Honor&eacute;, uncertain whether to return to his rooms or join a mob of
+patriots howling the Marseillaise in front of the Caf&eacute; de Londres.</p>
+
+<p>"Enough," he finally concluded, and turned up towards the Rue Boissy
+d'Anglais.</p>
+
+<p>There were evidences of a fierce struggle in the narrow but
+aristocratic faubourg. Usually a blaze of light at this hour, it was
+closed from street to street and practically deserted. Scared
+milliners and dress-makers and fashionable jewellers peered out from
+upper windows, still afraid to open up. Fragments of broken canes,
+battered hats, and torn vestments told an eloquent story of political
+differences.</p>
+
+<p>"We certainly missed the fun here," thought Jean. "Hello! What's
+this?"</p>
+
+<p>He had tripped on a woman's skirt in the shadow of the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Peste! Why can't our fair dames and demoiselles let <i>us</i> fight it
+out? There really isn't enough to go round!"</p>
+
+<p>He paused, then returned impulsively and looked at the dark
+bundle,&mdash;stirred it with his foot. It was certainly the figure of a
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Last round," he muttered; "next, the Seine!"</p>
+
+<p>His budding professional instincts prompted him to search for the
+pulse.</p>
+
+<p>It was still.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>And when he took his hand away it was covered with blood.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait!"</p>
+
+<p>He placed his hand over the heart, then uncovered a young but bruised
+and swollen face.</p>
+
+<p>"The cavalry," he murmured. "She's dead; she&mdash;well, perhaps it was
+better."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced up and down the street, as if considering whether to go his
+way or to call the police. There was nobody in sight near enough to
+attract by cries. The police were busy elsewhere. Then his face all at
+once lighted up.</p>
+
+<p>"A good idea!" he ejaculated,&mdash;"a very good idea!"</p>
+
+<p>He saw two cabs approaching.</p>
+
+<p>Calling the first, he began to carry the good idea into immediate
+execution.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, monsieur?" inquired the cabman, seeing the body.</p>
+
+<p>"An accident. Quick, cocher!"</p>
+
+<p>With his usual decision Jean thrust the body into the cab and followed
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"Allez!" he commanded.</p>
+
+<p>"But, monsieur,&mdash;the&mdash;the&mdash;where to?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pont de Solferino, to Boulevard St. Germain. An extra franc, my lad!"</p>
+
+<p>Having vaguely started the cabby, Jean had time to think. He knew the
+prejudices most people entertain concerning the dead. Especially the
+prejudices of Paris police agents and cabmen. To give the Rue de
+M&eacute;decine would set the man to speculating. To mention Le Petit Rouge
+would be to have him hail the first man in uniform.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>As to Jean Marot, medical student, du Quartier Latin, in his fourth
+year, a lifeless body was no more than a bag of sand. It was merely a
+"subject."</p>
+
+<p>"The chief benefit conferred upon society and humanity by a large
+proportion of our population," he would have cynically observed to any
+caviller, "is by dying and becoming useful 'subjects.'"</p>
+
+<p>He considered himself fortunate, however, in having a close cab, out
+of deference to those who might differ with him. They crossed the Pont
+de Solferino, where a momentary halt gave a couple of alert agents a
+chance to scrutinize him a little more sharply than was comfortable,
+and turned down Boulevard St. Germain.</p>
+
+<p>At the &Eacute;cole de M&eacute;decine Jean stopped the cab, as if struck with a new
+idea.</p>
+
+<p>"Cocher!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Drive to 12 Rue Antoine Dubois."</p>
+
+<p>"How then!"</p>
+
+<p>"I said&mdash;drive&mdash;to&mdash;No. 12&mdash;Rue Antoine Dubois! You know where that
+is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, monsieur,&mdash;only&mdash;er&mdash;it is right over there opposite
+the&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The man was so excited he found difficulty in expressing himself.</p>
+
+<p>"&Eacute;cole Pratique,&mdash;that's right," said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>Hardened sinner that he was, the old Paris coachman crossed himself
+and, as he entered the uncanny neighborhood, felt around for the
+sacred amulet that every good Frenchman wears next to the skin.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>"I must get some instruments there before taking this lady home," Jean
+added.</p>
+
+<p>The Rue Antoine Dubois is a short street connecting the Rue et Place
+de l'&Eacute;cole de M&eacute;decine with the Rue de Monsieur le Prince. One side of
+it is formed by the gloomy wall of the &Eacute;cole Pratique, where more
+"subjects" are disposed of annually than in any other dozen similar
+institutions in the world; the other by various medical shops and
+libraries, over which are "clubs," "laboratories," "cliniques," and
+student lodgings. At the Rue de Monsieur le Prince the street ends in
+a great flight of steps. It therefore forms an impasse, or a pocket
+for carriages, and is little used. It was now deserted.</p>
+
+<p>The coachman drew up before a dark court entrance, a sickly light
+shining upon him through the surgical appliances, articulated
+skeletons, skulls, and other professional exhibits of the nearest
+window.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us see; I'll take her up-stairs and make a more careful
+examination."</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you're a doctor, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;there!" He gave the man a five-franc piece. "No,&mdash;never mind
+the change."</p>
+
+<p>"Merci, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Better wait&mdash;till I see how she is, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Jean bore his burden very carefully till out of sight; then threw it
+over his shoulder and felt his way up the half-lighted stairs. He knew
+quite well that the man would not wait; believed that the overpayment
+would induce him to get away as quickly and as far as possible.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>"It's a stiff, sure!" growled the nervous cabman, and he drove out of
+the place at a furious rate.</p>
+
+<p>Jean threw his "subject" on the floor and hunted around for a light.</p>
+
+<p>"Le Petit Rouge"&mdash;its frequenters were medical students and political
+extremists&mdash;was replete with books, bones, and anatomical drawings,
+black-and-white and in colors. Two complete skeletons mounted
+guard,&mdash;one in the farther corner, one behind the door. There were
+tables and instrument-cases, and surgical saws and things in racks.
+There were easy-chairs, pipes, etc. A skull, with the top neatly sawed
+off to serve as cover, formed a tobacco receptacle.</p>
+
+<p>But the chef-d'&oelig;uvre was from Jean's ingenious hand. It was the
+bow-backed skeleton behind the door, which had been cleverly arranged
+as and was called "Madame la Concierge." The skeleton had been arrayed
+in a short conventional ballet skirt and scanty lace cap, and held a
+candle in one hand and a bottle marked "Absinthe" in the other. The
+skirt was to indicate her earlier career, the cap and candle gave an
+inkling of her later life, while the bottle told the probable cause of
+her decease. This skeleton was so controlled by wires and cords that
+it could be made to move out in front of the open door and raise the
+candle above the head, as if to see who asked for admission. When the
+room was in semi-darkness Madame la Concierge of Le Petit Rouge was
+charmingly effective, and had been known to throw some people into
+spasms.</p>
+
+<p>Placing his lamp in a favorable position, Jean Marot pulled off his
+coat, removed his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and proceeded to
+extend his subject upon what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>young Armand Massard facetiously called
+"the dressing-table."</p>
+
+<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed, falling back a step. "Why, it's the
+demoiselle of the Place de la Concorde!"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER VI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>And so it was.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette had been thrown from the voiture in the conflict, and had
+been run over by the mob and trampled into the mud of the gutter. So
+covered with the filth of the street was she, so torn and bruised and
+bedraggled, that she would have been unrecognizable even to one who
+had seen her more often than had her present examiner.</p>
+
+<p>There was something in the girl's face, however, that had left an
+impression on the mind of Jean Marot not easily effaced. It was too
+indistinct and unemotional, this impression, to inspire analysis, but
+it was there, so that, under the lamp, Jean had at once recognized the
+young woman of the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>"It's murder, that's what it is," he soliloquized,&mdash;"victim of 'Vive
+l'arm&eacute;e.'"</p>
+
+<p>A most careful examination showed there were no bones broken, though
+the young body was literally black and blue.</p>
+
+<p>The face was that of a prize-fighter's after a stubborn battle.</p>
+
+<p>Inspection of the clothing developed no marks of recognition. Her
+pocket lining showed that she had been robbed of anything she may have
+possessed. The coarse character and general appearance of the clothing
+indicated her lowly condition of charity scholar.</p>
+
+<p>Although rigor mortis had not yet set in, the medical student, armed
+with a basin and sponge, proceeded to prepare the body for the
+scalpel.</p>
+
+<p>"This ought to suit George Villeroy," he mused. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>"And George has
+always said I was no good except on a lark. He has always pined for a
+fresh subject&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He was attracted by the quality and peculiar color of the hair, and
+washing the stains from the head, examined the latter attentively.</p>
+
+<p>"I never saw but one woman with hair like that, and she&mdash;wonder what
+the devil is in Lerouge, anyhow!&mdash;I suppose&mdash;hold on here! Let us
+see."</p>
+
+<p>He had found a terrible gash in the scalp. Hastily obtaining his
+instruments, he skilfully lifted a bit of crushed skull.</p>
+
+<p>As he did so he fancied there was a slight tremor in the slender body.
+He nervously tested the heart, the nostrils, the pulse, then breathed
+once more.</p>
+
+<p>"Dame! It is imagination. That break would have killed an ox!"</p>
+
+<p>Yet he took another careful look at the wound, cutting away some of
+the fair hair in order to get at the fracture. Then he made another
+experiment.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardieu! she's alive," he whispered, hoarsely. "What's to be done?
+They're right. Jean! Jean! you'll never be a doctor! Never be anything
+but a d&mdash;&mdash;d fool!"</p>
+
+<p>But Jean Marot, if not a doctor, was a young man of action and
+resources. Even as he spoke he grabbed a sheet and a blanket from a
+cot in the corner, snatched a hat belonging to Massard's grisette from
+the wall, bundled the girl's clothes around the body the best he
+could, and ran to the window.</p>
+
+<p>As he had anticipated would be the case, the cabman had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>He was fully aware of the risk he now ran; but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>above his sense of
+personal danger rose his sympathy and anxiety for the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>He realized that his first step must be to get her out of this place;
+next to get her under the care of a regular practitioner. French law
+is severe in such a contingency. Without hesitation he again
+shouldered his burden,&mdash;this time with infinite gentleness.</p>
+
+<p>At first he had thought of depositing it in the court below until he
+had secured a cab in the Rue et Place de l'&Eacute;cole de M&eacute;decine; but he
+saw an open voiture passing along the elevated horizon of the Rue de
+Monsieur le Prince and gave a shrill whistle.</p>
+
+<p>The cab stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Jean bounded up the steps as one endowed with superhuman strength.
+Placing his charge within, he mounted by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Faubourg St. Honor&eacute;!" he commanded. "And good speed and safe arrival
+is worth ten francs to you, my man!"</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>If Jean had followed his first idea and turned to the left instead of
+to the right he would have met some of his late revolutionary comrades
+returning, in boisterous spirits, to Le Petit Rouge.</p>
+
+<p>"Parbleu!" exclaimed Villeroy, throwing himself into a chair, "but I
+believe every police agent in Paris has trodden on my corns this day!"</p>
+
+<p>"For my part," said young Massard, a thin, pale, indolent young man
+scarcely turned twenty-one, "I don't see much fun in being hustled,
+shoved, kicked, pounded&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>"But, Armand," interrupted the third man, "think of the fun you have
+afforded the other fellow!"</p>
+
+<p>This speaker was known as the double of Jean Marot, only some people
+could not see the slightest resemblance when the two were
+together,&mdash;Lerouge being taller, darker, more athletic in appearance,
+and more serious of temper.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Lerouge, I don't think your crowd of Dreyfusardes got much
+pleasure out of us to-day," put in Villeroy, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"We got some of it out of the police, it is true," said Lerouge. Henri
+Lerouge was half anarchist, socialist, and an extremist generally, of
+whom French politics presents a formidable contingent.</p>
+
+<p>Armand Massard thoughtfully helped himself to a pipe of tobacco from
+the grim tabati&egrave;re on the table. Politics was barred at Le Petit
+Rouge, and Lerouge was known to be rather irritable. On the subject of
+the police these young fellows were unanimous. The agents were
+considered fair game in the Quartier Latin.</p>
+
+<p>"I've had enough of them for this once, George," yawned Massard.</p>
+
+<p>"And they've had enough of us probably," suggested Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p>"It is lively,&mdash;too much,&mdash;this continued dodging the police&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Together with one's creditors&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A loud double rap startled them.</p>
+
+<p>"Mordieu!" exclaimed that young man, leaping to his feet, "that's one
+now! Don't open!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>Again the peremptory raps, louder than before. There was also a clank
+of steel.</p>
+
+<p>"Police agents or I'm a German!" said Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p>Henri Lerouge, a contemptuous smile on his handsome face, arose to
+admit the callers.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait!" whispered Massard,&mdash;"one moment! Madame la Concierge shall
+receive them."</p>
+
+<p>This idea tickled the young men exceedingly. They had little to fear
+from the police, unless it was the chance identification on the Place
+de la Concorde. But these things are rarely pushed.</p>
+
+<p>Madame la Concierge was quickly arranged, her candle lighted. Then the
+other light was turned down.</p>
+
+<p>When the door was slowly opened four police officers, headed by the
+commissary of the quarter, entered.</p>
+
+<p>But they stopped abruptly on the threshold. The hideous skeleton with
+the candle confronted them. A sepulchral voice demanded,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Who knocks so loudly at an honest door?"</p>
+
+<p>It is no impeachment of the courage and efficiency of the Paris police
+to say that the men recoiled in terror from this horrible apparition.
+So suddenly, in fact, that the two agents in the rear were
+precipitated headlong down the short flight. The other two vanished
+scarcely less hastily. A fifth man, who had evidently been following
+the agents at a respectful distance, received the full impact of the
+falling bodies, and with one terrified yell sank almost senseless on
+the stair.</p>
+
+<p>This man was the cabman who had brought Jean Marot to Le Petit Rouge.</p>
+
+<p>The veteran commissary, however, flinched only for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>an instant. Having
+served many years in the Quartier Latin, he was no stranger to the
+pranks and customs of medical students. The next instant he had his
+foot in the doorway, to retain his advantage, and was calling his men
+a choice assortment of Parisian names. To emphasize this he entered
+and gave Madame la Concierge a kick that caused her poor old bones to
+rattle.</p>
+
+<p>"For shame!" cried young Massard, laughingly, turning up the light.
+"To kick an old woman!"</p>
+
+<p>"Now here, gentlemen, students,&mdash;you are a nice lot!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks! Monsieur le Commissaire," replied Lerouge, with a polite bow.</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite aware, gentlemen," continued the stern official, "that
+you are responsible at this moment for any injury to my men?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, monsieur," retorted Lerouge in his dry fashion; "but, if any
+bones are broken we'll set 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Free of charge," added Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p>"I want none of your impudence, monsieur! What's your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"George Villeroy, 7 Rue du Pot de Fer, medical student, aged
+twenty-four, single, born at Tours."</p>
+
+<p>Well these young roysterers knew the police formula! Armand Massard
+gave in his record at a nod. The veteran commissary wrote the replies
+down.</p>
+
+<p>"And what is your name, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Henri Lerouge, Monsieur le Commissaire."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I think we have had the pleasure of meeting before this,"
+observed the official. "A hundred francs that this is our man," he
+added under his breath. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>Then, turning to his men, who had stolen in,
+shamefaced, one by one,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Dubat!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur." A keen-eyed agent stepped forward and saluted
+military fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you recognize one of these gentlemen as the man who crossed the
+Pont de Solferino this evening with something&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire,"&mdash;pointing promptly to Henri
+Lerouge,&mdash;"that's the man!"</p>
+
+<p>"So. You may step aside, Dubat. Now where is that&mdash;oh! Monsieur
+Perriot?"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur le Commissaire," responded the unhappy cabman, who had
+scarcely recovered from his mishap in the stairway. He limped
+painfully to the front.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Perriot, do you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There he is, Monsieur le Commissaire," anticipated the cabman. "I'd
+know him among a thousand."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! And there we are. I thought so!" said the police official. "Now,
+Monsieur Lerouge," facing the latter with a catlike eye, "where's the
+body?"</p>
+
+<p>The young man looked puzzled, very naturally, while his companions
+were speechless with astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>The veteran police officer took in every detail of this and mentally
+admitted that it was clever, deucedly clever, acting.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, <i>where is the body</i>?" he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"And I say," retorted Lerouge, with a calmness of tone and steadiness
+of eye that almost staggered the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>old criminal catcher, "that I do not
+understand you, and am very patiently awaiting your explanation."</p>
+
+<p>"Search the place!" curtly commanded the officer.</p>
+
+<p>A clamorous protest arose from all three of the students. But the
+commissary of police waved them aside.</p>
+
+<p>"It means that this man, Henri Lerouge, between six and seven o'clock
+this evening, carried a dead body from the Rue St. Honor&eacute;&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Faubourg St. Honor&eacute;, Monsieur le Commissaire," interrupted the
+cabman, feebly.</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;&mdash;Faubourg St. Honor&eacute;, crossed the Pont de Solferino, where he was
+seen by Agent Dubat, and was brought here in a voiture of place, No.
+37,420, driven by Jacques Perriot. That, arriving in front of this
+building, the said Lerouge paid the cabman and dismissed&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, Monsieur le Commissaire," again put in the coachman,&mdash;who was
+evidently trying to do his duty under unfavorable
+circumstances,&mdash;"pardon, monsieur, but he told me to wait."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he told you to wait, did he? And why didn't you say that at the
+Commissariat, you stupid brute?" The officer was furious. "But he paid
+you, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"He paid you five francs and expected you to wait!" sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said he might want me, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Might want you. And why didn't you wait, you old fool?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>"Here? In the Rue Antoine Dubois, after dark, monsieur? And for
+a&mdash;a&mdash;'stiff'? Not for a hundred francs!"</p>
+
+<p>The students roared with laughter. As the agents had returned a report
+meanwhile to the effect that there were no signs of any "subject"
+immediately in hand, the commissary was deeply chagrined.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, gentlemen," he began, in a fatherly tone, "it is evident that a
+body has been taken from the street and brought here instead of being
+turned over to the police for the morgue and usual forms of
+identification. That body is possibly unimportant in itself, and would
+probably fall to your admirable institution eventually. But the law
+prescribes the proper course in such cases. We have traced that body
+to this place and to one of your number. Far be it from me to find
+fault with the desire of young gentlemen seeking to perfect their
+knowledge of anatomy for the benefit of humanity; but we must know
+where that body went from here."</p>
+
+<p>The last very emphatically, with a stern gaze at Henri Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>"And on our part," answered the latter, with ill-subdued passion, "we
+say there is no body here, that none has been brought here to-night,
+that we have been together all day, and that we had but just arrived
+here before this unwarrantable intrusion; in short, that your petits
+mouchards there have lied!"</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible not to believe him. Yet the evidence of the cabman,
+corroborated circumstantially in part by Agent Dubat, seemed equally
+positive and irresistible.</p>
+
+<p>The commissary was nonplussed for a minute. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>looked sternly at
+Monsieur Perriot. The latter was nervously fumbling his glazed hat.
+Somebody had lied. The commissary decided that it was the unlucky
+cabman.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Perriot?"</p>
+
+<p>"Y-yes, Monsieur le Commissaire."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you got a five-franc piece about you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Y&mdash;n&mdash;no&mdash;er&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see it."</p>
+
+<p>Now, the poor cabman had lost no time fortifying himself with an
+absinthe or two upon leaving his fare in the terrible Rue Antoine
+Dubois. He had changed the piece given him by Jean Marot.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You said this man gave you a five-franc piece, didn't you? Now, did
+you, or did you not? Answer!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Monsieur le&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Where is it? You said you came straight to the Commissariat,&mdash;you
+haven't had time to get drunk. Show me the piece! Come!"</p>
+
+<p>"I drove to&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Come! Out with it!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Monsieur le Commissaire&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't got a five-franc piece. Come, now; say!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, monsieur. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Lie No. 2."</p>
+
+<p>"But, monsieur, I stopped at the wine-shop of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you didn't drive straight to the Commissariat?"</p>
+
+<p>"I went&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>"Did you, or did you not? Yes or no!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"So! Lie No. 3."</p>
+
+<p>The commissary got up full of wrath, and grasping the unfortunate
+cabby by the shoulder, spun him around with such force as to make the
+man's head swim.</p>
+
+<p>"Dubat!"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Take this idiot to the post. I'll enter a complaint against him
+before the Correctionnelle in the morning. He shall forfeit his
+license for this amusement. Gentlemen, pardon me for this unnecessary
+intrusion. Either this fool Perriot has lied or has led us to the
+wrong number. I'll give him time to decide which. Allons!"</p>
+
+<p>Led by the irate official the squad departed, Monsieur Perriot being
+hustled unceremoniously between two agents.</p>
+
+<p>The young men left behind looked at each other for a minute without
+speaking, then broke into a chorus of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>It was such a good one on the police.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Villeroy, "if we only had that stiff here for a fact!"</p>
+
+<p>"This joke on the agents must be got into the newspapers," said
+Lerouge. "It's too good to keep all to ourselves."</p>
+
+<p>"Fact!" cried Massard, who had thrown himself on the cot.</p>
+
+<p>"The joke is on Monsieur Perriot, I think," observed Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>"Whoever it is on," put in young Massard, "it is a better joke than
+you fellows imagine." And Massard went off into a paroxysm of laughter
+by himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Que diable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! oh! oh!" roared Massard.</p>
+
+<p>He had discovered the missing sheet and blanket and the grisette's
+hat. His companions regarded him attentively. But the young man merely
+went into fresh convulsions of merriment.</p>
+
+<p>Lerouge suddenly raised his hand for silence. There was a low,
+half-timid rap at the door. It created the impression of some woman of
+the street.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in!" cried Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p>"Let her in," said Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>By which time the door had been opened and a tall, thin gentleman
+entered and immediately closed the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"In-Inspector Loup!" ejaculated Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>"What! more police?" inquired Villeroy, sarcastically. "We are too
+much honored to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me, young gentlemen," observed the official, somewhat stiffly,
+but with a polite inclination of his lank body, "but I must be
+permitted to make an examination here&mdash;yes, I know; but Monsieur le
+Commissaire is rather&mdash;rather&mdash;you know&mdash;they will wait until I see
+for myself where the error is. Yes, error, I'm sure."</p>
+
+<p>During this introduction the keen little fishy eyes searched the
+table, the floor, the walls, the cot in the corner whereon Massard now
+sat seriously erect, and, incidentally, every person in the room. They
+wound up this lightning tour of inspection by resting with the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>last
+equivocal sentence upon some object on the floor under the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me," he added, stepping briskly forward and grasping the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>He brought the light to bear upon the object which had appeared to
+fascinate him, the wondering eyes of the three students becoming
+riveted to the same spot.</p>
+
+<p>It was a wisp of light flaxen hair just tinted with gold.</p>
+
+<p>The inspector replaced the lamp upon the dissecting-table and examined
+the lock of hair. It was still moist, and there were distinct traces
+of blood where it had been cut off from the head.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>The world of satisfaction in that ejaculation was not communicated to
+the students, who were speechless with astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the inspector, as if he were continuing an unimportant
+conversation, "Monsieur le Commissaire is rather&mdash;rather&mdash;show me the
+rest of the place, please," and without waiting for formal permission
+proceeded, lamp in hand, on his own account.</p>
+
+<p>"So! One sleeps here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Occasionally, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>He looked under the cot.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must have the rest of the bed; where is it?"</p>
+
+<p>His quick eye had discovered the inconsistency of the mattress,&mdash;as,
+indeed, Massard himself had already done,&mdash;and his fertile brain
+jumped at once from cause to effect.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>"Probably to wrap the body in. Where's the sink?"</p>
+
+<p>In the little antechamber, redolent with the peculiar and
+indescribable odor of human flesh and its preservatives, was a long
+ice-chest, a big iron sink, an old-fashioned range, pots, pans,
+shelves with bottles, etc.</p>
+
+<p>Massard hurriedly opened the chest, as if half expecting to see a
+human body there.</p>
+
+<p>But Inspector Loup scarcely glanced at this receptacle for "subjects."
+His eyes sought and found the metal basin such as doctors use during
+operations.</p>
+
+<p>The basin was still wet, and minute spots of red appeared upon its
+rim. A sponge lay near. It had recently been soaked. The inspector
+squeezed the sponge over the basin and obtained water stained with
+red.</p>
+
+<p>"Blood," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Blood!" echoed the alarmed students.</p>
+
+<p>"She's alive," said the inspector, more to himself than to his
+dumfounded auditors,&mdash;"alive, probably, else whoever brought her here
+would have kept her here."</p>
+
+<p>He returned abruptly to the other room, and depositing the lamp,
+turned to Lerouge,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Were you expecting anybody else here to-night, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes; Jean Marot&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The possibility flashed upon the three young men at once, but it
+seemed too preposterous. The inspector had turned to the window and
+blown a shrill whistle.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, young gentlemen, but I'll not disturb you any longer than
+I can help. What is Jean Marot's address? Good! I will leave you
+company. You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>will not mind? Dubat will entertain you. It is better
+than resting in the station-house, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>With this pleasantry Inspector Loup hurried away, snatched a cab, and
+was driven rapidly to the address in the Faubourg St. Honor&eacute;.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>Jean Marot was the son of a rich silk manufacturer of Lyon, and
+therefore lived in more comfortable quarters than most students, in a
+fashionable neighborhood on the right bank of the Seine. He had
+reached his lodgings scarcely three-quarters of an hour before
+Inspector Loup. But in that time he had stampeded the venerable
+concierge, got his still unconscious burden to bed and fetched a
+surgeon. The concierge had protested against turning the house into a
+hospital for vagrant women; but Jean was of an impetuous nature, and
+wilful besides, and when he was told that the last vacant chamber had
+been taken that day, he boldly carried the girl to his own rooms and
+placed her in his own bed. And when the concierge had reported this
+fact to Madame Goutran, that excellent lady, who had officiated as
+Jean's landlady for the past four years, shrugged her shoulders in
+such an equivocal way that the concierge concluded that her best
+interests lay in assisting the young man as much as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Cardiac was not only one of the best surgeon-professors of the
+&Eacute;cole de M&eacute;decine but Jean's father's personal friend. The young man
+felt that he could turn to the great surgeon in this emergency, though
+the latter was an expert not in regular practice.</p>
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep136" id="imagep136"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep136.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep136.jpg" width="45%" alt="His Still Unconscious Burden" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">HIS STILL UNCONSCIOUS BURDEN<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>The appearance of Inspector Loup threw the Goutran establishment into
+a fever of excitement. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>wrinkled old concierge who had declined
+to admit the stranger was ready to fall upon her knees before the
+director of the Secret Service. Madame Goutran hastened to explain why
+she had not reported the affair to the police department as the law
+required. She had not had time. It was so short a time ago that the
+case had been brought into her house,&mdash;in a few minutes she would have
+sent in the facts,&mdash;then, they expected every moment to ascertain the
+name of the young woman, which would be necessary to make the report
+complete.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Goutran hoped that it would not involve her lodger, Monsieur
+Jean Marot, who was an excellent young man, though impulsive. He
+should have had the girl sent to the hospital. It was so absurd to
+bring her there, where she might die, and in any case would involve
+everybody in no end of difficulties, anyhow.</p>
+
+<p>To a flood of such excuses and running observations Inspector Loup
+listened with immobile face, tightly closed lips, and wandering fishy
+eyes, standing in the corridor of the concierge lodge. He had not
+uttered a word, nor had he hurried the good landlady in her
+explanations and excuses. It was Inspector Loup's custom. He assumed
+the attitude of a professional listener. Seldom any one had ever
+resisted the subtle power of that silent interrogation. Even the most
+stubborn and recalcitrant were compelled to yield after a time; and
+those who had sullenly withstood the most searching and brutal
+interrogatories had broken down under the calm, patient,
+philosophical, crushing contemplation. Questions too often merely
+serve to put <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>people on their guard,&mdash;to furnish a cue to what should
+be withheld.</p>
+
+<p>"And your lodger, madame?" he inquired, after Madame Goutran had run
+down, "can I see him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Pardon! I have detained you too
+long."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all, madame. One does not think of time in the presence of a
+charming conversationalist."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thank you, monsieur! This way, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup gained the apartment of Jean Marot shortly after the
+united efforts of Dr. Cardiac and his amateur assistants had succeeded
+in producing decided signs of returning consciousness. The patient was
+breathing irregularly.</p>
+
+<p>The police official entered the chamber, and, after a silent
+recognition of those present, looked long and steadily at the slight
+figure on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>He then retired, beckoning Jean to follow him. Once in the petit
+salon, the inspector motioned the young man to a chair and looked him
+over for about half a minute. Whereupon Jean made a clean breast of
+what his listener practically already knew, and what he did not know
+had guessed.</p>
+
+<p>"Bring me her clothing," said the inspector, when Jean had finished.</p>
+
+<p>The young man brought the torn and soiled garments which had been
+removed from the girl.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup examined them in a perfunctory way, but apparently
+discovered nothing beyond the fact that they were typical charity
+clothes, which Jean had already decided for himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Be good enough to ask Monsieur le Docteur to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>step in here a few
+moments at his leisure," he finally said.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Jean had his back turned the inspector whipped out a knife,
+slit the lining of the bosom of the little dress, and taking therefrom
+the letter addressed to himself, noted at a glance that the seal was
+intact, tore it open, saw its contents and as quickly transferred the
+missive to his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, doctor," he gravely inquired, "how about your young patient?"</p>
+
+<p>"Uncertain, monsieur, but hopeful."</p>
+
+<p>"She will recover, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so, but it will be some time. She must be removed to a
+hospital."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, of course,&mdash;of course. But you will report to me where she is
+taken from here, Monsieur le Docteur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes,&mdash;certainly. Though perhaps the girl's friends&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"She has no friends," said the inspector.</p>
+
+<p>"What! You know her, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"A nobody's child, eh?" asked the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Fouchette is the child of the police," said Inspector
+Loup.</p>
+
+<p>He slowly retired down-stairs, through the court and passage-way,
+reaching the street. Then as he walked away he drew from his pocket
+the letter he had extracted from the little dress.</p>
+
+<p>"So! Sister Agnes is prompt and to the point. These Jesuitical
+associations are hotbeds of treason and intrigue! They are
+inconsistent with civil and religious liberty. We'll see!"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER VII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>When Fouchette opened her eyes it was to see three strange faces at
+her bedside,&mdash;the faces of Dr. Cardiac, Jean Marot, and a professional
+nurse.</p>
+
+<p>But she had regained consciousness long before she could see, her eyes
+being in bandages, and had passively listened to the soft goings and
+comings and low conversations and whispered directions, without saying
+anything herself or betraying her growing curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>These sounds came to her vaguely and brokenly at first, then forced
+themselves on her attention connectedly. Surely she was not at Le Bon
+Pasteur! Then where was she? And finally the recollection of recent
+events rushed upon her, and her poor little head seemed to be on the
+point of bursting.</p>
+
+<p>Things finally appeared quite clear, until her eyes were free and she
+saw for the first time her new surroundings, when she involuntarily
+manifested her surprise.</p>
+
+<p>It certainly was not a hospital, as she had imagined the place. The
+sunny chamber, with its tastefully decorated walls hung with pictures,
+the foils over the door,&mdash;through which she saw a still more lovely
+room,&mdash;the voluptuous divan and its soft cushions, the heavy Turkish
+rugs, the rich damask hangings of her bed,&mdash;no; it certainly was not a
+hospital.</p>
+
+<p>It was the most beautiful room Fouchette had ever seen,&mdash;such as her
+fancy had allotted to royal blood,&mdash;at least to the nobility. To
+awaken in such a place was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>like the fairy tales Sister Agnes had read
+to her long ago.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, mademoiselle," said the old surgeon, cheerily, "we're getting
+along,&mdash;getting along, eh, Monsieur Marot?"</p>
+
+<p>"Admirably!" said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette glanced from one to the other. The doctor she had long
+recognized by voice and touch; but this young man, was he the prince
+of this palace?</p>
+
+<p>The eyes of the pair rested upon each other for the moment
+inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>Both Fouchette and Jean concluded this examination with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette had recognized in him the young man who marched by her side
+in the Place de la Concorde,&mdash;only a rioter. He could not live here.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot, who thought he had seen something in this girl besides her
+hair to remind him of the woman he loved, acknowledged himself in
+error. It had been a mere fancy,&mdash;he dismissed it.</p>
+
+<p>He turned away and stood looking gloomily into the street. But the
+young man saw nothing. He was thinking of the unfortunate turn of
+political events in France that had arrayed friend against friend,
+brother against brother.</p>
+
+<p>It was social revolution&mdash;anarchy!</p>
+
+<p>Now his friend Lerouge and he had quarrelled,&mdash;exchanged blows. They
+had wrangled before, but within the bounds of student friendship.
+Blows had now changed this friendship to hatred. Blows from those whom
+we love are hardest to forgive,&mdash;they are never forgotten.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>Yet it was not this friendship in itself that particularly concerned
+Jean Marot. Through it he had calculated on reaching something more
+vital to his happiness.</p>
+
+<p>Henri Lerouge had introduced him to Mlle. Remy. It was in the Jardin
+du Luxembourg. They had met but for a brief minute. The presentation
+had been coldly formal,&mdash;reluctant. Yet in that time, in the midst of
+the usual conventionalities, Jean had looked into a pair of soulful
+blue eyes that had smiled upon him, and Jean was lost.</p>
+
+<p>His hope of meeting her again lay in and through Lerouge,&mdash;and now
+they had quarrelled; and about a Jew!</p>
+
+<p>The fine blonde hair and slender figure of this girl&mdash;this "child of
+the police"&mdash;had reminded Jean of Mlle. Remy. She possessed the same
+kind of hair. It was this mental association that prompted him to
+carry the unknown to his own lodgings as described. This impulse of
+compassion and association was strengthened by his narrow escape from
+being her slayer. In fact, it was the best thing to have done under
+all the circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>Now that the causes and the impulse had disappeared together, he began
+to feel bored. The "child of the police" was in his way,&mdash;the police
+might look after her. Jean Marot had troubles of his own.</p>
+
+<p>As for Fouchette, she silently regarded the motionless figure at the
+window, wondering, thinking, on her part, of many things. When it had
+disappeared in the adjoining room she beckoned to the doctor.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>"The young man, Monsieur Marot?" she asked, feebly. "Is this his&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It is his apartment, mademoiselle," the doctor anticipated.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot found you in the street near by, after the riot of the
+25th of October, and brought you here,&mdash;temporarily, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot is very good," she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent young man!" said the doctor. "A trifle obstinate, but still
+a very excellent young man, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>The girl was silent for a minute, as if lost in thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Is this his&mdash;his bedchamber, doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"I must be moved," she said, promptly. "You understand? I must be
+removed at once. Take me to a hospital, please!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't excite yourself about it, my child. Soon enough&mdash;when you
+are able."</p>
+
+<p>"What day of the month is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"This? The 5th of November."</p>
+
+<p>"Ten days! Ten days!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;you have had a narrow call, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"And I owe my life to you, doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"To Monsieur Marot, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! but you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If it hadn't been for him I would never have seen you, child."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke very gently and in a subdued voice that reached only her ear.
+Another pause.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>"It is all the more important that I should not trouble him,&mdash;disturb
+him any longer than necessary. You understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very truly, mademoiselle," replied he; "very thoughtful of you,&mdash;very
+womanly. It does you credit, Mademoiselle Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"What? You, then, know my name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly." The doctor observed her surprise with a genial smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very grateful,"&mdash;that they should know her for what she was and
+yet have been so good to her moved her deeply,&mdash;"I am very grateful,
+monsieur. But how did you know it was me, Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there is one man in Paris who knows you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Inspector Loup?" she asked, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"Inspector Loup," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"And he knows where I am,&mdash;certainly, for he knows
+everything,&mdash;everything!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not quite, possibly, but enough."</p>
+
+<p>"I must see Inspector Loup, doctor; yes, I must see him at once. When
+was he here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Within the hour in which you were brought," said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>He was not disposed to be communicative on the subject of the Secret
+Service, or about its director, having a healthy contempt for the
+system of official espionage deemed necessary to any sort of French
+government, Royalist, Napol&eacute;onic, or Republican. And he wondered what
+mysterious band could unite the interests of this charity child with
+the interests of the government of France.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>"Where are my clothes, doctor?" she suddenly inquired, half raising
+herself on her elbow.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! l&agrave;, l&agrave;! Why, you can't go now! It is impossible! The inspector
+can come and see you here, can't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"But where are my clothes? Are they&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"They're here, all right."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see them, please."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good; but don't get excited,&mdash;nobody will run away with them;
+bless my soul! Nobody has had them except&mdash;except the nurse and
+Inspector Loup."</p>
+
+<p>"He?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mademoiselle,&mdash;for identification."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was nervous. She had been reminded of the letter by the
+first mention of the inspector's name. Had anybody found the letter?
+Was it there still? Supposing it had been lost! What was this letter,
+anyhow? It must be very important, or the senders would have mailed it
+in the regular way. She felt that she dared not betray its presence by
+pushing the demand for her clothing.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very curious, too," added the doctor, "how that man could
+identify you by means of clothing he had never before seen. He
+probably had information from where you came, with your description."</p>
+
+<p>"Y-yes, monsieur,&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette had never thought of that. It did not comfort her, as may
+well be imagined.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll speak to the nurse about the clothes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! but it is unnecessary, doctor. I only wanted to know if they
+were&mdash;were safe, you know. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>No; never mind. I thank you very much. I
+shall need them only when I am removed, which I hope will be soon."</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>In the Rue St. Jacques stands an old weather-stained, irregular pile
+of stone, inconspicuous in a narrow, crooked street lined with similar
+houses. The grim walls retreat from the first floor to the roof, in
+the monolithic style of the Egyptian tomb. Beneath the first floor is
+the usual shop,&mdash;a r&ocirc;tisserie patronized by the scholars of two
+centuries,&mdash;famed of Balzac, de Musset, Dumas, Hugo, and a myriad
+lesser pens.</p>
+
+<p>The other houses of the neighborhood are equally oblivious to modern
+opinion. They consent to lean against each other while jointly turning
+an indifferent face to the world, like a man about whose ugliness
+there is no dispute. No two run consecutively with the walks, and all
+together present a sky-line that paralyzes calculation.</p>
+
+<p>The historic street at this point is a lively market during the
+business day. Its sidewalks being only wide enough for the dogs to sun
+themselves without danger from passing vehicles, it is necessary for
+the passers to take that risk by walking in the roadway. Those who do
+not care to assume any risks go around by way of Rue
+Gay-Lussac,&mdash;especially after midnight, when the street enjoys its
+personal reputation. The Panth&eacute;on is just around the corner, and the
+ancient Sorbonne, Louis le Grand, and the College of France line the
+same street on the next block, and have stood there for some hundreds
+of years; but, all the same, timid people certainly prefer to reach
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>them by a roundabout way rather than by this section of Rue St.
+Jacques.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had accepted a home in the Rue St. Jacques and in this
+particular building because other people did not wish to live there,
+which made rooms cheap.</p>
+
+<p>If you had cared to see what Mlle. Fouchette proudly called "home" you
+might have raised and let fall an old-fashioned iron knocker that sent
+a long reverberating roar down the tunnel-like entrance, to be lost in
+some hidden court beyond. Then a slide would slyly uncover a little
+brass "judas," disclosing a little, black, hard eye. Assuming that
+this eye was satisfied with you, the slide would be closed with a
+snap, bolts unshot, bars swung clear, and the heavy, iron-clamped door
+opened by a rascally-looking man whose blouse, chiefly, distinguished
+him from the race orang-outang.</p>
+
+<p>Once within, you would notice that the door mentioned was ribbed with
+wrought iron and that two lateral bars of heavy metal were used to
+secure it from within. It dates from the Reign of Terror.</p>
+
+<p>Having passed this formidable barrier, you would follow the tunnel to
+a square court paved with worn granite, enter a rear passage, and
+mount a narrow stone stairway, the steps of which are so worn as to
+leave an uncertain footing. If it happens to be in the night or early
+morning, the brass knobs in the centre of the doors will be ornamented
+with milk-bottles. There are four of these doors on every landing, and
+consequently four "appartements" on each floor; but as each wing seems
+to have been built in a different age from the others, and no two
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>architects were able to accurately figure on reaching the same level,
+the effect is as uncertain as the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette's "home" consisted of but a single square room
+fronting on the court by two windows with bogus balconies. The
+daylight from these windows showed a fireplace of immense size, and
+out of all proportion to the room, a bed smothered in the usual alcove
+by heavy curtains, a divan improvised from some ancient article of
+furniture, a small round table, and an easy-chair, and two or three
+others not so easy. There was one distinguished exception to the
+general effect of old age and hard usage, and this was a modern
+combination bureau, washstand, and dressing-table with folding mirror
+attachment, which when shut down was as demure and dignified as an
+upright piano.</p>
+
+<p>The effective feature of a place the entire contents of which might
+have been extravagantly valued at twenty-five dollars was the
+exquisite harmony of colors. This effect is common to French
+interiors, where there is also a common tendency to over-decoration.
+The harmony began in the cheap paper on the walls, extended to bed and
+window draperies, and ended in the tissue-paper lamp-shade that at
+night lent a softened, rhythmical tone to the whole. This genial color
+effect was a delicate suggestion of blue, and the result was a
+doll-like daintiness that was altogether charming.</p>
+
+<p>The autographic fan mania had left its mark over the divan in the
+shape of a gigantic fan constructed of little fans and opening out
+towards the ceiling. A few pen-and-ink and pencil sketches and
+studies, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>apparently the cast-off of many studios, were tacked up here
+and there. The high mantel bore an accumulation of odds and ends
+peculiar to young women of low means and cheap friendships. That was
+all. But a French girl can get the best results from a room, as she
+can from a hat, with the least money.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had reached all of this private magnificence through a
+singular concatenation of circumstances.</p>
+
+<p><i>First</i>, Inspector Loup.</p>
+
+<p>That distinguished penologist had laid his hands upon Mlle. Fouchette
+in no uncertain way.</p>
+
+<p>An order of arrest was at this very moment lying in a certain
+pigeon-hole at the Pr&eacute;fecture. She had seen it. The name of "Mlle.
+Fouchette" appeared in the body thereof in big, fat, round letters,
+and a complete description, age, height, color of hair and eyes, and
+other particulars appeared across the back of this terrible paper,
+which was duly signed and ready for service.</p>
+
+<p>A tap of the bell,&mdash;a push of an electric button,&mdash;and Mlle. Fouchette
+would be in prison.</p>
+
+<p>There were five distinct counts against her, set forth in ponderous
+and damning legal phraseology and briefed alphabetically with a
+precision that carried conviction:</p>
+
+<p>"A.&mdash;Vagrant&mdash;no home&mdash;supposed to have come from Nantes.</p>
+
+<p>"B.&mdash;Consort of thieves&mdash;confession of life convict called 'le
+Cochon,' drawer 379, R.M.L. 29.</p>
+
+<p>"C.&mdash;Go-between of robbers of the wood of Vincennes and receivers of
+stolen goods. Confession of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>M. Podvin, wine merchant, now serving
+term of twenty-one years for highway robbery, drawer 1210, R.M.L. 70.</p>
+
+<p>"D.&mdash;Fugitive from State institution, where sent by lawful authority.
+See Le Bon Pasteur, Nancy. R.I. 2734.</p>
+
+<p>"E.&mdash;Lost or destroyed public document addressed to the Pr&eacute;fecture and
+confided to her care under her false representation of being an
+authorized agent of that department of the government."</p>
+
+<p>The service of this dreadful order of arrest, behind which crouched
+these crimes ready to rise and spring upon her, was suspended by
+Inspector Loup. For which tenderness and mercy Fouchette was merely to
+report to the Secret Service bureau in accordance with a preconcerted
+arrangement.</p>
+
+<p><i>Second</i>, Madeleine.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had scarcely ceased to bless Inspector Loup for his
+forbearance and kind consideration and was crossing the Pont au Change
+towards the right bank when she encountered a familiar face. She was
+somewhat startled at first. Her catalogue of familiar faces was so
+limited that it was a sensation.</p>
+
+<p>It was the face she had seen through the iron gate on the road to
+Charenton long, long ago!</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat fuller, somewhat redder, with suspicious circles under the
+lustrous eyes, yet, unmistakably, the same face. The plump figure
+looked still more robust, and the athletic limbs showed through the
+scant bloomer bicycle suit.</p>
+
+<p>The owner of this face and figure did not recognize <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>in the other the
+petite chiffonni&egrave;re de Charenton. That would have been too much to
+expect.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! but, mademoiselle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette boldly accosted her nevertheless.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! You don't remember me? I'm Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mademoiselle. You do not remember the poor little ragpicker of
+Charenton? But of course not,&mdash;it was long ago, and I have changed."</p>
+
+<p>The other stared at her with her big black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I was hungry,&mdash;you gave me a nice sandwich; it was kind,&mdash;and I do
+not easily forget, mademoiselle,&mdash;though I'm only Fouchette,&mdash;no!"</p>
+
+<p>"What! Fouchette&mdash;the&mdash;dame! it is impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>"Still, it is true, mademoiselle," insisted Fouchette, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I see&mdash;I know&mdash;why, it is Fouchette! 'Only Fouchette'&mdash;oh! sacr&eacute;
+bleu! To think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She embraced the girl between each exclamation, then held her out at
+arm's length and looked her over critically, from head to feet and
+back again, then kissed her some more on both cheeks, laughing merrily
+the while, and attracting the amused attention of numerous passers.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette realized, vaguely, that the laugh was not that of the
+pretty garden of years ago; she saw that the flushed cheeks were toned
+down by cosmetics; she noted the vinous smell on the woman's breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Heavens! but how thin and pale you are, petite!" exclaimed the
+bicycliste.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>"It is true. I have just come out of the hospital&mdash;only a few
+days&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pauvrette! Come! Let us celebrate this happy reunion," said the
+other, grasping Fouchette's arm and striding along the bridge. "You
+shall tell me everything, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mademoiselle&mdash;er&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Madeleine,&mdash;just Madeleine, Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Madeleine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I live over here,&mdash;au Quartier Latin. It is the only place&mdash;the place
+to see life. It is Paris! C'est la vie joyeuse!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! then you no longer live at&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Let us begin here, Fouchette," interrupted Mlle. Madeleine, gravely,
+"and let us never talk about Charenton,&mdash;never! It cannot be a
+pleasant subject to you,&mdash;it is painful to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, pardon me, mademoiselle, I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"So it is understood, is it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"With all my heart, mademoiselle!" said Fouchette, not sorry to
+conclude such a desirable bargain.</p>
+
+<p>"Very good. We begin here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and as if we had never before seen or heard of each other."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"Good! Now, what are you doing for a living, Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Good! So am I."</p>
+
+<p>They laughed quite a great deal at this remarkable coincidence as they
+went along. And when Mlle. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>Fouchette protested that she must do
+something,&mdash;sewing, or something,&mdash;Mlle. Madeleine laughed yet more
+loudly, though Mlle. Fouchette saw nothing humorous in the situation.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody works in the Quartier Latin," said Madeleine. "C'est la vie
+joyeuse."</p>
+
+<p>"But one must eat, mademoiselle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Very sure! Yes, and drink; but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Madeleine scrutinized her companion closely,&mdash;evidently Mlle.
+Fouchette was in earnest. Such na&iuml;vet&eacute; in a ragpicker was absurd,
+preposterous!</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there are the studios," suggested Madeleine.</p>
+
+<p>"The&mdash;the studios?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;the painters, you know; only models are a drug in the market
+here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Models?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and, then, unless one has the figure&mdash;&mdash;" she glanced at
+Fouchette doubtfully. "I'm getting too stout for anything but Roman
+mothers, Breton peasants, etc. You're too thin even for an angel or
+ballet dancer."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I'd rather be a danseuse than an angel," said
+Fouchette,&mdash;"that is, if I've got any choice in the matter."</p>
+
+<p>"But one hasn't. You've got to pose in whatever character they want.
+Did you ever pose?"</p>
+
+<p>"As a painter's model? Never."</p>
+
+<p>Having ensconced themselves in a popular caf&eacute; restaurant on Boulevard
+St. Michel, the pair ordered an appetizing d&eacute;jeuner, and Madeleine
+proceeded to enlighten Fouchette on the subject of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>profession,&mdash;the character and peculiarities of various artists, their
+exactions of models, the recompense for holding a certain pose for a
+given time, the difficulty and art of resuming exactly the same pose,
+the studios for classes in the nude, the students generally and their
+pranks and games,&mdash;especially upon this latter branch of the business.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette listened to all this with breathless interest, as may
+be imagined. For it was the opening up of a new world to her. The
+vivid description of the dancing and fun at the Bal Bullier filled her
+with delight and enthusiasm. She mentally vowed Madeleine as charming
+and condescending as ever. The girl had volunteered, good-naturedly,
+to make the rounds of the studios with her and get her "on the list."
+When Madeleine offered to engineer Fouchette's d&eacute;but at the Bullier
+the latter cheerfully paid for the repast the other had rather
+lavishly ordered.</p>
+
+<p>The mere chance rencontre had changed Fouchette's entire plan of life.
+She had bravely started for the grand boulevards with the idea of
+securing employment among the myriad dressmaking establishments of
+that neighborhood, and thus putting to practical use her industrial
+knowledge gained at Le Bon Pasteur.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately for her, Monsieur Marot's generous liberality had placed
+her beyond immediate need. A matron had equipped her with a new though
+simple costume and had given her a sum of money as she left,&mdash;merely
+saying that she acted according to instructions; but Fouchette felt
+that it was from her prince.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>It was on the advice of Madeleine that Fouchette had secured this
+place in the Rue St. Jacques.</p>
+
+<p>"It will make you independent and respected," said the practical
+grisette. "You've got the money now; you won't have it after a while.
+Take my advice,&mdash;fix the place up,&mdash;gradually, don't you know? You'll
+soon make friends who will help you if you're smart; and one must have
+a place to receive friends, n'est-ce pas? And the hotels garnis rob
+one shamefully!"</p>
+
+<p>And, while Mlle. Fouchette did not dream of the real significance of
+this advice, she took it. The details were hers. She knew the value of
+a sou about as well as any woman in Paris, and no instructions were
+required on the subject of expenditures. She collected, piece by
+piece, at bottom prices, those articles which had to be purchased;
+made, stitch by stitch, such as required the needle.</p>
+
+<p>To Mlle. Fouchette the simple, cheaply furnished and somewhat tawdry
+little room in the Rue St. Jacques was luxury. She was proud of it.
+She was perfectly contented with it. It was home.</p>
+
+<p>With the confidence of one who has seen the worst and for whom every
+change must be for the better, Fouchette had succeeded where others
+would have been discouraged. This confidence to others often seemed
+reckless indifference, and consequently carried a certain degree of
+conviction.</p>
+
+<p>Among a certain class of wild young men and confirmed Bohemians
+Fouchette had quickly achieved a sort of vogue which attaches to an
+eccentric woman in Paris. She was eccentric in that she danced
+eccentric dances, was the most reckless in the sportive circle, the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>highest kicker at the Bullier, and, most of all, in that she had no
+lovers. Unlike the Mimi Pinsons of the Murger era of the quarter,
+Fouchette was the most notorious of grisettes without being a
+grisette. At the f&ecirc;te of the student painters at the Bullier she had
+been borne on a palanquin clad only in a garland of roses amid
+thousands of vociferous young people of both sexes. The same night she
+had kicked a young man's front teeth out for presuming on liberties
+other girls of her set would have considered trifling.</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette at once became the reigning sensation of "la vie joyeuse."
+Having had little or no pleasure in the world up to her entr&eacute;e here,
+she had plunged into the gayety of the quarter with an abandon that
+within two short months had made the Bohemian tales of Henri Murger
+tame reading.</p>
+
+<p>Her pedal dexterity in a quarrel had won for her the sobriquet of "La
+Savati&egrave;re."</p>
+
+<p>The "savate" as practised by the French boxer is the art of using the
+feet the same as the hands, and it is a means of offence not to be
+despised. It is the feline art that utilizes all four limbs in combat.
+Fouchette acquired it in her infancy,&mdash;in the fun and frequent
+scrimmages of the quarter she found occasion to practise it. Mlle.
+Fouchette's temper was as eccentric as her dances.</p>
+
+<p>On the wall of Mlle. Fouchette's room hung a rude crayon of that
+damsel by a prominent caricaturist. It was a front view of her face,
+in which the artist had maliciously accentuated, in a few bold
+strokes, the feline fulness of jaws, the half-contracted eyelids, the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>alert eyes, and general catlike expression,&mdash;to be seen only when
+Mlle. Fouchette was in anger. It was the subtle touch of the master,
+and was labelled "La Petite Chatte."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, c&egrave;!" she would say to curious visitors,&mdash;"it is not me; it is the
+mind of L&eacute;andre."</p>
+
+<p>As Mlle. Fouchette stood tiptoeing before a little folding mirror on
+the high mantel, the reflection showed both front and sides of a face
+that betrayed none of these characteristics. In fact, the blonde hair,
+smoothed flat to the skull and draping low over the ears, after the
+fashion set by a popular actress of the day, gave her the demure look
+of a young woman who might shriek at the sight of a man in his
+shirt-sleeves. Which shows that it is exceedingly unsafe to judge by
+appearances,&mdash;of a woman, especially. The slender figure showed that
+the physical indications in the delicately rounded arm, the taper
+fingers, and shapely feet were justified by the proportionate
+development of the rest of her anatomy. Nature had been gentle rather
+than generous. Mlle. Fouchette was in demand for angels and ballet
+dancers.</p>
+
+<p>Her face, evidently, did not suit Mlle. Fouchette, since she was at
+this moment in the act of touching it up and making it over with
+colors from an enamelled box,&mdash;a trick of the Parisienne of every
+grade.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had scarcely put the finishing touches to her artistic
+job when her door vibrated under a vigorous blow.</p>
+
+<p>She paused, hesitated, flushed with symptoms of a rising temper. One
+does not feel kindly towards persons hurling themselves thus against
+one's private <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>door. But the noise continued, as if somebody beat the
+heavy planking with the fist, and Mlle. Fouchette threw the door open.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Madeleine staggered into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"How's this? melon!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! so you're here,&mdash;you are not there!" gasped the intruder, falling
+into a seat and fixing her black eyes sullenly upon the other.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette closed the door with a snap and confronted her visitor
+with a hardening face.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it was you, Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Madeleine, you're drunk!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no, no! I have had such a&mdash;a&mdash;turn, deary,&mdash;pardon me! But
+she had the same figure,&mdash;the same hair,&mdash;mon Dieu!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I don't know, Fouchette,&mdash;the woman with him, you know,&mdash;with
+Henri, Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>The speaker seemed overcome with mingled terror and anger. She stopped
+to collect her thoughts,&mdash;to get her breath.</p>
+
+<p>"What a fool you are, Madeleine! I wouldn't go on that way for the
+best man living! No!"</p>
+
+<p>And Fouchette thought of Jean Marot, and mentally included him.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Fouchette, dear, you do not know! You cannot know! You never
+loved! You cannot love! You are calm and cold and indifferent,&mdash;it is
+your nature. Mine! I am consumed by fire,&mdash;it grips my very vitals!
+Ah! Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! Madeleine, it is absinthe," said Fouchette, only half
+pityingly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>"No, no, no, no!" moaned the other, covering her face with her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"So this Lerouge has disappeared, eh? Well, then, let him go, fool!
+Are there not others?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! Fouchette, how you talk!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who is this lucky woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know,&mdash;I do not know! Pardon me for thinking it, Fouchette,
+but I was half crazy,&mdash;I thought but just now that it was&mdash;was you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Idiot!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know; but one does not stop to reason where one loves."</p>
+
+<p>"As if I would throw myself into the arms of any man! You sicken me,
+Madeleine. But I thought this Lerouge, whoever he is,&mdash;I never even
+saw him,&mdash;had disappeared&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"From his place in the Rue Monge, yes. Fouchette, why should he run
+away?"</p>
+
+<p>"With a girl he likes better than you? What a question! All men do
+that, you silly goose!"</p>
+
+<p>"He said it was his sister. Bah! I know better, Fouchette. Her name's
+Remy,&mdash;yes, Mademoiselle Remy. And a little, skinny, tow-headed thing
+like&mdash;oh! no, no, no! Fouchette, pardon me! I didn't mean that! I'm
+half crazy!"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you," said Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Monsieur Marot told me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had started so perceptibly that the speaker stopped.
+Mlle. Fouchette had carefully guarded her own secrets, but this sudden
+surprise was&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, melon!" she snapped.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>"I&mdash;why, I didn't know you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What did Monsieur Marot tell you?" demanded the other.</p>
+
+<p>"That her name was Remy."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Mlle. Fouchette, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>"So you know Monsieur Marot? They say he resembles Lerouge, but I
+don't think so. Anyhow, he's in love with Mademoiselle Remy."</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette's steel-blue eyes flashed fire.</p>
+
+<p>"You lie!" she screamed, in sudden frenzy. "You lie! you drunken
+gossip!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Madeleine was on her feet in an instant, but Fouchette's right
+foot caught her on the point of the chin, and the stout grisette went
+down like a log.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER VIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>Madeleine came to her senses to find her antagonist bending over her
+with a wet towel and weeping hysterically.</p>
+
+<p>They immediately embraced and wept together.</p>
+
+<p>Then Mlle. Fouchette rummaged in the deep closet in the wall and
+brought forth a bottle of cognac. Whereupon Madeleine not only
+suddenly dried her tears but began to smile. Half an hour later she
+had forgotten all unpleasantness and went away leaving many
+endearments behind her.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was scarcely less astonished at her own outburst than
+had been her friend Madeleine, when she had time to think of it.</p>
+
+<p>What could Jean Marot be to her, Fouchette? Nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Suppose he did love this Mlle. Remy, what of it? Nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur Marot was a being afar off, inaccessible, almost
+intangible,&mdash;like the millionaire employer to his humble workman,
+covered with sweat and grime, at the bottom of the shop.</p>
+
+<p>When Mlle. Fouchette thought of him it was only in that way, and she
+would have no more thought of even so much as wishing for him than she
+would have wished for the moon to play with. She had met him, by
+accident, twice since her departure from his roof, and the first time
+he had a hurried, uneasy air, as if he feared she might presume to
+detain him. The second time he had gone out of his way to stop her and
+talk <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>to her and to inquire what she was doing and how she was getting
+along,&mdash;condescendingly, as one might interest himself for the moment
+in a former servant.</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time Jean Marot had held himself aloof from "la vie
+joyeuse" and from the reunions at "Le Petit Rouge." It attracted the
+attention of his associates.</p>
+
+<p>"First Lerouge, now it's Jean," growled Villeroy. "Comes of loafing
+along the quais nights,&mdash;it's malaria."</p>
+
+<p>"He's greatly changed," remarked another student.</p>
+
+<p>"It's worry," said another.</p>
+
+<p>"Probably debts," observed young Massard, thinking of his chief
+affliction.</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! that kind of worry never pulls you down like this," retorted a
+companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, don't get personal; but debts do worry a fellow,&mdash;debts and
+women."</p>
+
+<p>"Put women first; debts follow as a necessary corollary."</p>
+
+<p>"He ought to hunt up Lerouge. What the devil is in that Lerouge,
+anyhow?"</p>
+
+<p>"More women," said Massard.</p>
+
+<p>"And debts, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well," continued Massard, "if she is a pretty woman&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"She's more than pretty," cut in George Villeroy,&mdash;"she's a beauty!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hear! hear! Tr&egrave;s bien!"</p>
+
+<p>But the student turned to the "subject" on the "dressing-table,"
+humming a gay chanson of Musset:</p>
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"'Nous allons chanter &agrave; la ronde,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Si vous voulez.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Que je l'adore, et qu'elle est blonde<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Comme les bl&eacute;s!'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"A man never should neglect his lectures for anything, and that's what
+both Lerouge and Jean are doing," remarked a serious young man,
+looking up from his book.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and the first thing our comrade Marot will know, he'll be
+recalled by his choleric father. He's taken to absinthe, too&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Which is worse."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>The</i> worst&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And prowling&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And moping off alone."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the lady's name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"What! the wild, untamed&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"La Savati&egrave;re? Nonsense!"</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a lock of her hair in evidence," remarked Massard, going to a
+drawer and taking out a bit of paper. "It is as clear to my mind as it
+was to the police that Monsieur Marot had that girl, or some other
+like her, up here that night."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see that," said Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p>"I found it on the floor the next day,&mdash;the inspector took away quite
+a bunch of it," continued the young man, as the other examined the
+lock.</p>
+
+<p>"There are two women who have hair like that," said
+Villeroy,&mdash;"Fouchette and the girl who goes with Lerouge. Now, which
+is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her name is Remy,&mdash;Mademoiselle Remy," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>observed Massard; "and, as
+George says, she's a beauty&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Which cannot be said of La Savati&egrave;re."</p>
+
+<p>"No; and yet&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Lerouge keeps his beauty mighty close," interrupted Massard. "I never
+saw her but once, and she reminded me of that little devil, Fouchette,
+who stands in with the police, or she would have been locked up a
+dozen times."</p>
+
+<p>"Very likely," observed Villeroy.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>It was now Mardi Gras, and the whole Ville Lumi&egrave;re was en f&ecirc;te. The
+left bank of the Seine, the resort of nearly twenty thousand students,
+was especially joyous.</p>
+
+<p>There was one young man, however, who chose to be alone, and he stood
+apart from the world, leaning over the worn parapet of the Pont Neuf,
+gazing idly on the rushing waters of the Seine.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot loved the noble span that for more than three hundred years
+had connected the ancient Isle de la Cit&eacute; with the mainland. A long
+line of kings, queens, emperors, princes, princesses, and noblemen of
+every degree had lived and passed the Pont Neuf. Royal knights, stout
+men-at-arms, myriads of mailed warriors and citizen soldiers,
+countless multitudes of men and women, had come and gone above these
+massive stone arches of three centuries.</p>
+
+<p>Yet the young man thought not of these. His mind was occupied by one
+little, slender, fair-haired woman, and that one unattainable. Had he
+analyzed his new mental condition, he might have marvelled that the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>little winged god could have aimed so straight and let fly so
+unexpectedly. True love, however, does not come of reasoning, but
+rather in spite of it. And, to do Jean's Latin race justice, he never
+thought of doing such a thing, and thus spared his love being reduced
+to a palpable absurdity. The bronze shadow of that royal Latin lover,
+Henri IV., looked down upon the modern Frenchman approvingly.</p>
+
+<p>A sharp shower of confetti and the laughter of young girls roused the
+young man from his revery and brought his thoughts down to date.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur has forgotten that Boulevard St. Michel is en f&ecirc;te," said a
+rich contralto voice behind him.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to receive a handful of confetti dashed smartly in his face
+and to look into a pair of bold black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! It is Monsieur Marot!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hello! Madeleine,&mdash;you, Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur," replied the latter gayly. "And you,&mdash;is it a day to
+dream of casting one's self into the Seine?"</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the object of this raillery was busily extracting bits of
+colored paper from his eyebrows and neck,&mdash;a wholly useless
+proceeding, for both girls immediately deluged him with a fresh
+avalanche.</p>
+
+<p>Madeleine was in her costume &agrave; la bicyclette, her sailor hat tipped
+forward to such a degree that it was necessary for her to elevate her
+stout chin in order to see anything on a level. Mlle. Fouchette
+affected the clinging, fluffy style of costume best suited to her
+figure, while her rare blonde hair &agrave; la Merode was her distinguishing
+feature. She dominated the older <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>and stouter girl as if the latter
+were an irresponsible junior.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot knew very well the type of grisette indigenous to the
+Quartier Latin.</p>
+
+<p>The day justified all sorts of familiarity, and his black velvet b&eacute;ret
+and flowing black scarf were an invitation to fraternity, good
+fellowship, and confidence.</p>
+
+<p>Both young women were in high spirits and carried in bags of fancy
+netting with tricolor draw-strings their surplus stock of confetti,
+and an enormous quantity of the surplus stock of other manifestants in
+their hair and clothing. As fast as Jean picked out the confetti from
+his neck Mlle. Madeleine playfully squandered other handfuls on him,
+winding up by covering the young man with the entire contents of her
+bag at a single coup.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Madeleine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur will buy us some more," replied that young woman.</p>
+
+<p>"How foolish!" said Mlle. Fouchette, affecting a charming modesty. She
+had a way of cocking her fair head to one side like a bird.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, mes enfants," said Jean. "Come along."</p>
+
+<p>The three linked arms and passed off the bridge and up the Rue
+Dauphine and Rue de Monsieur le Prince for Boulevard St. Michel, the
+lively young women distributing confetti in liberal doses and taking
+similar punishment in utmost good humor, Jean not sorry for the time
+being at finding this temporary distraction. He had generously
+replenished the pretty <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>bags from the first baraque, though they were
+quickly emptied again in the narrow Rue de Monsieur le Prince, where a
+hot engagement between students and "filles du quartier" was in
+progress.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Madeleine was fairly choking with laughter. She had just caught
+a young man with his mouth open, by a trick of the elbow; and as he
+mutely sputtered confetti her petite blonde companion caught her long
+skirt aside and kicked his hat off. This "coup de pied" was
+administered with such marvellous grace and dexterity that even the
+victim joined in the roar of laughter that followed it. A thin smile
+spread over her pale face as Jean looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"La Savati&egrave;re,&mdash;bravo!" cried a youth.</p>
+
+<p>"C'est le lapin du Luxembourg," said another.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"There, monsieur," remarked Fouchette, slyly, "you see I'm getting
+known in the quarter."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't wonder," said Jean, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>They found seats beneath the awnings at the Taverne du Panth&eacute;on. The
+rain of confetti was getting to be a deluge. He asked them what they
+would have.</p>
+
+<p>"Un ballon, gar&ccedil;on," said Mlle. Fouchette, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>This designated a small glass of beer, served in a balloon-shaped
+glass like a large claret glass.</p>
+
+<p>Madeleine also would take "un ballon," Jean contenting himself with
+the usual "bock,"&mdash;an ordinary glass of beer.</p>
+
+<p>Each covered the beer with the little saucer, to protect it from the
+occasional gust of confetti that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>even found its way to the extreme
+rear of the half a hundred sidewalk sitters.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had been studying the young man from the corners of
+her eyes. She saw him greatly changed. His handsome face betrayed
+marks of worry or dissipation,&mdash;she decided on the latter. What could
+a young man in his enviable position have to worry about? Was it
+possible that&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur," she began at once, with the air of an ing&eacute;nue, "they say
+you strongly resemble one Lerouge,&mdash;that you are often taken one for
+the other. Is it so?"</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at her inquiringly, while Madeleine patted the ground with
+her foot.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever seen Henri Lerouge?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, never," replied Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Does he look like me, Madeleine?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not much, monsieur," responded that damsel. "Have you seen him,&mdash;have
+you seen Lerouge lately?"</p>
+
+<p>"No,&mdash;no," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"From what I learn," remarked Mlle. Fouchette, with a precision and
+nonchalance that defied suspicion, "Monsieur Lerouge is probably off
+in some sweet solitude unknown to vulgar eye enjoying his honeymoon."</p>
+
+<p>Madeleine shot one furious glance at the speaker; but not daring to
+trust her tongue, she suddenly excused herself and disappeared in the
+throng.</p>
+
+<p>Jean saw that she had been cut to the quick, and her abrupt action
+served for the moment to dull the pain at his own heart. He concealed
+his resentment at this malicious&mdash;but, after all, this "child of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>police" could not know. He shifted the talk to Madeleine.</p>
+
+<p>"You seem to have offended her, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! Madeleine is that jealous&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What? Lerouge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of Lerouge. Can't you see?"</p>
+
+<p>"No,&mdash;that is, I didn't know that she had anything in common with
+Lerouge."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, &ccedil;a! When she flies into a rage at the mention of him and another
+woman? Monsieur is not gifted with surprising penetration."</p>
+
+<p>"But Mademoiselle Madeleine is rather a handsome girl," he observed,
+tentatively. While he mentally resolved not to be robbed of his own
+secret he was not averse to gaining any information this girl might
+possess.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," said she,&mdash;"for those who admire the robust style. But you
+should see the other; she's an angel!"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed?"</p>
+
+<p>It was hard to put this in a tone of indifference, and he felt her
+eyes upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to see her. You know angels are not to be seen every day."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Lerouge can be trusted, I suppose, to render these visions
+as fleeting and rare as possible."</p>
+
+<p>He winced perceptibly.</p>
+
+<p>"But Madeleine has magnificent eyes," he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"This other has the eyes of heaven, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"And as for figure&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>"Chut! monsieur is joking,&mdash;the form of a Normandie nurse!
+Mademoiselle Remy is the sculptor's dream!"</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot laughed. This unstinted praise of the girl who had
+fascinated him,&mdash;who had robbed him of his rest,&mdash;who had without an
+effort, and unconsciously, taken possession of his soul,&mdash;it was
+incense to him. Truly, Mlle. Fouchette had an artistic eye,&mdash;a most
+excellent judgment. It extracted the sting&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," continued Mlle. Fouchette, looking through him as if he were so
+much glass, "a great artist said to me the other day&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! but, mademoiselle, does your new beauty,&mdash;the 'sculptor's
+dream,' you know,&mdash;does she do the studios of the quarter?"</p>
+
+<p>"No! Why should she?"</p>
+
+<p>He was silent. Would she have another drink?</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks! Un ballon, gar&ccedil;on," repeated Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>They looked at the crowd in silence for a while.</p>
+
+<p>The scene was inspiriting. With the shades of evening the joyous
+struggle waxed more furious. The entire street was now taken up by the
+merrymakers, who made the air resound with their screams and shrieks
+of laughter. The confetti lay three or four inches deep on the walks,
+where street gamins slyly scraped it into private receptacles for
+second use. The haze of dust hung over the broad Boulevard St. Michel
+like a morning fog over a swamp. Mlle. Fouchette watched the scene for
+a few minutes without a word. Both were thinking of something else.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>"She'll soon get over it, never fear."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so," he said, knowing that she still spoke of Madeleine,
+and somewhat bored at her reappearance in the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"A woman does not go on loving a man who never cares for her,&mdash;who
+loves another."</p>
+
+<p>"'Loves another,'" he repeated, absently.</p>
+
+<p>"But if Madeleine meets them just now,&mdash;oh! look out, monsieur! She's
+a tiger!"</p>
+
+<p>He shuddered. He was unable to stand this any longer; he rose
+absent-mindedly and, with scant courtesy to the gossipper,
+incontinently fled.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! what a handsome fellow he is! Yet he is certainly a fool about
+women. A pig like Madeleine! But, then, all men are fools when it
+comes to a woman."</p>
+
+<p>With this bit of philosophy Mlle. Fouchette buried her dainty nose in
+the last "ballon." She quenched a rising sigh by the operation. For
+some reason she was not quite happy. As she withdrew it her face
+suddenly became all animation.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" she muttered, "I'd give my last louis now if that melon,
+Madeleine, could only see that."</p>
+
+<p>Directly in front of her and not ten feet distant a young man and a
+young girl slowly forced a passage through the conflicting currents of
+boisterous people. The man was anywhere between twenty-five and
+thirty, of supple figure, serious face, and sombre eyes that lighted
+up reluctantly at all of this frivolity. It was only when they were
+turned upon the sweet young face of the girl at his side that they
+took on a glow of inexpressible sweetness.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>"Truly!" said Mlle. Fouchette to herself, "but she is something on my
+style."</p>
+
+<p>Which is perhaps the highest compliment one woman can pay another. It
+meant that her "style" was quite satisfactory,&mdash;the right thing. Yet
+Mlle. Fouchette really needed some fifty pounds of additional flesh to
+get into the same class.</p>
+
+<p>If the rippling laughter, the shining azure of her eyes, the
+ever-changing expression of her mobile mouth, and now and then the
+rapt look bestowed upon her companion were indications, she certainly
+was a happy young woman. Her right hand rested upon his arm, her left
+shielded her face from the too fierce onslaughts of confetti. Neither
+of them took an active part in the fun. That, however, did not deter
+the young men from complimenting her with a continuous shower of
+confetti. The girl laughingly shook it out of her beautiful blonde
+hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Allons donc! She has my hair, too!" thought Mlle. Fouchette. It is
+impossible not to admire ourselves in others.</p>
+
+<p>With the excitement of an unaccustomed pleasure mantling her neck and
+cheeks the girl was certainly a pretty picture. The plain and simple
+costume was of the cut of the provinces rather than that of Paris, but
+it set off the lithe and graceful figure that needed no artificiality
+of the dressmaker to enforce its petite perfection.</p>
+
+<p>"That must be Lerouge," thought Mlle. Fouchette. "He does look
+something like&mdash;no; it is imagination. He is not nearly so handsome as
+Monsieur Marot. But she is sweet!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>The couple were forced over against the chairs by the crowd and Mlle.
+Fouchette got a good look at them. The eyes of Mlle. Remy met
+hers,&mdash;they sought the face of her companion, and returned and rested
+curiously upon Mlle. Fouchette. The glance of her escort followed in
+the same direction. And even after they had passed he half turned
+again and looked back at the girl sitting alone amid the crowd under
+the awning.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot had plunged into the throng to try and shake off the
+unpleasant suggestions of Mlle. Fouchette. While he felt instinctively
+the feminine malice, it was none the less bitter to his taste. It was
+opening a wound afresh and salting it. He felt that the idea suggested
+by "La Savati&egrave;re" was intolerable,&mdash;impossible. He paced up and down
+alone in the Luxembourg gardens until retreat was sounded. Then he
+re-entered the boulevard by the Place de M&eacute;dicis, dodged a bevy of
+singing grisettes in male attire, to suddenly find himself face to
+face with the object of his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>How beautiful, and sweet and pure and innocent she looked! The
+laughing eyes, the profusion of hair with its tint of gold, now
+sparkling with confetti, the two rows of pearls between their rich
+rims of red,&mdash;it surely was an angel from the skies and not a woman
+who stood before him! And his knees trembled with the desire to let
+him to the earth at her feet.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl regarded him first in semi-recognition, then with blank
+astonishment,&mdash;as well she might. She shrank closer to her protector.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>Henri Lerouge had at first looked at his former friend with a dark and
+scowling face; but Jean had seen only the girl, and therefore failed
+to note the expression of satisfaction that swiftly succeeded.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! but, monsieur, even Mardi Gras does not excuse a boor." And
+Lerouge somewhat roughly elbowed him to one side.</p>
+
+<p>The insult from Lerouge was nothing. Jean never thought of that. She
+had come, she had ignored him, she had gone,&mdash;the woman he loved!</p>
+
+<p>He stood speechless for a moment, then staggered away, his self-love
+bleeding.</p>
+
+<p>Unconsciously he had taken the direction they had gone, slowly groping
+his way rather than walking, next to the iron fence of the Luxembourg
+gardens, past the great School of Mines, along the Boulevard St.
+Michel towards the Observatory. Like a drunken man he stuck close to
+the walls, and thus crossed the obtuse angle into Rue
+Denfert-Rocherau. Hesitating at the tomb-like buildings that mark the
+entrance to the catacombs at the end of that street, he leaned against
+the great wrought-iron grille and tried to collect his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>He remembered now; this was where he had gone down one day to view the
+rows and stacks of boxes and vaults of mouldering bones. Yes, he even
+recalled the humorous idea of that day that there were more Parisians
+beneath the pavements of Paris than above them, and that they slept
+better o' nights.</p>
+
+<p>The cold wind stirred the branches, and they grated against the fence
+with a dismal, sighing sound.</p>
+
+<p>"Loves another!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>Was it not that which it said?</p>
+
+<p>"Loves another!" in plain and well-measured cadence.</p>
+
+<p>And the word "l-o-v-e-s" was long and sorrowfully drawn out, and
+"another" came sharply decisive.</p>
+
+<p>He wandered on, aimlessly, yet in the general direction of Montrouge.
+Fouchette,&mdash;yes, she had told the truth. He&mdash;where was he?</p>
+
+<p>The streets up here were practically deserted, the entire population,
+apparently, having gone to the boulevards. Here and there some
+rez-de-chauss&eacute;e aglow showed the usual gossippers of the concierges.
+Now and then isolated merrymakers were returning, covered with
+confetti, having exhausted themselves and the pleasures of the day
+together.</p>
+
+<p>Rue Hall&eacute;,&mdash;he remembered now, though he scarcely noted it.</p>
+
+<p>All at once his heart gave a bound. His mind came down to vulgar
+earth. It was at the sight of a solitary woman who sped swiftly round
+the corner from the Avenue d'Orl&eacute;ans and came towards him. Her stout
+figure between him and the electric light cast a long shadow down the
+street,&mdash;the shadow of a woman in bloomer costume, with a hat perched
+forward at an angle of forty-five degrees.</p>
+
+<p>It was Mlle. Madeleine.</p>
+
+<p>What could she be doing here at this hour,&mdash;she, who lived in Rue
+Monge?</p>
+
+<p>Before he could answer this question she was almost upon him. But she
+was so absorbed in her own purposes that she saw him not, merely
+turning to the right up the Rue Hall&eacute; with the quick and certain step
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>of one who knows. Her black brows were set fiercely, and beneath them
+the big dark eyes glittered dangerously. Her full lips were tightly
+compressed; in the firmness of her tread was a world of determination.</p>
+
+<p>Jean had obtained a good view of her face as she crossed the street,
+and he shuddered. For in it he saw reflected the state of his own
+tempestuous soul. He had read therein his own mind distempered by love
+and doubt and torn by jealousy, disappointment, and despair.</p>
+
+<p>He recalled the warning of Mlle. Fouchette, and he trembled for the
+woman he loved. Well he comprehended the French character where love
+and hatred are concerned.</p>
+
+<p>At Rue Bezout the girl turned to the left, crossed over, and ran
+rather than walked towards Avenue Montsouris. Jean ran until he
+reached the corner, then cautiously peeped around it. Had he not done
+so he would have come upon her, for she had stopped within two metres
+and fumbled nervously with a package. He could hear her panting and
+murmuring in her deep voice. She tore the string from the package with
+her teeth and threw the paper wrapper on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>It was a bottle of bluish liquid.</p>
+
+<p>His heart stood still as he saw it; his legs almost failed him. If he
+had seen the intended victim of this diabolical design approaching at
+that moment he felt that he would scarcely have the strength to cry
+out in warning, so overwhelmed was he with the horror of it.</p>
+
+<p>What should he do? Would they come this way, or <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>by Montsouris? He
+might fall upon her suddenly,&mdash;overpower her where she stood!</p>
+
+<p>Jean softly peeped once more around the angle of the wall. She was
+trying to extract the cork from the bottle with a pair of tiny
+scissors, but, being half frantic with haste and passion, she had only
+broken one point after the other.</p>
+
+<p>A sweet and silvery laugh behind him sent his heart into his throat.
+It was Lerouge and Mlle. Remy coming leisurely along the Rue Hall&eacute;. It
+was now or&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>But a second glance over his shoulder showed that they had turned down
+the narrow Rue Dareau. Madeleine had made a mistake.</p>
+
+<p>Almost at the same instant a piercing shriek of agony burst upon the
+night. The scream seemed to split his ears, so near was it, so deep
+the pain and terror of it.</p>
+
+<p>And there lay the miserable woman writhing on the walk, tearing out
+great wisps of her dark hair in her intolerable suffering, and filling
+the air with heart-rending cries of distress.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER IX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>Jean Marot was not, as has been seen, an extraordinary type of his
+countrymen. Sensitive, sympathetic, impulsive, passionate, extreme in
+all things, he embodied in method and temperament the characteristics
+of his race.</p>
+
+<p>His first impulse upon realizing what had befallen the misguided girl
+of Rue Monge was the impulse common to humanity. But as he flew to her
+succor he saw others running from various directions, attracted by her
+cries and moved by the same motive.</p>
+
+<p>To be found there would not only be useless but dangerous,&mdash;for the
+girl as well as for himself. Therefore he discreetly took to his
+heels.</p>
+
+<p>Flight at such a moment is confession of guilt. So it followed quite
+naturally that a comprehension of what had happened sent a
+considerable portion of the first-comers after the fleeing man.</p>
+
+<p>"Assassin!"</p>
+
+<p>"Vitrioleur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop him!"</p>
+
+<p>These are very inspiring cries with a clamorous French mob to howl
+them. To be caught under such circumstances is to run imminent risk of
+summary punishment. And the vitriol-thrower is not an uncommon feature
+of Parisian criminal life; there would be little hesitation where one
+is caught, as it were, red-handed.</p>
+
+<p>Jean ran these possibilities through his mind as he dashed down a side
+street into the Avenue Montsouris. Fear did not exactly lend him
+wings, but it certainly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>did not retard his flight. And he had the
+additional advantage that he was not yelling at every jump and lost no
+time in false direction. He doubled by way of Rue Dareau, cut into Rue
+de la Tombe-Issoire over the net-work of railway tracks, and then
+dropped into a walk. But not so soon that he escaped the observation
+of a police agent standing in the shadow in the next narrow turning
+towards the railway station. The officer heard his panting breath long
+before Jean got near him, and rightly conjectured that the student was
+running away from something. To detain him for an explanation was an
+obvious duty.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now! Monsieur seems to be in a hurry," said he, as he suddenly
+stepped in front of the fugitive.</p>
+
+<p>This official apparition would have startled even a man who was not in
+a hurry, but Jean quickly recovered his self-possession.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur; I go for a doctor. A sick&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! but you have just passed the hospital. That won't do, young
+man!"</p>
+
+<p>The agent made a gesture to seize his suspect, but at that moment Jean
+saw two other agents in the distance walking rapidly to join their
+comrade. He upper-cut the man sharply, catching him squarely on the
+point of the chin and sending him to grass with a mangled and bleeding
+tongue.</p>
+
+<p>There appeared to be no help for it, but the young man now had two
+fresh pursuers. At any rate, he was free. It would be to his shame, he
+thought, if he could not distance two men in heavy cowhide boots,
+encumbered with cloaks and sabres. So he started down the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>Rue de la
+Tombe-Issoire with a lead of some two hundred yards. He saw lights and
+a crowd and heard music in the Place St. Jacques, and knew that he was
+saved.</p>
+
+<p>The Place St. Jacques was en f&ecirc;te. A band-stand occupied the spot long
+sacred to the guillotine, up to its last removal to La Roquette. The
+immediate neighborhood of Place St. Jacques would have preferred the
+guillotine and an occasional execution as a holiday enjoyment, but
+next to witnessing the sanguinary operation of the "national razor," a
+dance was the popular idea of amusement. And the Parisian populace
+must be amused. The government considers that a part of its duty, and
+encourages the "bal du carrefour" by the erection of stands and
+providing music at the general expense. It was the saturnine humor of
+Place St. Jacques to dance where men lost their heads. However, it
+would be difficult to find a street crossing in Paris big enough to
+dance in that had not been through the centuries soaked with human
+blood.</p>
+
+<p>It was a little fresher in Place St. Jacques, that was all.</p>
+
+<p>The band-stand being on the exact place marked in the stone pavement
+for the guillotine, it gave a sort of peculiar piquancy to the
+occasion. While the proprietors of the adjacent wine-shops and "zincs"
+grumbled at the new order of things, the young people were making the
+best of Mardi Gras in hilarious fashion.</p>
+
+<p>Though Place St. Jacques presented a lively scene beneath its
+scattered lights, it was one common enough to Jean Marot, who now only
+saw in the romping crowd and spectators the means of shaking off his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>police pursuers. Among the hundred dancers he made his way to the most
+compact body of lookers-on, where the indications were that something
+unusually interesting was in progress. Here the blown condition of a
+student would not be noticed.</p>
+
+<p>Yells of delight from those in his immediate vicinity awoke his
+curiosity to see what was the particular attraction. At the end of the
+figure this expression grew enthusiastic.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo! bravo!" came in chorus.</p>
+
+<p>"Tr&egrave;s bien! tr&egrave;s bien!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is well done, that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;it is the Savati&egrave;re!"</p>
+
+<p>Jean was startled for the instant, since it brought vividly back to
+him the beginning of his bitter day.</p>
+
+<p>So it was Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>She made, with another girl of her set, a part of a quadrille, and the
+pair were showing off the agile accomplishments of the
+semi-professionals of the Bullier and Moulin Rouge. These consisted of
+kicking off the nearest hats, doing the split, the guitar act, the
+pointed arch, and similar fantasies. Having forced his way in, Jean
+was instantly recognized by Mlle. Fouchette, who shook the confetti
+out of her blonde hair at every pose. Then, as she executed a
+pigeon-wing on his corner, she whispered,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Hold, Monsieur Jean,&mdash;wait one moment!"</p>
+
+<p>"Will monsieur be good enough to take my place for the last figure?"</p>
+
+<p>Her partner, a thin, serious-looking young man, had approached Jean
+hat in hand and addressed him with courtly politeness.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>Jean protested with equal politeness,&mdash;yet the offer served his turn
+admirably,&mdash;no! no!&mdash;and the mademoiselle, monsieur?</p>
+
+<p>"Come, then!" cried that damsel, as the last figure began, and she
+seized Jean by the arm and half swung him into position.</p>
+
+<p>The polite monsieur immediately disappeared in the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>The French are born dancers. There are young Frenchmen here who would
+be the admiration of the ballet-master. Frenchmen dance for the pure
+love of motion. They prefer an agile partner of the softer sex, but it
+is not essential,&mdash;they will dance with each other, or even alone, and
+on the pavements of Paris as well as on the waxed floor of a
+ball-room.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot was, like many students of the Quartier Latin, not only a
+lover of Terpsichore, but proficient in the art of using his legs for
+something more agreeable than running. There were difficult steps and
+acrobatic feats introduced by Mlle. Fouchette which he could execute
+quite as easily and gracefully. And thus it happened that the young
+man who three minutes before had been fleeing the police was now swept
+away into the general frivolity of Place St. Jacques. In fact, he had
+already absolutely forgotten that he had come there a fugitive.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had just joyously challenged him to make the "arc aux
+pieds" with her,&mdash;which is to pose foot against foot in midair while
+the other dancers pass beneath,&mdash;when Jean noticed a keen-eyed police
+agent looking at him attentively.</p>
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep182" id="imagep182"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep182.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep182.jpg" width="48%" alt="She Seized Jean By The Arm" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">SHE SEIZED JEAN BY THE ARM<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Look out!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, impatiently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> and up went his
+foot against the neat little boot, and the other six passed merrily
+beneath.</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished the figure there were three agents, who whispered
+together earnestly; but they made no effort to molest him. His alibi
+stood.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless the police agents openly followed the couple as they
+walked down the Rue St. Jacques. He saw there was no attempt at
+concealment.</p>
+
+<p>"How, then, monsieur!" cried the girl, banteringly; "still thinking of
+Madeleine?"</p>
+
+<p>Jean shivered. Poor Madeleine!</p>
+
+<p>"What a fool a girl is to run after a man who doesn't care for her!"</p>
+
+<p>"And when a man runs after a girl who doesn't care for him?" he asked,
+half seriously.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, then he's worse than a fool woman,&mdash;he's a man, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>They reached her neighborhood.</p>
+
+<p>"Come up, monsieur, will you? It is but a poor hospitality I can
+offer, but an easy-chair and a pipe are the same everywhere, n'est-ce
+pas?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said he. "I'll accept it with all my heart, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>Jean had again noted the police agents, and he mentally concluded to
+let them wait a bit. Besides, he was very tired.</p>
+
+<p>When Mlle. Fouchette had arranged her shaded lamp, drawn up the
+easy-chair and settled the young man in it, she flung her hat on the
+bed and bustled about to get some supper. She pulled out a small round
+oil-stove and proceeded to light the burners. He looked at her
+inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>"It is Poupon," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! it's Poupon, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. It's a darling, isn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"It&mdash;she&mdash;is."</p>
+
+<p>"You see, when I want a cup of tea, there!"</p>
+
+<p>She removed the ornamental top with a flourish. Under it was a single
+griddle. Mlle. Fouchette regarded the domestic machine with great
+complacency, her blonde head prettily cocked on one side.</p>
+
+<p>"It certainly is convenient," said Jean, feeling that some comment was
+demanded of him.</p>
+
+<p>"When I cook I put it in the chimney."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have other fire in winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fire? Never! Wood is too dear,&mdash;and then, really, one goes to the
+caf&eacute;s every night, and to the studios every day. They roast one at the
+studios, because of the models."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur," she went on. "Now, Poupon is most generally a
+warm-hearted little thing, and then one can go to bed, in a pinch. And
+I can have tea, or coffee, or hot wine. Do you like hot wine,
+monsieur? With a bit of lemon it is very good. And look here," she
+continued rapidly, without giving him time to say anything, "it is
+quite snug and comfortable, is it not?"</p>
+
+<p>She had thrown open a door next to the mantel and proudly exploited a
+cupboard containing various bits of china and glassware. The cupboard
+was in the wall and closed flush with the latter, the door being
+covered with the same paper. There were a few cooking utensils below.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>"Yes, to be sure, mademoiselle, it is all very nice indeed," said he,
+"but&mdash;but have you got a bit to eat anywhere about the place?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, pardon, monsieur! Oh, yes! Have we anything to eat, Poupon?
+Monsieur shall see."</p>
+
+<p>She pinned up her skirt in a business-like manner, grabbed the little
+oil-stove, and placed it in the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>Jean watched her mechanically without thinking of her. He heard her
+without comprehending clearly what she said. And yet, somehow, he
+seemed to lean upon her as something tangible, something to keep his
+mind from sinking into its recent despondency.</p>
+
+<p>"Tiens! but, mademoiselle," he cried, starting up all at once, "you
+are not going to try to cook on that thing!"</p>
+
+<p>"What? Hear him, then, Poupon, ch&eacute;rie! To be called 'that thing!' Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette affected great indignation on the part of herself and
+domestic friend,&mdash;the worst that could be said of which friend was
+that it emitted a bad odor of a Pennsylvania product,&mdash;but it did not
+interfere with her act of successfully rolling a promising omelette.
+She had already prettily arranged the table for two, on which were
+temptingly displayed a litre of Bordeaux, a loaf of bread, and a dish
+of olives.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now, don't say a word, monsieur, or I'll drop something."</p>
+
+<p>"You need not have cooked anything," he protested. "A bit of bread and
+wine would have&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Poupon! So monsieur thinks you are pas <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>bon! Perhaps monsieur
+thinks you and I don't eat up here, eh? Non? Monsieur is in love&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I talk to Poupon, whom you despise,&mdash;and&mdash;now, the omelette,
+monsieur. Let me help you."</p>
+
+<p>They had drawn chairs to the table, and the girl poured two glasses of
+wine. She watched him drain his glass and then refilled it, finally
+observing, with a smile,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be Madeleine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! to the devil with&mdash;&mdash;" but he checked himself by the sudden
+recollection of the terrible misfortune that had overtaken Madeleine.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette shrugged her shoulders, but she lost no point of his
+confusion.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it necessary, then," he asked, cynically, "that I should be in
+love with some one?" He laughed, but his merriment did not deceive
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Anybody can see, monsieur, you love or you hate&mdash;one."</p>
+
+<p>"Both, perhaps," he suggested. "For instance, I love your omelette and
+I hate your questions."</p>
+
+<p>"You hate Monsieur Lerouge, therefore you love where he is concerned."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent. It was evident that he did not care to discuss his
+private affairs with Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>The girl was quick to see this and changed the conversation to
+politics. But Jean had no mind for this either. He began to grow
+impatient, when she opened a box on the mantel and showed him an
+assortment of pipes.</p>
+
+<p>"Oho! You keep a petit tabac?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>"One has some friends, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"A good many, I should judge,&mdash;each of whom leaves a pipe, indicating
+an early and regular return."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't find yours here yet, monsieur," she replied, demurely.</p>
+
+<p>"But you will," said he. "And I'll come up and smoke it occasionally,
+if you'll let me."</p>
+
+<p>"With pleasure, monsieur, even if you had not saved my life&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There! Stop that, now. Let us never speak of that, mademoiselle. You
+got me into a scrape and got me out again, so we are quits."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Say no more about it, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"I may <i>think</i> about it, I suppose," she suggested, with affected
+satire.</p>
+
+<p>"There,&mdash;tell me about the pipes."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Well, you know how men hate to part with old pipes? And they
+are, therefore, my valuable presents, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Truly! I never thought of that."</p>
+
+<p>"No?"</p>
+
+<p>"And the pictures?"</p>
+
+<p>"Scraps from the studios."</p>
+
+<p>He got up and examined the sketches on the walls. They were from pen,
+pencil, and brush, from as many artists,&mdash;some quite good and showing
+more or less budding genius. He paused some time before the head of
+his entertainer.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very good,&mdash;admirable!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You think so, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is worth all the rest together, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>"So much? You are an artist, Monsieur Jean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Amateur,&mdash;strictly amateur,&mdash;yet I know something of pictures. Now, I
+should say that bit is worth, say, one hundred francs."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! The work of five minutes of&mdash;amusement; yes, making fun of
+me one day. Do you suppose he would give me one hundred francs?"</p>
+
+<p>"The highest effects in art are often merest accident, or the result
+of the spirit of the moment,&mdash;some call it inspiration."</p>
+
+<p>"But if you didn't know who did it, monsieur&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not signed."</p>
+
+<p>"N-no; but, monsieur, every one must know his work."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and every one knows that some of it is bad."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"And this is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bad too, monsieur," she laughingly interrupted. "When any one offers
+me fifty francs for that thing, Monsieur Jean, it goes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then it is mine," said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"No! You joke, monsieur," she protested, turning away.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," said he, tendering her a fresh, crisp billet de banque
+for fifty francs. "Voil&agrave;! Is that a joke?"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette colored slightly and drew back.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur likes the picture?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, certainly. If I didn't&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then it is yours, monsieur, if you will deign to accept it as
+a&mdash;present&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>"As a souvenir, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! I will not do it," he declared. "Come, mademoiselle, you
+are trying to back out of your offer of a minute ago. Here! Is it mine
+or is it not? Say!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is yours, monsieur, in any case," she said, in a low voice,
+"though you would have done me a favor not to press me with money.
+Besides, 'La Petite Chatte' is not worth it."</p>
+
+<p>"I differ with you, mademoiselle; I simply get a picture cheap."</p>
+
+<p>Which was true. There was no sentiment in his offer, and she saw it as
+she carefully folded the bank-note and put it away with a sigh. It was
+a great deal of money for her, but still&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>There was a great noise at the iron knocker below. This had been
+repeated for the third time.</p>
+
+<p>"My friends below are growing impatient," he thought.</p>
+
+<p>Jean had that inborn hatred of authority so common to many of his
+countrymen. It often begins in baiting the police, and sometimes ends
+in the overthrow of the government.</p>
+
+<p>"Whoever that is," observed the girl, "he will never get in,&mdash;never!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"He won't get in," she repeated, listening. "Monsieur Benoit will
+never let anybody in who makes a racket like that."</p>
+
+<p>"Not even the police?"</p>
+
+<p>"No,&mdash;he will not hear them."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! ho! ho! ho!" roared Jean; "not hear that!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>"I mean he would affect not to know that it was the police."</p>
+
+<p>She went to a window and listened at the shutter. Then, returning to
+her guest, who was placidly smoking,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It is the police, sure."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, what do you suppose the agents want at this hour?" It was one
+o'clock by the little bronze timepiece on the mantel.</p>
+
+<p>"Me," said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"You!" She glanced at him with a smile of incredulity.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, petite."</p>
+
+<p>He puffed continuous rings towards the ceiling, wondering whether he
+had better explain.</p>
+
+<p>Presently came a tap at the door. The girl hastened to answer it,
+while Jean refilled his pipe thoughtfully. When she came back she was
+more excited. She whispered,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Benoit, le concierge, he wants to see you,&mdash;he must let them
+in!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, let them in!" exclaimed the young man.</p>
+
+<p>He had thought of Madeleine, chiefly, and the effect of his arrest
+upon her. A hearing must inevitably lead to her exposure, if not to
+his. But it was useless to endeavor to escape. He felt that he was
+trapped. Being in that fix, he may as well face the music.</p>
+
+<p>"But he wants to see you personally," said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>Jean went to the door, where the saturnine Benoit stood with his
+flaring candle. The man cautiously closed the inner vestibule door.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>"S-sh! It is a sourici&egrave;re, monsieur, as I suspected when you came in
+with that little she-devil! The agents were at your heels. Now,
+Monsieur Lerouge, do you wish to escape or do you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I intend to remain right here. There is no reason that I should
+become a fugitive."</p>
+
+<p>"As you please, monsieur," replied the concierge, with an expressive
+shrug. And the clack of his sabots was soon heard on the stone stair.</p>
+
+<p>"Funny," said Jean, re-entering, "but he takes me for Lerouge. There
+is some sort of understanding between them. He would have aided me to
+escape."</p>
+
+<p>"And why not have accepted, monsieur?" asked Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather be a prisoner as Jean Marot than escape as Henri
+Lerouge," replied the young man.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow," muttered the girl, "perhaps the police have made the same
+mistake."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not," said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette regarded the young man admiringly from the corner of
+her eye. He was so calm and resolute. He had resumed the easy-chair
+and pipe.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was not able to veil her feelings under this cloak of
+indifference. Her highly nervous organization was sensibly disturbed.
+One might have easily presumed that she was in question instead of
+Jean Marot. She had hastily cleared the little table and replaced the
+lamp, when her unwelcome visitors announced themselves. Mlle.
+Fouchette promptly confronted them at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, gentlemen?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>"Mademoiselle, pardon. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I am after the
+body of one M. Lerouge."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why don't you go and get him?" snapped the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardieu! that is precisely why we are here, mon enfant. He&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"He is not here."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, now, that will not do, mademoiselle. At least he was here a few
+moments ago.&mdash;Where is that dolt Benoit?"</p>
+
+<p>"M. Lerouge is not here, I tell you; never was here in his life!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>It was M. Benoit, the concierge. His astonishment was undoubtedly
+genuine; possibly as much at her brazen denial as at his own error in
+believing her a police decoy.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle ought to know," he added, in reply to official inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us see," exclaimed the man, thrusting the girl aside and entering
+the room. He was followed by two of his men and the concierge. A
+rear-guard had detained a curious assortment of half-dressed people on
+the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>The eyes of the agents fell upon the young man with a pipe
+simultaneously. Monsieur Benoit saw him also, and flashed an indignant
+look at the girl. He had concluded that she had found means to conceal
+her visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Monsieur Lerouge," began the sous-brigadier.</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! you fools!" sneered Mlle. Fouchette, "can't you see that it is
+not Monsieur Lerouge?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>"There! no more lies, mademoiselle. Your name, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jean Marot."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! so it is Jean Marot?" said the officer, mockingly, while he
+glanced alternately at Mlle. Fouchette, at M. Benoit, and at his men.
+"Very well,&mdash;I'll take you as Jean Marot, then," he angrily added.</p>
+
+<p>"Nevertheless," said Jean, now amused at police expense, "I am not
+Lerouge. There is said to be some resemblance between us, that is
+all."</p>
+
+<p>The face of M. Benoit was that of a positive man suddenly overwhelmed
+with evidence of his own stupidity. Mlle. Fouchette laughed outright.
+The sous-brigadier frowned. One of his men spoke up,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Oho! now I see&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Dubat, shut up!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, mon brigadier," persisted the man designated, "it is not the man
+we took that night at Le Petit Rouge,&mdash;non!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! l&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;!" put in Mlle. Fouchette, growing tired of this. "I
+know M. Lerouge and M. Marot equally well, monsieur, and this is
+Marot. He has been with me all the evening. We danced in the Place St.
+Jacques and came directly here; before that we were at the Caf&eacute; du
+Panth&eacute;on. He has not left here. And they do look alike, monsieur; so
+it is said."</p>
+
+<p>"That is very true," muttered the concierge,&mdash;"and I have made the
+mistake too; though, to be sure, I know M. Lerouge but slightly and
+had never seen this man before, to my knowledge."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the girl had made a sign to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>sous-brigadier that at
+once attracted that consequential man's attention.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, mademoiselle," he concluded, after a moment's thought, "you can
+give us the address of this Monsieur Lerouge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. It is Montrouge, 7 Rue Dareau,&mdash;en quatri&egrave;me."</p>
+
+<p>M. Benoit gave the girl informer a vicious look, which had as much
+effect upon her as water might have on a duck's back.</p>
+
+<p>Jean did not require a note-book and pencil to fix this street and
+number in his own mind. He turned to the sous-brigadier as the latter
+rose to take his departure,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, monsieur; may I ask what charge is made against Monsieur
+Lerouge that you thus hunt him down in the middle of the night?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is very serious, monsieur," replied the man, respectful enough
+now; "a young woman has been blinded with vitriol."</p>
+
+<p>"Horrible!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I don't believe Lerouge could
+have ever done that! No, never!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I," said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>The police officer merely raised his eyebrows slightly and observed,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It was in the Rue Dareau, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"And the woman? Do they know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"One named Madeleine, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Madeleine!" cried the girl, with a white face. "Madeleine! Mon Dieu!
+You hear that, Monsieur Jean? It was Madeleine!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>"Courage, mademoiselle; Lerouge never did that," said Jean, calmly.
+"It is a mistake. He could not do that."</p>
+
+<p>"Never! It is impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette wrung her hands and sought his eyes in vain for some
+explanation. She seemed overcome with terror.</p>
+
+<p>"Parbleu!" exclaimed the police officer, in taking his leave.
+"Mademoiselle, there is nothing impossible in Paris."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER X<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>The first instinct of Jean Marot had been to kill Henri Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>Revenge is the natural heritage of his race. Revenge is taught as a
+sacred duty in the common schools of France. Revenge keeps the fires
+aglow under the boilers of French patriotism. Revenge is the first
+thought to follow on the heels of private insult or personal injury.</p>
+
+<p>It had been that of the ignorant human animal called Madeleine. How
+the horrible design of Madeleine had chilled his blood! He was sorry
+for the unhappy girl with a natural sympathy; yet he would have torn
+her to pieces had she successfully carried her scheme of revenge into
+execution.</p>
+
+<p>Jean took to haunting Montrouge day and night, invariably passing down
+Rue Dareau and contemplating No. 7, keeping his eye on the
+porte-coch&egrave;re and the fourth floor, as if she might be passing in or
+out, or show herself at a lighted window. But he never saw her,&mdash;never
+saw Lerouge. He never seemed to expect to see them.</p>
+
+<p>He had ceased to attend classes. What were books and classes to him
+now? He took more absinthe than was good for him.</p>
+
+<p>His father's friend, Dr. Cardiac, visited him, remonstrated with him,
+readily diagnosed his case, then wrote to Monsieur Marot the elder.
+The result of this was a peremptory call home. To this summons Jean as
+promptly replied. He refused to go. An equally prompt response told
+him he had no home,&mdash;no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>father,&mdash;and that thenceforth he must shift
+for himself,&mdash;that he had received his last franc.</p>
+
+<p>Ten days later he unexpectedly encountered Mlle. Fouchette on
+Boulevard St. Michel. It was Saturday evening, and all the student
+world was abroad. But perhaps of that world none was more miserable
+than Jean Marot.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Then it is really you, monsieur?" There was a perceptible
+coldness in her greeting. However, his condition was apparent. The
+sharp blue eyes had taken his measure at a glance. She interrupted his
+polite reply.</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;! l&agrave;! l&agrave;! Then you are in trouble. You young men are always in
+trouble. When it isn't one thing it is another."</p>
+
+<p>"It is both this time, I'm afraid," he said, smiling at the heavy
+philosophy from such a light source.</p>
+
+<p>They crossed over and walked along the wall of the ancient College
+d'Harcourt, where there were fewer people. The dark circles under his
+handsome eyes seemed to soften her still further.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry for you, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"And poor Madeleine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You have seen her, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"But, monsieur, you may not know that you were suspected of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," seeing her hesitation. "Of having something to do with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>"I knew that."</p>
+
+<p>To avoid the crowd and curious comment, Jean turned into the
+Luxembourg garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he resumed, "you said I was suspected first by the police,
+then&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"By me," she said, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>"By you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"And what, my dear mademoiselle, had I done to merit so distinguished
+an honor?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me! monsieur, it was chiefly what you hadn't done; and then the
+circumstantial evidence, you must confess, was strong."</p>
+
+<p>"I realized that, also that in France it is not easy to get out of
+prison, once in it, innocent or guilty."</p>
+
+<p>"So you kept out. Very wisely, monsieur. But you know the papers next
+morning spoke of Madeleine's lover, and talked of the lost clue of the
+Place St. Jacques, where we met."</p>
+
+<p>"It certainly would have been suspicious under some circumstances," he
+admitted. "Now, if I had been her lover, for instance&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There! I went to the hospital. And don't you know, she would not
+betray the man who did it, though she suffered horribly. She will lose
+one of her eyes, poor girl!"</p>
+
+<p>"Great heavens! What a misfortune!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!"</p>
+
+<p>"And she would not betray her assailant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a word!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I never believed Madeleine
+could rise to that."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I," said Jean.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>"And the police did worry that Lerouge," continued the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, they did?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but he easily proved that he was not only not Madeleine's lover,
+but that he was out somewhere with his&mdash;his&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mistress, eh?" he said, bitterly. "Why not say it?"</p>
+
+<p>"With his friend," she added, her eyes on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Ugh!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you, monsieur,&mdash;you have not yet told me your troubles. Your love
+goes badly, I suppose, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Always."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the same old thing. I wonder how it is to be loved thus. Very
+nice, no doubt."</p>
+
+<p>"And has no one ever loved you, mademoiselle?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Non!"</p>
+
+<p>"You astonish me! And the world is so full of lovers, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I mean no man."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very sure, monsieur. Could one be loved like that and not know it?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I ask myself every day." He said this to himself rather
+than to his wondering companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, monsieur!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But there are other things just now,&mdash;to-day," he said, abruptly
+changing the subject; "and the worst thing&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The worst thing is money," she interrupted. "I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>have had 'the worst
+thing.' It happens every now and then. You need not hesitate."</p>
+
+<p>"Worse yet," he continued, smiling in spite of himself at her
+conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>"I can tell it in advance. It is the old story. Your love is not
+reciprocated,&mdash;you neglect your classes,&mdash;you fail in the exams,&mdash;you
+take to absinthe. Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>"Still worse, mon enfant."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! You play&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I never play. You are wrong only that once, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>He told her the truth. And she listened with the sage air of one who
+knows all about it and was ready with her decision.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot,"&mdash;she paused a second,&mdash;"you think I'm a bad
+girl&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't be too sure of that. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;!" impatiently waving his politeness aside; "but I owe you
+much, and I would do you a service if possible."</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"You think it impossible? Perhaps. I am nothing. I am only a poor
+little woman, monsieur,&mdash;alone in the world. But I know this world,&mdash;I
+have wrestled with it. I have had hard falls,&mdash;I got up again.
+Therefore my experience has been bitter; but still it is experience."</p>
+
+<p>"Sad experience, doubtless."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and it ought to have taught me something, even if I were the
+most stupid and vicious, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"And my counsel ought to have some value in your eyes?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>"Why, yes; certainly, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"At least it is disinterested&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure!"</p>
+
+<p>"Go home!"</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She interrupted him sharply, nervously grasping his passive hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Go home, Monsieur Jean,&mdash;at once!"</p>
+
+<p>She trembled, and her voice grew low and softly sweet, and almost
+pleading.</p>
+
+<p>"Go home, Monsieur Jean! Leave all of this behind,&mdash;it is ruin!"</p>
+
+<p>"Never! I cannot do that, mademoiselle. Besides, it is too late,&mdash;it
+is impossible! I have no home, now. Never!"</p>
+
+<p>"There!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette rose abruptly, shrugging her narrow shoulders with the
+air of having done what she could and washing her hands of the
+consequences. Her smile of half pity, half contempt, for the weakness
+of a strong man clearly indicated that she had expected nothing and
+was not disappointed. As he still remained absorbed in his own
+miserable thoughts, she returned to the attack in a lively manner.</p>
+
+<p>"So that is out of the way," she said. "Now let us see what you are
+going to do. You probably have friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"A few."</p>
+
+<p>"Do not trust to friends, monsieur; it will spare you the humiliation
+of finding them out. What are your resources?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have none," he replied.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>"How much money have you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, monsieur,"&mdash;she now sat down again, visibly softened,&mdash;"if you
+will come and dine with me and petite Poupon we can talk it all over
+at leisure, n'est-ce pas? I can make a bien joli pot-au-feu for a
+franc,&mdash;which means soup, meat, and vegetables; and I know a petite
+marchande de vins where one can get a litre of Bordeaux for cinquante,
+which, with a salade at two sous and cheese for two more, will round
+out a very good dinner for two. Ah! le voil&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>She wound up her rapid summary of culinary delights with the charming
+eagerness of a child, bringing forth from the folds of her dress a
+small purse, through the netting of which glistened some silver coin,
+and causing it to chink triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot, suddenly lifted out of himself by this impulsive
+good-nature, was at first embarrassed, then stupefied. He was unable
+to utter a word. He was ashamed of his own weakness; he was
+overwhelmed by the sense of her impetuous good-will and practical
+human sympathy. He silently pressed the thin hand which had
+unconsciously crept into his.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it is nothing," she said, lightly, withdrawing her hand. "I have
+plenty to-day,&mdash;you will have it some other day; and then you can give
+me a petit souper, monsieur, n'est-ce pas?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. On that condition I will accept your invitation,
+mademoiselle. We will dine with petite Poupon."</p>
+
+<p>He had not the heart to tell her that his "nothing" meant a few
+hundred francs to his credit and a few <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>louis in his pocket at that
+moment,&mdash;more than she had ever possessed at any one time in her life.</p>
+
+<p>As it was, she walked along by his side with that feeling of
+camaraderie experienced by those in the same run of luck as to the
+world's goods, and with that buoyancy of spirit which attends a good
+action. The few francs and odd sous in the little purse were abundant
+for to-day,&mdash;the morrow could take care of itself.</p>
+
+<p>They turned up the narrow Rue Royer-Collard, where she stopped for the
+litre of Bordeaux, responding gayly to the wayside queries and
+comments. Reaching the Rue St. Jacques, there were the salad and the
+cheese to add to the necessary part of the French meal; and the bit of
+beef and the inevitable onions brought up the rear of purchases.</p>
+
+<p>"I have some potatoes and carrots," she said, reflectively,&mdash;"so much
+saved. Let us see. It is not so bad,&mdash;quatre-vingt-cinq, dix,
+cinquante,&mdash;un franc quarante-cinq."</p>
+
+<p>She made the calculation as they went up the worn stairway after the
+passage of the tunnel.</p>
+
+<p>"Not half bad," said he, compelled to admire her cleverness.</p>
+
+<p>Reaching her chamber, she deposited the entire evening investment on
+the hearth, proceeding to the preliminary features of preparation. She
+threw her hat on the bed, then pulled off the light bolero and sent it
+after the hat, and then she began slipping out of her skirt by
+suddenly letting it fall in a ring about her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Jean.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>"Excuse me, will you? I can't risk my pretty skirt for appearances.
+You won't mind, monsieur? Non!"</p>
+
+<p>"That's right," he said,&mdash;"a skirt is only a skirt."</p>
+
+<p>He watched her with a half-amused expression as she flitted nervously
+about, more doll-like than ever she was, in the short yellow silken
+petticoat with its terminating ruffles, or cheap lace balayeuse, her
+blonde hair loosely drooping over her ears and caught up behind in the
+prevailing fashion of the quarter. She kept up a continual chatter as
+she opened drawers, prepared the potatoes, and arranged the little
+table.</p>
+
+<p>Poupon was already singing in the chimney-place. Her conversation, by
+habit, was mostly directed to her little oil-stove, as if it were a
+sentient thing, something to be encouraged by flattery and restrained
+by reproach. It was the camaraderie of loneliness.</p>
+
+<p>But to Jean, who was quick to fall back into his own reveries, her
+voice died away into incomprehensible jargon. Once he glanced at the
+sketch still on the wall and thought of her purring over her work like
+a satisfied cat, then the next instant again forgot her. Now and then
+she bestowed a keen glance on him or a passing word, but left him no
+time to answer or to formulate any distinct idea as to what it was
+about. Suddenly she pounced upon him with,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"You still live&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Faubourg St. Honor&eacute;."</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! How foolish!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;now," he admitted.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>"You must change. What rent do you pay?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fourteen hundred&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Dame! And the lease?"</p>
+
+<p>"Two years yet to run," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Peste! What a bother!"</p>
+
+<p>"But the rent is paid."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very well. It can be sold. And the furniture?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Good! How much?"</p>
+
+<p>"It cost about three thousand francs."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a fortune, monsieur," she exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. "And
+here I thought you were&mdash;pur&eacute;e!"</p>
+
+<p>"Broke?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;that you had nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not much to me, who&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No; I understand that. I once read of a rich American who committed
+suicide because he was suddenly reduced to two hundred and fifty
+thousand francs. That was very dr&ocirc;le, was it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"To most people, yes; but it would not be funny for one who had been
+accustomed to twice or five times that much every year."</p>
+
+<p>"No,&mdash;I forgot," she said, reflectively, "about your affairs,
+monsieur. It is very simple."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it?" He laughed lugubriously.</p>
+
+<p>"You simply accept conditions. You give up your present mode of
+living; you sell your lease and furniture; you take a small place here
+somewhere, get only what is necessary, then find something to do. Why,
+you will be independent,&mdash;rich!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>"Only, you omit one thing in the calculation, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>She divined at once what that was.</p>
+
+<p>"One must arrange for the stomach before talking about love. And how,
+then, is a young man to provide for a girl when he can't provide for
+himself? Let the girl alone until you begin to see the way. Don't be
+ridiculous, Monsieur Jean. No woman can love a man who is ridiculous.
+Jamais!"</p>
+
+<p>Love is not exactly a synonyme for Reason. To be in love is in a
+measure to part company with the power of ratiocination. Nevertheless,
+Jean saw in an absent-minded way that Mlle. Fouchette, for whom he had
+never entertained even that casual respect accorded by the Anglo-Saxon
+to womanhood in general, spoke the words of sense and soberness. His
+intolerant nature, that would never have brooked such freedom from a
+friend, allowed everything from one who was too insignificant to
+excite resentment or even reply. In the same fashion Jean was touched
+by the exhibition of human interest and womanly sympathy in this waif
+of civilization. And he was of too gentle a heart not to meet it with
+a show of appreciation. It gave her pleasure and did not hurt him. The
+fact that she was probably abandoned and vicious in no wise lessened
+this consideration,&mdash;possibly increased his confidence in her
+disinterested counsel.</p>
+
+<p>In Paris one elbows this species every day,&mdash;in the Quartier Latin
+young Frenchmen come in contact with it every night,&mdash;and without that
+sense of self-abasement or disgust evoked by similar association in
+the United States. The line of demarcation that separates
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>respectability from shame is not rigidly drawn in Paris; in the
+Quartier Latin, where the youth of France and, to a considerable
+extent, of the whole world are prepared for earth and heaven, it
+cannot be said to be drawn at all.</p>
+
+<p>By his misfortunes Jean Marot had unexpectedly fallen within her
+reach. With her natural spirit of domination she had at once
+appropriated the position of mentor and manager. The precocious
+worldliness of her mentality amused while it sometimes astonished him.
+This comparatively ignorant girl of eighteen had no hesitation in
+guiding the man of more mature years, and succeeded through her
+na&iuml;vet&eacute; rather than by force of character. The weakest of women can
+dominate the strongest of men.</p>
+
+<p>"Doctors never prescribe for themselves," she said, by way of
+justifying her interest in him. "Is it not so, Monsieur Jean?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; but they call in somebody of their own profession," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Not if he had the same disease, surely!" she retorted.</p>
+
+<p>"So you think love a disease?" he laughingly asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Virulent, but not catching," said she, helping him to some soup.</p>
+
+<p>There were no soup-plates and she had dipped it from the pot with a
+teacup and served it in a bowl; but the soup was just as good and was
+rich with vegetable nutrition. He showed his appreciation by a
+vigorous onslaught.</p>
+
+<p>"And if it were a disease and catching?" he remarked presently.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>"Then you would not be here," she replied. "You see, I'd run too much
+risk. As it is&mdash;have some more wine?&mdash;But who understands love better
+than a woman, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I surrender, mademoiselle,&mdash;that is, provided she has loved and
+loves no longer."</p>
+
+<p>"Been sick and been cured, eh?" she suggested. "But that is more than
+you require of the medical profession."</p>
+
+<p>"True&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He paused and listened. She turned her head at the same moment. There
+were two distinct raps on the wall. He had heard, vaguely, the sound
+of persons coming and going next door; had distinguished voices in the
+next flat. There was nothing strange about that. But the knock was the
+knock of design and at once arrested his attention.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl started to her feet, her finger on her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"He wants me," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"That is evident, whoever 'he' may be," replied Jean, significantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is only Monsieur de Beauchamp. A sitting, perhaps," she added.</p>
+
+<p>She slipped out of the room without deeming it necessary to resume her
+overskirt. The feminine inhabitants of Rue St. Jacques were so
+extremely unconventional,&mdash;they not infrequently went down into the
+street for rolls and other articles attired in this charming neglig&eacute;e
+of the bedroom boudoir. And would, perhaps, have extended this
+unconventionality to the neighboring caf&eacute;s, only the proprietaires
+had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>to draw a line somewhere, and had unanimously drawn it at hats
+and skirts, or full street dress.</p>
+
+<p>Jean began to think himself entirely deserted, when Mlle. Fouchette
+burst rather than walked into the room conducting her next-door
+neighbor.</p>
+
+<p>Jean saw before him a man scarcely older than himself, rather spare of
+figure and pale of face, in the garb of a provincial and with an air
+of the Jesuit enthusiast rather than the student of art. His long,
+dark hair was thick and bushy and worn trimmed straight around the
+neck after the fashion of Jeanne d'Arc's time. It completely hid his
+ears and fell in sprays over his temples. His face was the typical
+Christ of the old masters, the effect being heightened by the soft,
+fine, virgin beard and moustache of somewhat fairer color, and by the
+melancholy eyes, dark and luminous, with their curled and drooping
+lashes. These eyes gave rather a suggestion of sadness and inward
+suffering, but when animated seemed to glow with the smouldering fire
+of centuries.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, Monsieur de Beauchamp," said Jean, upon being introduced to
+him, "but mademoiselle appears to have forgotten me for art."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! and as if there were no art in making a salad!" exclaimed the
+painter, as he shook hands with the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! l&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, wresting the dish from Jean's
+grasp; "there would be precious little art in this if you made it!"
+And she proceeded with the salad on her own account, using the two
+bowls that had but recently served them for soup.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur de Beauchamp and Jean discussed the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>student "manifestations"
+planned for the next day. The Dreyfusardes&mdash;a term by which all who
+differed from the military r&eacute;gime were known&mdash;had announced a public
+meeting, and a counter-demonstration had been called to not only
+prevent that meeting but to publicly chastise such as dared to take
+part in it.</p>
+
+<p>No attempt was made to conceal these patriotic intentions from the
+police. The walls blazed with flaming revolutionary posters. The
+portrait of the Duc d'Orl&eacute;ans appeared over specious promises in case
+of Restoration. The Royal Claimant was said to be concealed in Paris.
+At any rate, his agents were busy. They were in league with the
+Bonapartists, the Socialists, the Anti-Semites, against the things
+that were, and called the combination Nationalists. They were really
+Opportunists. The republic overthrown, they agreed to fight out their
+rival claims to power between themselves.</p>
+
+<p>The unfortunate Jew merely served them as a weapon. They were the real
+traitors to their country. With the most fulsome adulation and the Jew
+they courted the army and sought to lead it against the republic.</p>
+
+<p>And the republic,&mdash;poor, weak, headless combination of
+inconsistencies,&mdash;through a tricky and vacillating Ministry and a
+bitter, factional Parliament, greatly encouraged the idea of any sort
+of a change.</p>
+
+<p>Popular intolerance had, after a farcical civil trial overawed by
+military authority, driven the foremost writer of France into exile,
+as it had Voltaire and Rousseau and many thousands of the best blood
+of the French before him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>The many noble monuments of the Paris carrefours, representing the
+&eacute;lite of France, the heroes, the apostles of letters and liberty, who
+were murdered, exiled, denied Christian burial or dragged through the
+streets after death by Frenchmen, stand morally united in one grand
+monumental fane commemorative of French intolerance.</p>
+
+<p>Wherever is reared a monument to French personal worth, there also is
+a mute testimonial of collective French infamy.</p>
+
+<p>"Dans la rue!" was now the battle-cry.</p>
+
+<p>All of these student "manifestations" were seized upon by the worst
+elements of Paris. The estimable character of these elements found in
+the Place Maubert and vicinity may be surmised from the fact that a
+few days previous to the event about to be herein recorded twenty men
+of the neighborhood were chosen to maintain its superiority to the
+Halles Centrales against a like number selected by the latter.</p>
+
+<p>The contending factions were drawn up in order of battle in Place
+Maubert, on Boulevard St. Germain, in broad afternoon, each man being
+armed with a knife, and precipitated an engagement that required one
+hundred police reserves to quell.</p>
+
+<p>"If we could only keep that pestiferous gang out of our
+manifestations," said Jean now to Monsieur de Beauchamp,&mdash;"they
+disgrace us always!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but they are good fighters; and there is to be fighting pretty
+soon," observed the artist.</p>
+
+<p>"Vive l'arm&eacute;e!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, flourishing a salad-spoon.
+Mlle. Fouchette had a martial spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"Whenever a student is arrested he turns out to be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>one of the roughs
+of Place Maubert or a hoodlum of Rue Monge, or a cutthroat of Rue
+Mouffetard. It is disgraceful!"</p>
+
+<p>"But it shows the discretion of our police, Monsieur Marot," said the
+artist, with his sweet smile. "You see the police are with us. We must
+not be too particular who fights on our side, my friend. We can't
+afford to quarrel with anybody just now going in our direction. They
+are but means to an end, let us remember, and that end the ancient
+prestige and glory of France."</p>
+
+<p>"&Agrave; bas les Juifs!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, without looking up.</p>
+
+<p>The godlike face of the painter glowed with the enthusiasm that
+consumed his soul. He now turned his grand eyes upon the girl with
+inexpressible sadness.</p>
+
+<p>"That is a question that does not concern us," said he, "except as
+another means to an end. Innocent or guilty, shall the pleasure or
+pain of one man stand between the millions of our countrymen and the
+welfare and perpetuity of France?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, in her excitement bringing down the
+salad-bowl with a crash that sent the pieces flying about the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Parbleu!" exclaimed Jean, laughing heartily; "there goes my salad!"</p>
+
+<p>"No; the salad is here. There goes my pretty bowl!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, then, let us turn out to-morrow, Monsieur Marot, and do
+our duty. Au revoir."</p>
+
+<p>In parting the artist nodded his head in cold recognition of the
+existence of Mlle. Fouchette. The latter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>turned on her dainty heel
+with a glance at Jean that spoke volumes. But she began arranging the
+little table slowly, absent-mindedly, without a word. He thought she
+was lamenting the loss of the salad-bowl.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll buy you a pretty one," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"A pretty&mdash;er&mdash;a what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Salad-bowl."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dame! I was not thinking of the salad-bowl."</p>
+
+<p>"Something more serious?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Don't go to-morrow, Monsieur Jean!"</p>
+
+<p>Her voice was earnest, but sunk to a whisper. He regarded her with
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go, Monsieur Jean!" she repeated. "Have nothing to do with
+them! There will be two thousand hired roughs from La Villette, the
+killers from the abattoirs, and&mdash;&mdash;" She stopped short.</p>
+
+<p>"How now, mon enfant? How&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But she had clapped her small hand over his mouth in a half-vexed,
+half-frightened way, with a definite gesture towards the next room.</p>
+
+<p>"Have a care, monsieur," she whispered in his ear, then laughingly
+resumed her bantering tone. "How do you like my salad? Is it not
+capital?"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>Jean Marot found Mlle. Fouchette interesting but incomprehensible.</p>
+
+<p>Jean believed himself to be a sincere and true republican,&mdash;and he
+was, in fact, quite as logical in this as were many of the so-called
+republicans of the French Parliament, who, like their familiar
+political prototypes in the United States, talked one way and voted
+another. He had participated in the street disturbances as a protest
+against the Ministry and for the pure love of excitement, not against
+the republic.</p>
+
+<p>As to the Dreyfus case, he had been satisfied, with most of his
+countrymen, upon the statement of five successive ministers of war.</p>
+
+<p>After all, in a country where so many have always stood ready to sell
+their national liberty for the gold of the stranger, it came easy to
+believe in one Judas more.</p>
+
+<p>The United States has had but one Benedict Arnold; France counts her
+traitors by the thousands. They spring from every rank and are
+incidental to every age. The word Treachery is the most important word
+in French domestic history.</p>
+
+<p>And when honest men doubted the justice of a council of war, they were
+silenced by the specious reasoning of men like M. de Beauchamp. Had
+Jean been invited to assist in overturning the republic and to put
+Philippe d'Orl&eacute;ans on the throne, he would have revolted. His
+political ideals would have been outraged. Yet every act committed by
+him and by his blind partisans tended directly, and were secretly
+engineered by others, to that end.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>Jean Marot in this was but a fair type of tens of thousands of his
+intelligent but headstrong and misguided countrymen.</p>
+
+<p>"In the street!"</p>
+
+<p>Once in the street the following day, Jean forgot his serious
+reflections of the previous night. It was Sunday, the chosen day of
+battle by sea and land,&mdash;a day consecrated to violence and bloodshed
+by the Paris mob. The students gathered at the divided rendezvous of
+the Place Panth&eacute;on and the Place de l'Od&eacute;on. Many of them wore the
+white boutonni&eacute;re of the Jeunesse Royalistes, the tricolor, the red
+rose of communism, or other badge of particular political belief, and
+all carried canes, some of which were loaded and some of the sword
+variety. Their leaders excitedly harangued them while the heavy squads
+of police agents distributed in the vicinity watched the proceedings
+without interference.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, the royalists and their allies had abundant reason to believe
+the police force of Paris, officers and men, civil and military, in
+sympathy with their movement against the republic. Not one of the many
+street disturbances of the year past had been the spontaneous outburst
+of popular anger that is the forerunner of revolution. On every
+occasion they had been, as they were in this instance, the publicly
+prearranged breaches of the peace in which the worst elements of the
+Paris world were invited or hired to join. This was well known to the
+government. It would have been easy and perfectly legal and wise to
+have anticipated them by governmental authority. Acting under that
+authority, a score or two of police agents could have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>dispersed all
+preliminary gatherings. Under the eye of such a police force as we
+have in New York any one of the numerous riots which disgraced the
+streets of Paris during the pendency of the "Affaire" would have been
+impossible.</p>
+
+<p>The police of Paris, however, are French,&mdash;which is to say that they
+are incapable of seeing their duty from a strictly impersonal point of
+view, but are lax to the utmost indifference and partiality or brutal
+to the extreme of cruelty and fiendishness.</p>
+
+<p>But perhaps the severest censure of the Paris police agent lies in the
+fact that no just magistrate accepts his unsupported testimony, and
+that at least two-thirds of his riot arrests are nullified at once by
+setting the victims at liberty. As the police agent is the creature of
+the general government and is not responsible to the municipality, he
+can only be brought to book when he makes the mistake of offending
+some high personage. To the complaint of an ordinary citizen he would
+probably reply by drawing his cloak around him and expectorating
+viciously.</p>
+
+<p>"Qu'est-ce que &ccedil;a me fiche?"</p>
+
+<p>The students assembled at the Place du Panth&eacute;on easily avoided the
+shadowy blue barrier drawn up across the Rue Soufflot. They howled a
+good deal in unison, then suddenly disappeared down Rue Cujas, and,
+pouring into Boulevard St. Michel, joined forces at the foot of Rue
+Racine with their comrades from the Place de l'Od&eacute;on. Like all student
+manifestations of any sort, the procession made a great noise, sticks
+were brandished, and the air rent with cries of "Vive l'arm&eacute;e! &Agrave; bas
+les traitres!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>The peaceful shopkeepers came to their doors and regarded the young
+men indulgently. "Ah! la jeunesse n'a q'un temps!"</p>
+
+<p>Some four hundred young men from the great schools were joined at the
+Place St. Michel by numerous hoodlums and roughs from the purlieus of
+Rue St. Severin, Place Maubert, and the equally delectable region of
+Rue de la Hutchette. These patriot soldiers of fortune "&eacute;meuted" for
+the low rate of forty sous per day, and were mostly armed with
+bludgeons, wherewith to earn their meagre salary. It mattered little
+whom they served, though it was just now the noble Duc d'Orl&eacute;ans.</p>
+
+<p>The police saw this addition with a knowing eye. They barred the
+entrance to the Pont St. Michel. It was a half-hearted effort, and
+with cries of "Vive la libert&eacute;!" "En avant!" the mob of young men
+swept the thin files out of the way and gained the bridge. Not,
+however, without some kicks and blows, broken canes, and bleeding
+faces. A lusty gold-laced brigadier rolled in the dust, desperately
+clinging to two coat-collars, and won the coveted cross by allowing
+himself to be kicked and stamped almost out of human resemblance by
+the infuriated mob of rescuers.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the head of the mob had reached the other end of the
+bridge, where a double barrier of agents was drawn up across the
+street. A gray-haired commissaire of long and distinguished police
+service walked calmly forward alone to meet them. His resolute step,
+his pose, bespoke his dignity and courage. He raised his left hand
+with the air of authority accustomed to being obeyed.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>His keen eyes at once sought and found and held the eyes of the
+leaders.</p>
+
+<p>"You must go back,&mdash;you cannot cross here,&mdash;you must disperse&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sacr&eacute;!" growled the crowd, moving forward threateningly. "We have a
+right to cross anywhere! We are citizens of Paris and have the rights
+of any other citizen,&mdash;the same as you, Monsieur le Commissaire!"</p>
+
+<p>A dozen such protests on the instant. But the wily veteran was ready.
+He knew that when a mob stops to parley the battle is half won.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, messieurs,&mdash;singly, or as other good citizens, you are
+right; but not as&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A young man reached over his comrades' shoulders and struck the old
+commissaire in the face with his cane.</p>
+
+<p>"For shame!" cried Jean Marot, indignantly. "What foolishness!" And he
+broke the cane across his knee and threw the fragments to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>In the same moment the old commissaire dashed into the crowd and
+single-handed dragged his youthful assailant to the front and clear of
+his companions.</p>
+
+<p>"The guard! the guard! Look out, comrades! here comes the guard!"</p>
+
+<p>The cry ran along the line and through the ranks hushed by the wanton
+blow delivered unnecessarily upon a respected official. A company of
+the Garde R&eacute;publicaine &agrave; pied had filed out across the Boulevard du
+Palais from behind the Pr&eacute;fecture; another company &agrave; cheval debouched
+into the quai from the other corner, and now rode slowly down towards
+the bridge.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>"Bayonets in front and sabres on the flank!" said Jean to those around
+him. "It were wise to get out of this."</p>
+
+<p>"Good advice, young man,&mdash;get out! It won't do, you see. You must
+cross singly, or as other citizens. Never mind your hot-headed young
+friend," added the old man, kindly, as he wiped the blood from his
+face. "We won't be hard on him. Only, you must go back at once!"</p>
+
+<p>He talked to them as if they were little children. But they needed no
+further urging. The rear-guard had already turned tail at the sight of
+the troops and were in full retreat. Before the last man had cleared
+the bridge the only one who had been arrested was set at liberty,
+though he had richly earned six months in jail.</p>
+
+<p>And thus terminated the harebrained attempt to march five hundred
+riotous men through the city directly in front of the Pr&eacute;fecture,
+where lay unlimited reserves, civil and military, under arms. The
+royalists had somewhat overstrained the complaisance of the
+authorities.</p>
+
+<p>Acting at once on the hint of the police official, the crowd broke up
+into small groups. "&Agrave; la Concorde! &Agrave; la Concorde! Concorde!" they
+cried.</p>
+
+<p>This revolutionary rendezvous was prearranged to mean Place du
+Carrousel, conditional on police interference. It was to deceive the
+authorities, the main object being to form a junction with the
+anticipated hordes from Montmartre and La Villette.</p>
+
+<p>But a mob broken into scattered groups is no longer a mob, and being
+no longer a mob, there is no longer <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>courage or cohesion of purpose.
+Instead of some four hundred students and about a hundred roughs, not
+more than fifty of the former responded at the foot of the Gambetta
+monument, while the latter class had gathered strength by the way.</p>
+
+<p>This discrepancy, though painfully apparent to Jean Marot and his
+friends, in no wise dampened their ardor. Their chosen speakers lashed
+them into fresh furors of patriotism while they waited. The eloquent
+young man who quoted the words of Gambetta engraved on his monument
+wrung tears from his sympathetic auditors. These words of wisdom and
+patriotism had no pertinence whatever to the work in hand,&mdash;which was
+to break up a meeting organized by some distinguished philanthropists,
+scholars, and their friends in the interests of civil liberty and the
+perpetuity of human rights,&mdash;but everything serves as fuel to a flame
+well started.</p>
+
+<p>Carried away by the spirit of exaltation, Jean Marot clambered upon
+the monument itself, and ascending the heroic figure of Gambetta amid
+the wild plaudits of the mob, kissed the mute stone lips. His hat had
+fallen to the ground, and now the hysterical crowd tore it into bits
+and scrambled for the pieces, which they pinned on their breasts as
+precious souvenirs of the occasion.</p>
+
+<p>When Jean reached the earth it was to be frantically embraced on every
+side. A great, broad-shouldered, big-bearded man in a cap and the
+blouse of the artisan crowned this exciting ceremony by kissing the
+young student full on the mouth.</p>
+
+<p>A score of hats were tendered, but Jean accepted the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>cap of the
+stalwart workman, who immediately brandished his club and shouted "En
+avant!" He unwound his soiled red sash as he started, and, making it
+deftly into a sort of turban, constituted himself Jean's special
+body-guard for the day.</p>
+
+<p>The strong force of police posted in the neighborhood of the Louvre
+had regarded this street drama with stoical indifference. When the
+noisy crowd surged into the Rue de Rivoli it passed between the
+mounted videttes of the Garde R&eacute;publicaine. Farther on, in the Rue St.
+Honor&eacute;, a squad of dismounted cuirassiers stood listlessly holding the
+bridles of their horses. The afternoon sun flashed electric rays from
+the plates of burnished steel.</p>
+
+<p>"Vive l'arm&eacute;e!" burst from the mob.</p>
+
+<p>A subaltern on the curb touched his glittering casque in military
+salute without stirring a muscle of his armored body.</p>
+
+<p>Now recognized leader, Jean directed the march up the narrow Rue de
+Richelieu, observing to his bearded aide that it was more direct and
+safe, though shouts of "Avenue de l'Op&eacute;ra! l'Op&eacute;ra!" rose from his
+followers. Jean paid no attention to these cries.</p>
+
+<p>"You are right, my boy!" said the man in the blouse, patting Jean on
+the shoulder approvingly. "The broad streets are to the agents and
+military. The cuirassiers can there trample men like flies! Ah! with a
+regiment of cavalry and a battery of three quick-firers one could hold
+Paris at the Place de l'Op&eacute;ra against the world!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my friend," answered Jean, with a smile, "always provided the
+world agreed not to drop <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>thousand-pound melinite shells on one from
+Mont Val&eacute;rien or Montmartre, or from some other place."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, yes,&mdash;you are right, my boy," admitted the other. "En
+avant!"</p>
+
+<p>This man had the voice of a Stentor. He was also a Hercules of
+strength. Here and there the narrow street seemed blocked with
+vehicles; but when he did not terrorize the drivers into immediate
+flight at the sound of his voice and the sight of his club he would
+calmly lift the encumbrance and set it to one side.</p>
+
+<p>"En avant!" he would then roar.</p>
+
+<p>Where possible, however, all vehicles promptly fled the street save
+the omnibuses. From the imperiale of one of these came the cry,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Vive la r&eacute;publique!"</p>
+
+<p>"Vive l'arm&eacute;e!" yelled the mob.</p>
+
+<p>"Vive la r&eacute;publique!" came the response.</p>
+
+<p>A dash was made for the omnibus. While four or five men held the
+horses a dozen or more clambered over the wheels and up the narrow
+steps behind. There were sixteen persons on top, seven of whom were
+women. The latter shrieked. Two fainted away. The assailants sprang
+upon the men and demanded the one who had dared to consider the health
+of the republic without the army. No one could or would point him out.
+On the apparently well established French principle that it is better
+that ten innocent should suffer punishment rather than that one guilty
+person should escape the patriotic young men assaulted everybody. A
+white-haired old man who protested was slapped in the face, another
+man was quieted by a brutal kick in the abdomen that doubled him up,
+a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>couple of foreigners who could neither understand the language nor
+comprehend what it was all about were roughly handled, a half-grown
+boy was cuffed,&mdash;everybody but the driver came in for blows and
+insults; and this driver of the omnibus was in all probability the
+real villain.</p>
+
+<p>"En avant!"</p>
+
+<p>This lesson was administered en route, and without stopping the main
+body of manifestants pressed on into the grand boulevard, to be
+swallowed up in the resistless human current that now flowed down upon
+the Place de l'Op&eacute;ra.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>A formidable proportion of the grand concourse which filled the
+fashionable boulevards from curb to curb this beautiful Sunday
+afternoon was composed of the so-called "boulevardiers," "fl&acirc;neurs,"
+and "badauds," who invariably appear on occasion offering excitement.
+For the Parisian world loves to be amused, and to have the pulse
+quickened by riot and bloodshed is to very many the highest form of
+amusement. It is better than a bull-fight.</p>
+
+<p>To most of this very large class of Parisians it is immaterial what
+form of government they live under, provided that in some way or
+another it furnish plenty of excitement. No other country in the
+civilized world, unless Spain is to be included under this head,
+produces this peculiar class, the unseen influence of which seems to
+have escaped the brilliant French writers who have recorded the
+turbulent history of France.</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal characteristic of the French individually and as a people
+is love of and admiration for theatrical display. This finds such
+ample illustration in all of their known domestic as well as
+international affairs that even the mere statement seems unnecessary.
+It permeates every social rank, and it enters into the performance of
+the simplest private as well as public duties. In higher governmental
+affairs it was accurately represented by the late President of the
+republic, Felix Faure, who went among his countrymen in a coach and
+four preceded by trumpeters and accompanied by a regiment of
+cuirassiers, and who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>required of his entourage all of the formalities
+of royalty. The hundreds of thousands who enjoyed his kingly funeral
+would have been equally entertained by a public execution.</p>
+
+<p>In the French nature, as has been said, is implanted a keen zest for
+excitement. The Frenchman is ravenous for the theatrical situation,&mdash;a
+perfect gormandizer of the dramatic event. Whatever or whoever lacks
+this gilded framework is neither remembered nor noted. The supply
+invariably follows the demand; without spectators there would be no
+spectacle,&mdash;just as there is no sound where there are no ears.</p>
+
+<p>Any Frenchman, therefore, who has any theatrical novelty to offer,
+whether as a political mountebank, or a bogus hero, or a peculiarly
+atrocious crime, is sure of a large audience. For there is a wide
+range of appreciation in that mercurial nature which, according to
+Voltaire, is half monkey and half tiger.</p>
+
+<p>The evident pleasure with which vast Parisian crowds view riots and
+revolution and the various phases of alternate anarchy and absolutism
+may be easily and naturally accepted by the actors in these living
+dramas as tacit if not positive approval. The professional patriot
+does not perform to empty seats, and the few hundred hired assassins
+of the public peace and private liberty would be out of a job but for
+the hundred thousand passive and more or less amused spectators who
+scramble for the best places to witness and make merry over the show.</p>
+
+<p>That this curious crowd is greatly swelled by what in other lands is
+recognized as the gentler or softer sex increases its responsibility.
+The civilization which has <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>produced so many women of the heroic type,
+so many of the nobler masculine brain and hand, has also generated a
+vast brood which poisons the germs of human life and hands down
+bigotry, intolerance, revengefulness, cruelty, and love of turbulence
+and bloodshed from generation to generation.</p>
+
+<p>Of the performers before this audience Jean Marot and his stalwart
+companion found themselves particularly observed from their d&eacute;but. The
+red turban was conspicuous enough, and gave a theatrical aspect to the
+man who wore it. There was that in his ensemble which recalled the
+great Revolution and the scarcely less sanguinary conflicts of '71. By
+his side and contrasting strangely with the coarse brute features of
+this muscular humanity was the finely chiselled face of the student
+under the rough cap of the workman. A picturesque pair, they were
+greeted on all sides with all sorts of cries and comments:</p>
+
+<p>"That red cap is very appropriate."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the head-dress of the barricades."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of la Villette, hein?"</p>
+
+<p>"The man is mad!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! look at that!"</p>
+
+<p>"There goes a good rascal."</p>
+
+<p>"A young man and his father perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"No!"</p>
+
+<p>"Long live the students!"</p>
+
+<p>"En avant!" roared the man in the red turban.</p>
+
+<p>"Vive l'anarchie!" shouted an individual on the curb whose eyes were
+glazed from absinthe.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd laughed. Some applauded,&mdash;not so much <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>the sentiment as the
+drunken wit. The people were being entertained.</p>
+
+<p>"We certainly have the street this day," observed Jean to his
+companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Right you are, my boy!"</p>
+
+<p>Both noted the squadron of cuirassiers drawn up in front of the Op&eacute;ra,
+the police agents massed on either side, and the regiment of the line
+under arms in the Rue 4 Septembre close at hand. In the middle
+distance a squadron of the Garde de Paris came leisurely up the Avenue
+de l'Op&eacute;ra.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, my friend," said Jean, smiling, "the government is looking
+sharply after its strategic position."</p>
+
+<p>"Vive l'arm&eacute;e!"</p>
+
+<p>The man in the red turban swung his b&acirc;ton, and his resounding cry was
+caught up by the manifestants. It was the voice of flattery and
+conciliation extended to the army, through which the royalist party
+hoped to win a throne.</p>
+
+<p>But they were not alone there. From several quarters came sharp
+rejoinders of "Vive la justice!" "Vive la r&eacute;publique!" "Vive la
+France!"</p>
+
+<p>While these cries seemed harmless if not proper, they were judged
+seditious by the police, who made a dash for those who uttered them.
+In another instant the man with the red turban would have saved the
+agents the trouble of arresting the nearest person had not Jean
+grasped the b&acirc;ton. The brute face had taken on a flush of red
+ferocity. His blow restrained, the man spat in the face of his
+intended victim and strode on.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, my friend!" exclaimed the student leader. "What! precipitate
+a fight here! Madness! We <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>should be ridden down within three minutes!
+The government will be sure to protect the Op&eacute;ra."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; you are always right, mon enfant," growled the man.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the unfortunate Parisian who wanted "justice" got it; being
+dragged off by two police agents, who took turns in kicking and
+cuffing their prisoner on the way to the d&eacute;p&ocirc;t. There he was charged
+with uttering seditious cries calculated to lead to a breach of the
+peace.</p>
+
+<p>Gathering confidence from immunity, however, the manifestants soon
+ceased to observe this respect for public opinion. In Boulevard
+Haussmann they got out from the eye of the military. They began to
+hustle those who happened to get in their way. Those who were not
+sufficiently explicit in their views were compelled to cry "Vive
+l'arm&eacute;e;" whoever refused was promptly knocked on the head.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Front de B&oelig;uf," said Jean Marot to his companion, who had
+narrowly missed spattering the young leader with the brains of a
+misguided Dreyfusarde, "if you will strike less heavily you will
+longer remain with us, and possibly for a time escape the guillotine.
+Let us do no murder, mon ami. Your stick is heavy."</p>
+
+<p>"That's so; but it is a lovely stick all the same," replied the man,
+with a satisfied air, as he wiped the blood from his hands upon his
+blouse.</p>
+
+<p>Then for the first time Jean noticed that this blouse bore many old
+stains of the same sanguinary color. Undoubtedly it was blood. Human?
+Faugh!</p>
+
+<p>Jean saw around him other men of the same type, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>red-faced and
+strong-limbed, mentally as well as physically saturated with the
+brutality of their calling. He thought of Mlle. Fouchette. It was
+true, then, that these human brutes from the abattoirs were here. That
+other type, the "camelot,"&mdash;he of the callous, cadaverous face, thinly
+clad body, cunning eyes, husky lungs,&mdash;was more familiar.</p>
+
+<p>But these butchers of La Villette, why were they royalists? What
+special interest had the killers of cattle in the restoration of the
+monarchy? They had emphasized their devotion to the Duc d'Orl&eacute;ans by
+re-electing his parliamentary leader, the Comte de Sabran, by an
+overwhelming vote. From the rich and influential wholesaler to the low
+hind whose twelve hours a day were passed in knocking bullocks on the
+head or in slitting throats with precision the butchers stood three to
+one for the royal r&eacute;gime. Men may be hired for certain services, but
+in such a case as this there must exist some natural sentiment at
+bottom. This sentiment was perhaps only the common French intolerance
+of existing things.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot's train of thought had not reached that far, owing to fresh
+differences of opinion between some of his followers and the
+spectators, in which it became necessary for a dozen men to kick one
+helpless fellow-man into insensibility.</p>
+
+<p>They were now nearing the proposed place of meeting, and the hitherto
+scattered cries of "Vive la justice!" "Vive la libert&eacute;!" "Vive la
+France!" and "Vive la r&eacute;publique!" had developed into well-defined
+opposition. Personal collisions, blows, objurgations, came thicker and
+faster.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>Finally, from the "terrasse" of a fashionable caf&eacute; in the Boulevard
+Malesherbes came very decided expressions of dissent. They were
+followed by a general assault on the place. Not less than thirty of
+the usual respectable Sunday afternoon "consommateurs" occupied the
+chairs, and, though not more than half a dozen of these could have
+offended, the mob came down upon them like a living avalanche,
+throwing the entire Sunday party of both sexes promiscuously among the
+d&eacute;bris of tables, chairs, glasses, and drinks.</p>
+
+<p>The women shrieked, the men cursed loudly, and everybody struggled in
+the general wreck. While the male portion were kicked and stamped
+where they lay, the feminine part of the caf&eacute; crowd fought tooth and
+nail to escape in any direction.</p>
+
+<p>There were three dissatisfied beings, however, who objected to this
+summary treatment, and who, having regained a footing, courageously
+defended themselves with the nearest weapons at hand. These were empty
+beer-glasses, which, being fraudulently double thick at the bottom,
+were admirably designed for that particular use. But when three
+beer-glasses conflict with twenty loaded canes the former, however
+valiantly wielded, must succumb to the rule of the majority. Among the
+latter, too, was the particularly heavy stick of the patriot from the
+abattoirs of La Villette. He had received a blow from a glass that
+laid his cheek open and had jumped upon his assailant.</p>
+
+<p>"Death!" he roared.</p>
+
+<p>The man sank without a groan amid the broken glass, beer, and blood.
+The savage aimed a terrific <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>blow of the boot at the upturned face,
+but was jostled out of his aim. Again, and with the snarl of a wild
+beast; but a woman had thrown herself across the prostrate figure and
+encircled the still form with her protecting arm. The butcher would
+have planted his iron-shod heel upon her, but at this critical
+juncture another woman&mdash;a slender, pale, weak-looking thing whose
+blonde hair fell loosely over her rouged cheeks&mdash;flew at him with a
+scream half human, half feline,&mdash;such as chills the blood in the
+midnight of the forest. With one hand she tore out great bunches of
+beard by the roots, with the other she left red furrows on his face
+like the paths of a garden-rake. Quick as lightning-flashes, again and
+again, and with each successive stroke of her claws came the low,
+hysterical whine of the wild beast.</p>
+
+<p>It was Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>Her catlike jaws were distended and quivering,&mdash;the white teeth
+glistened,&mdash;the eyes of steel seemed to emit sparks of fire,&mdash;the
+small, lithe body swayed and undulated like that of an angry puma.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!&mdash;so!&mdash;death!&mdash;yes!&mdash;death!&mdash;you!&mdash;beast!&mdash;you devil!"</p>
+
+<p>With each energetic word went a wild sweep of the claws or came a wisp
+of beard.</p>
+
+<p>The man bellowed with pain. The unexpected fury of her onslaught, the
+general m&ecirc;l&eacute;e of close quarters, the instinct of protection,
+contributed to prevent the man from simply braining her with his
+"casse-t&ecirc;te." He was a lion against a hornet, powerless to punish his
+puny assailant. As he finally broke away, she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>suddenly whirled and
+delivered beneath the arm that shielded his eyes a kick that half
+choked him with his own teeth.</p>
+
+<p>Blinded with blood and howling with pain, the wretch plunged headlong
+through the caf&eacute; front amid a crash of falling glass.</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time, while this little curtain-raiser had been getting
+under way, there was still another and more important drama in active
+preparation.</p>
+
+<p>The police, as if to lend such material aid to the royalist cause as
+lay in their power, and to assist in the punishment of those misguided
+Frenchmen who took the words "Libert&eacute;, &Eacute;galit&eacute;, Fraternit&eacute;," inscribed
+over the doors of the public hall, in a too literal sense, had
+violently closed those doors against the latter and by cunningly
+arranged barriers driven the unsuspecting Dreyfusardes down upon their
+armed enemies. It was a most admirably arranged plot to destroy the
+public peace, and reflected credit upon the clerico-royalist-military
+council that had planned it.</p>
+
+<p>Before the indignant republicans had begun to realize the character of
+the trap set for them they found themselves hemmed in on three sides
+by the police and attacked by the combination of hostile forces on the
+other side.</p>
+
+<p>The latter had been quietly assembled in the vicinity in anticipation
+of this d&eacute;nouement. They were led by Senators and Deputies wearing the
+official scarf of their high legislative function. This at once
+afforded the latter reasonable immunity from arrest, and served to
+encourage and assure those accustomed to look for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>some shadow of
+authority to conceal or excuse the evil of their deeds.</p>
+
+<p>The French Senator or Deputy who leads street rioters against a
+peaceable assemblage of his fellow-citizens one day and serenely sits
+in national legislative deliberation the next day is the faithful
+representative of a constituency as far removed from the American type
+of citizenship as the French legislator is from our national
+legislator.</p>
+
+<p>With shouts of "Vive l'arm&eacute;e!" "&Agrave; bas les vendus!" "Vive France aux
+Fran&ccedil;ais!" "&Agrave; bas les Juifs!" the waiting combination, or
+"nationalistes," fell upon their victims with fist, heel, and club.
+This was not as a body, the assailants being cleverly scattered
+everywhere through the crowd, and assaulting individually and
+supporting each other where resistance was encountered. As many were
+mere spectators, they were compelled to declare themselves or come in
+for a share of the drubbing, though this opportunity for escape was
+not always offered or accepted.</p>
+
+<p>The pure love of fighting is strong in the French as in the Irish
+breast, and once roused the Frenchman is not too particular whose head
+comes beneath his b&acirc;ton.</p>
+
+<p>It naturally happened, therefore, that on this occasion the innocent
+curious of all opinions received impartial treatment, often without
+knowing to which side they were indebted for their thumping. Every man
+thus assaulted at once became a rioter and began the work on his own
+particular account. Within a brief period not less than a hundred
+personal combats <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>were going on at the same moment. As far as the eye
+could reach the broad boulevard was a surging sea of scuffling
+humanity, above which rose a cloud of dust and a continuous roar of
+angry voices. To the distant ear this was as one voice,&mdash;that of
+terrible imprecation.</p>
+
+<p>Having thus ingeniously united the conflicting currents in one
+tempest, the police precipitated themselves on the whole.</p>
+
+<p>Had any additional element been required to bring things to the
+highest stage of combativeness this would have answered quite well. As
+interference in family affairs almost invariably brings the wrath of
+both parties down on the peacemaker, so now the police began to
+receive their share of the public attention.</p>
+
+<p>The Parisian population have not that docile disposition and
+submissive respect for authority characteristic of our Americans. The
+absence of the night-stick and ready revolver must be supplied by
+overwhelming physical force. Even escaping criminals cannot be shot
+down in France with impunity.</p>
+
+<p>Though deprived of both clubs and sabres and not trusted with
+revolvers, these police agents make good use of hands and feet. Not
+being bound by the rules of the ring, their favorite blow is the blow
+below the belt. It is viciously administered by both foot and knee.
+Next to that is the kick on the shins, which, delivered by a heavy,
+iron-shod cowhide boot, is pretty apt to render the recipient hors de
+combat. Supplemented by a quick fist and directed by a quicker temper,
+the French police agent is no mean antagonist in a general row. In
+brutality and impulsive cruelty <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>he is but the flesh and blood of
+those with whom he has mostly to deal.</p>
+
+<p>The battle now raged with increasing violence, the combatants being
+slowly driven down upon the approaching manifestants from the Quartier
+Latin, Montmartre, and La Villette. It had become everybody's fight,
+the original Dreyfusardes having been largely eliminated by
+nationaliste clubs and police arrests. The ambulances and cellular
+vans, playfully termed "salad-baskets," thoughtfully stationed in the
+side streets, were being rapidly filled, and as fast as filled were
+driven to hospital and prison respectively.</p>
+
+<p>The reverberating roar of human voices beat against the tall
+buildings, rising and falling in frightful diapason, as if it were the
+echo from a thousand savage creatures of the jungle clashing their
+fangs in deadly combat.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot and his immediate followers had scarcely turned from the
+scene at the caf&eacute; before they were swallowed up in the vortex that now
+met them. Indeed, Jean had not witnessed either the horrible brutality
+of the butcher or his punishment. The cries of "Les agents! &agrave; bas les
+agents!" had suddenly carried him elsewhere on the field of battle. He
+found himself, fired by the fever of conflict, in the middle of the
+broad street so closely surrounded by friends and foes that sticks
+were encumbrances. A short arm blow only was now and then effective. A
+dozen police agents were underfoot somewhere, being pitilessly stamped
+and trampled by the frantic mob. The platoon that had charged was
+wiped out as a platoon. Those who were hemmed in fought like demons.
+Men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>throttled each other and swayed back and forth and yelled
+imprecations and fell in struggling masses and got upon their feet
+again and twisted and squirmed and panted, like so many monsters, half
+serpent and half beast, seeking to bury their fangs in some vital part
+or tear each other limb from limb.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Jean saw rise before him a face that drove everything else
+from his mind. It was that of one who saw him at the same instant. And
+when these bloodshot eyes of passion met a fierce yell of wrath burst
+from the two men.</p>
+
+<p>It was Henri Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>He was hatless and his clothes were in shreds and covered with the
+grime of the street. His hair was matted with coagulated blood,&mdash;his
+lips were swollen hideously. A police agent in about the same
+condition held him by the throat.</p>
+
+<p>When Henri Lerouge saw Jean Marot he seemed imbued with the strength
+of a giant and the agility of a cat. He shook off the grip of the
+agent as if it were that of a child and at a bound cleared the
+struggling group that separated him from his former friend.</p>
+
+<p>They grappled without a word and without a blow, and, linked in the
+embrace of mortal hatred, rolled together in the dust.</p>
+
+<p>The cruel human waves broke over them and rolled on and receded, and
+went and came again, and eddied and seethed and roared above them.</p>
+
+<p>These two rose no more.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>When the police, supported by the Garde de Paris, had finally swept
+the boulevard clear of the mob, they found among the human d&eacute;bris two
+men locked in each other's grasp, insensible. The imprint on two
+throats showed with what desperate ferocity they had clung to each
+other. Indeed, their hands were scarcely yet relaxed from exhaustion.
+Their faces were black and their tongues protruded.</p>
+
+<p>In the nearest pharmacy, where ambulances were being awaited by a
+dozen others, Jean Marot quickly revived under treatment. The case of
+Henri Lerouge, however, was more serious. He had received a severe cut
+in the head early in the row and the young surgeon in charge feared
+internal injuries. Artificial means were required to induce
+respiration. This was restored slowly and laboriously. At the first
+sign of life he murmured,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Andr&eacute;e! Sister! Ah! my poor little sister!"</p>
+
+<p>Jean roused himself. The sounds of voices and wheels came to him
+indistinctly. Everything merged in these words,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Andr&eacute;e! Sister!"</p>
+
+<p>Then again all was blank.</p>
+
+<p>When he revived he was first of all conscious of a gentle feminine
+touch,&mdash;that subtle something which cools the fevered veins and
+softens the pangs of suffering, mind and body.</p>
+
+<p>He felt it rather as if it were a dream, and kept his eyes closed for
+fear the dream would vanish. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>hand softly bathed his head, which
+consciously lay in a woman's lap. He remembered but one hand&mdash;his
+mother's&mdash;that had soothed him thus, and the sweet souvenir provoked a
+deep sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! mon Dieu!" murmured the voice of Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"L'h&ocirc;pital ou d&eacute;p&ocirc;t?" inquired the nearest agent.</p>
+
+<p>"D&eacute;p&ocirc;t," said the sous-brigadier.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no! no!" exclaimed the girl, indignantly. "See, messieurs; he is
+wounded and weak, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"One moment!"</p>
+
+<p>A young surgeon knelt and applied his ear to the heaving breast, while
+the police agents whispered among each other.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette caught the words, "It is La Savati&egrave;re," and smiled
+faintly, but was at once recalled to the situation by a pair of open
+eyes through which Jean Marot regarded her intently.</p>
+
+<p>"So! It&mdash;it is only Mademoiselle Fouchette. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He saw the cloud that rose upon her face and heard the gentle humility
+of her reply,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur, it is only Fouchette. How do you find yourself,
+Monsieur Jean?"</p>
+
+<p>She put a flask of brandy to his lips and saw him swallow a mouthful
+mechanically. Suddenly he raised himself to a sitting posture and
+looked anxiously about.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who? Where is who, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"Lerouge. Why, he was here but now. Where is he?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>"Lerouge! That wretch!" cried the girl, with passion. "I could
+strangle him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no, no, no!" he interposed. "It is a mistake. His sister,
+Fouchette&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>His glance was more than she could bear. She would have drawn him back
+to her as a mother protects a sick child, only a rough hand
+interposed.</p>
+
+<p>"See! he raves, messieurs."</p>
+
+<p>"Let him rave some more," said the sous-brigadier. "This is our
+affair. So it was Monsieur Lerouge, was it? Very good! Henri Lerouge,
+medical student, Quartier Latin, anarchist, turbulent fellow,
+rascal,&mdash;well cracked this time!"</p>
+
+<p>Jean looked from the girl to the man and laid himself back in her arms
+without a word.</p>
+
+<p>"Make a note," continued the police official,&mdash;"bad characters, both.
+This man goes to d&eacute;p&ocirc;t!"</p>
+
+<p>"For shame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"And hear this!" added the sous-brigadier in an angry voice,&mdash;"if this
+grisette of Rue St. Jacques gives you any of her guff run her in!"</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;no, monsieur, that you will not! My business is here,&mdash;my
+authority above your authority,&mdash;and here I will remain!"</p>
+
+<p>"Show it!" demanded the official.</p>
+
+<p>She regarded him wrathfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, mademoiselle," said he, choking back his anger. "I know my
+duty and will not be interfered with by&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Gare &agrave; vous!" she interrupted, threateningly.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't!" whispered Jean. "It is nothing. But tell me quickly,&mdash;has
+Lerouge gone to prison?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>"H&ocirc;tel Dieu," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Good! Go to his place, 7 Rue Dareau, you know,&mdash;tell
+her,&mdash;Mademoiselle Remy,&mdash;his sister, Fouchette&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She bent lower over his head, hiding her face from his sight.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! what a fool I have been, Fouchette! Tell her gently&mdash;that he is
+injured&mdash;slightly, mind&mdash;and where he is. That's a good girl,
+Fouchette,&mdash;good girl that you are!"</p>
+
+<p>He could not see her face for the hair that fell over the bowed
+head,&mdash;the living picture of the repentant Magdalen. But he felt her
+warm breath upon his cheek, and, was it a tear that splashed hotly on
+his neck?</p>
+
+<p>But she merely pressed his hand for a reply and, disengaging her
+dress, darted from the place.</p>
+
+<p>Threading her way rapidly among the arriving and departing vans and
+ambulances, the scattered remnants of the mob and the swarms of
+shifting police agents, Mlle. Fouchette finally reached a street open
+to traffic.</p>
+
+<p>It was only at rare intervals that she indulged herself in a cab. This
+was one of the times. Hailing the first-comer, she jumped in and
+called out to the fat cabby, "Place Monge."</p>
+
+<p>He drove thoughtfully as far as the next corner and then inquired over
+his shoulder where Place Monge was. She stood up behind him and fairly
+screamed in his ear,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Square Monge, esp&egrave;ce de melon! Quartier Latin!"</p>
+
+<p>The bony horse started up at the sound of her voice as from the lash.
+Evidently, Mlle. Fouchette was not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>in good temper. She had no relish
+for the work of good-will cut out for her. She was disgusted at the
+weakness of man. If she had been driver at that moment she would have
+run down a few of them en route. Still, her cocher did his best.</p>
+
+<p>At Place du Parvis Notre Dame she called out to him to stop. Getting
+out, she bade him wait near by, and started down along the quai in
+front of the Pr&eacute;fecture de Police. The man seemed suspicious and kept
+a sharp eye on his fare. Just as he was about to follow the girl he
+saw her start back, as if she had changed her mind.</p>
+
+<p>She began to walk very rapidly towards him, looking neither to the
+right nor to the left. A man in a soft hat who had just left the
+Pr&eacute;fecture crossed the street in the opposite direction and, curiously
+enough, though there was an empty desert of space in the vicinity, the
+two jostled each other almost rudely and exchanged angry words.</p>
+
+<p>After which the girl retook her place in the fiacre and said "Allons!"
+in a subdued tone that strongly contrasted with her former acerbity.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure!" said the cabby to himself,&mdash;"she's drunk." And he looked
+forward to the near future rather gloomily.</p>
+
+<p>His suspicion seemed more than justified when she again said Place
+Monge instead of Square Monge, the former being nearly half a mile
+farther. He almost collapsed when she finally got down and not only
+handed him the legal fare without dispute but double the usual
+pourboire.</p>
+
+<p>"Toujours de m&ecirc;me ces femmes-l&agrave;!" he growled, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>philosophically. Which
+meant that women were pretty much alike,&mdash;you never could tell what
+one of them would do.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette, quite indifferent at any time to the private judgment
+of the cab-driving world, now silently and swiftly pursued the uneven
+tenor of her thoughts, not yet manifest. She hurried along the sombre
+walls of the giant caserne de la garde on the Rue Ortolan, plunged
+across the crowded Rue Mouffetard, and entered the picturesque little
+wine-shop on the corner.</p>
+
+<p>It was a low, grim, two-story affair in time-worn stone, the door and
+windows heavily grilled in the elaborate and artistic wrought-iron
+work of the middle ages. A heavy oaken door supplemented the big
+barred gate and added to the ancient prison-like appearance of the
+place. Against the grilles of the Rue Mouffetard hung specimens of the
+filthy illustrated Paris papers, either the pictures or text of which
+would debar them from any respectable English-speaking community. Over
+the door opening into the Rue du Pot de Fer and below a lamp of that
+exquisite iron-work which is now one of the lost arts was displayed a
+small bush, intimating that, in spite of the strong improbability,
+good wine was to be had inside.</p>
+
+<p>While a casual glance showed that the rooms above could not be high
+enough of ceiling for an ordinary individual to stand upright, the
+flowers in the little square recessed and grilled windows showed that
+this upper portion was inhabited. It was connected with the wine-shop
+below by a narrow and very much worn stone staircase, which ascended
+"&agrave; tire-bouchon," or corkscrew fashion, like the steep steps of a
+light-house.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>As to the general reputation of the neighborhood, Mlle. Fouchette knew
+it to be "assez mauvaise,"&mdash;tolerably bad,&mdash;though it was not this
+knowledge that induced her to complete her journey on foot.</p>
+
+<p>Her entrance caused a subdued but perceptible flutter among the
+occupants of the resort. These were, at the moment, four
+respectable-looking men in blouses, an old gentleman in the last stage
+of genteel rustiness, and a couple of camelots in the second stage of
+drunkenness,&mdash;that of undying friendship. The four, who appeared to be
+worthy tradesmen of the neighborhood, occupied a far table in the
+small and time-begrimed room, where they played at cards for small
+stakes; the rusty old gentleman sat alone with a half-emptied
+beer-glass and an evening newspaper before him; the street-hawkers
+were standing at the zinc, which in Paris represents our American bar,
+discussing the events of the day in the hoarse-lunged, insolent tone
+of their class.</p>
+
+<p>Presiding over the establishment was&mdash;yes, it was Madame Podvin.
+Somewhat stouter, redder of face, more piggy of eye, with more decided
+whiskers, but still Madame Podvin.</p>
+
+<p>She busied herself behind the zinc washing glasses, occasionally
+glancing at the men in the corner, smiling upon the inebriated
+camelots, and now and then casting a suspicious eye upon the quiet old
+gentleman behind his beer.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin had retired from the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers upon the
+retirement of Monsieur Podvin from public life by the State, and had
+found this congenial city resort vacant by reason of death,&mdash;the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>proprietor having been stabbed by one of his friendly customers over
+the question of pay for a drink of four sous.</p>
+
+<p>Upon the entrance of Mlle. Fouchette Madame Podvin tapped the zinc
+sharply with the glass as if to knock something out of it, then
+greeted the new-comer effusively.</p>
+
+<p>The four men hastily gathered up their stakes and began talking about
+the weather; the subdued camelots sipped their absinthe in silence;
+the old gentleman fell to reading his paper with renewed interest.</p>
+
+<p>"Bonjour, madame," said Mlle. Fouchette, smilingly ignoring the
+private signal, though inwardly vexed.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Fouchette! Ah! how charming of you!" exclaimed Madame
+Podvin, hastily wiping her hands and coming around the open end of the
+bar to embrace her visitor.</p>
+
+<p>Beneath the most elaborate politeness the Parisian conceals the
+bitterest hatred. French politeness is mostly superficial at best,&mdash;it
+often scarcely hides a cynicism that stings without words, a satire
+that bites to the verge of insult. The more Frenchwomen dislike each
+other the more formal and overpowering their compliments&mdash;if they do
+not come to blows.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you very much, madame," Mlle. Fouchette replied, as Madame
+Podvin kissed her cheeks. "Ah! you are always so gay and delightful,
+madame!"</p>
+
+<p>"And how lovely you have grown to be!" exclaimed the Podvin, with a
+good show of enthusiasm, holding the girl off at arm's length for
+inspection. "It seems impossible that you should have come out of a
+rag-heap! And your sweet disposition&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>Madame Podvin elevated her hands in sheer despair of being able to
+describe it.</p>
+
+<p>"It must go well with you, madame, you are always so amiable and
+cheerful," retorted Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"But you are more lovely every day you grow older," said Madame
+Podvin.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Madame does not grow older!"</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette, ch&eacute;rie, I'm sure you must belong to a good family, you are
+so naturally winning and well-bred. The clothes you had on when I
+found you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Madame?"</p>
+
+<p>"I gave them away&mdash;for twenty&mdash;yes, it was twenty francs&mdash;they were
+not worth as many sous&mdash;to a gentleman&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin stopped at the sight of Mlle. Fouchette's face; but,
+uncertain whether the subject pained, interested, or irritated the
+latter, she continued,&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It was shortly after you left. He was very curious,&mdash;one of these
+government spies, you know, Fouchette&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Madame, I would see Mademoiselle Madeleine," interrupted the other.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin frowned.</p>
+
+<p>"Not sick, I hope," added Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no; only&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Drinking?"</p>
+
+<p>"Like a fish!"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Madeleine!"</p>
+
+<p>"She's a beast!" cried Madame Podvin.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Podvin sold vile liquor but despised the fools who drank it,
+and in this she was not singular.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>"Is she&mdash;&mdash;" Mlle. Fouchette raised her eyes heavenward inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"No,&mdash;she's in the street. Ever since she got out of the hospital she
+has been going from bad to worse every day. And she owes me two weeks'
+lodging. If she doesn't pay up soon I'll&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Whatever the Podvin intended to do with Madeleine she left it unsaid,
+for the latter stood in the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>Great, indeed, was the change which had come over this unfortunate
+girl. Stout to repulsiveness, shabby of attire, fiery of face,
+unsteady of pose, with one bright beautiful eye burning with the
+supernatural fire of absinthe, the other sealed in internal darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Madeleine&mdash;&mdash;" began Mlle. Fouchette, painfully impressed and
+hesitating.</p>
+
+<p>"What! No! Fouchette? Mon ange!"</p>
+
+<p>The drunken woman staggered forward to embrace her friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Madeleine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hold! And first tell me your bad news. You know you always bring me
+bad news, deary. You hunt me up when you have bad news. Come, now!"</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;!" trilled Mlle. Fouchette, passing her arm around the
+other's thick waist to gain time.</p>
+
+<p>"Come! mon ange,&mdash;we'll have a drink anyhow. M&egrave;re! some absinthe,&mdash;we
+have thirst."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no; not now, Madeleine."</p>
+
+<p>"Not a drop here!" said Madame Podvin, seeing that Mlle. Fouchette was
+not disposed to pay.</p>
+
+<p>"Not now," interposed the latter,&mdash;"a little later. I want a word or
+two with you, Madeleine, first. Just two minutes!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>The one brilliant orb regarded the girl intently, as if it would dive
+into her soul; but the habitual good-nature yielded.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Come then, ch&eacute;rie,&mdash;&agrave; l'imp&eacute;riale!"</p>
+
+<p>And, indeed, the narrow, spiral stair more closely resembled that
+which leads to the imp&eacute;riale of the Paris omnibus than anything found
+in the modern house.</p>
+
+<p>The space above was divided in four, the first part being the small
+antechamber, dimly lighted from the roof, which they now entered.
+Through a door to the right they were in a room one-third of which was
+already occupied by an iron camp-bed. The rest of the furniture
+consisted of a little iron washstand, a chair, and some sort of a box
+covered with very much soiled chintz that was once pretty. Above this
+latter article of furniture was a small shelf, on which were
+coquettishly arranged a folding mirror and other cheap articles of
+toilet. A few fans of the cheap Japanesque variety were pinned here
+and there in painful regularity. A cheap holiday skirt and other
+feminine belongings hung on the wall over the cot. In the small,
+square, recessed window opening on Rue Mouffetard were pots of
+flowering plants that gave an air of refinement and comfort to a place
+otherwise cheerless and miserable.</p>
+
+<p>And over all of this poverty and wretchedness hung a blackened ceiling
+so low that the feather of Mlle. Fouchette swept it,&mdash;so low and dark
+and heavy and lugubrious that it seemed to threaten momentarily to
+crush out what little human life and happiness remained there.</p>
+
+<p>Madeleine silently motioned her visitor to the chair <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>and threw
+herself on the creaking bed. She waited, suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>"The riots, you know, Madeleine," began Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Dame! There is always rioting. One hears, but one doesn't mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Unless one has friends, Madeleine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The maimed and half-drunken woman tried to straighten up.</p>
+
+<p>"Well? Out with it, Fouchette. If one has friends in the row&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then we feel an interest in our friends, n'est-ce pas?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is about Lerouge!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Madeleine, I want&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Is he hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;badly,&mdash;and is at the H&ocirc;tel Dieu. I want his address. He has
+moved from 7 Rue Dareau since the police&mdash;since&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You want his address for the police," said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no! no! not for that, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not for that; then what for? Tell me why you want it."</p>
+
+<p>This was exactly what Mlle. Fouchette evidently did not desire to do.
+Madeleine saw it, and added firmly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me first, then&mdash;well, then I'll see."</p>
+
+<p>"I will, then," rejoined the other, savagely.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to notify his sister."</p>
+
+<p>Madeleine looked at the speaker fixedly, as if still waiting for her
+to begin; stupidly, for her poor muddled brain refused to comprehend.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>Mlle. Fouchette continued,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I say I wish to go to his place," she said, with great deliberation,
+"and notify his sister that her brother is injured and is lying at
+H&ocirc;tel Dieu. I promised. It is important. Believing you knew the
+address I have come to you. You will help me, for his sister's
+sake,&mdash;for his sake, Madeleine? You know his sister lives with
+him&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you said his sister&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But the voice choked. The words came huskily, like a death-rattle in
+her throat.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sister," began again Mlle. Fouchette. But she was almost afraid
+now. The aspect of her listener's face was enough to touch even a
+harder heart than possessed this not too tender bearer of ill news.</p>
+
+<p>However, Madeleine would have heard nothing more. She gazed vacantly
+at the opposite wall, a knee between her hands, and swaying slightly
+to and fro. Her face, bloated with drink, had become almost pale, and
+was the picture of long-settled grief. It was as if she were in fresh
+mourning for the long ago.</p>
+
+<p>Presently a solitary tear from the unseen and unseeing eye stole out
+of its dark retreat and rolled slowly and reluctantly down upon the
+cheek and stopped and dried there.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette saw it as the weather observer sees the moisture on
+the glass and speculated on the character of the coming storm.</p>
+
+<p>She was disappointed. For instead of an explosion Madeleine suddenly
+rose and began fumbling among the garments on the wall without a word.
+She selected the best from her humble wardrobe and laid the pieces
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>out one by one on the bed, then began rapidly to divest herself of
+what she wore.</p>
+
+<p>When interrogated by the wondering Fouchette she never replied.
+Indeed, she no longer appeared to notice that her visitor was there.
+She bathed her face, and washed her hands, and scrubbed her white
+teeth, and carefully rearranged her hair. All of this with a calmness
+and precision of a perfectly sober woman,&mdash;as she now undoubtedly was.
+She then resumed her hat.</p>
+
+<p>"How!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, noting this quiet preparation with
+growing astonishment,&mdash;"not going out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"But, dear, you have not yet given me the address."</p>
+
+<p>"It is unnecessary."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Madeleine!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is unnecessary, Fouchette. I will go and see his&mdash;his sister and
+lead her to him."</p>
+
+<p>"But, deary!"</p>
+
+<p>"And I will go alone," she added, looking at the other for the first
+time.</p>
+
+<p>Unmindful of the wheedling voice of remonstrance, without another
+word, and leaving her door wide open and Mlle. Fouchette to follow or
+not at her pleasure, the miserable girl gained the street and swiftly
+sped away through the falling shadows of the night.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>Jean Marot occupied a cell in a "panier &agrave; salade" en route for the
+d&eacute;p&ocirc;t, not so much the worse for his recent exciting experience as at
+first seemed probable he might be.</p>
+
+<p>There were eight other occupants of the prison-van besides himself,
+one of whom was a soldier guard. Five narrow cells ranged along either
+side of a central aisle. Each had a solitary small, closely shuttered
+breathing-hole opening outside. The guard occupied a seat in the aisle
+near the rear door, from which he could survey the door of every cell.
+By this arrangement prisoners were kept separate from each other, were
+not subjected to a gaping crowd, and ten persons could be safely
+escorted by a single guard.</p>
+
+<p>From the half-suppressed murmurs and objurgations that followed every
+severe jolt of the wagon, Jean rightly judged that most of the
+prisoners were more or less injured. And as the driver drove
+furiously, having the fight of way and being pressed with business
+this particular Sunday afternoon, there were still louder and more
+exhaustive remarks from those who narrowly escaped being run over by
+the cellular van.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot, however, was too much engrossed with his own miserable
+reflections to pay any more than mechanical attention to all of this.
+Physically resuscitated and momentarily inflating his glad lungs anew,
+he still felt that terrible vice-like grip upon his throat,&mdash;the
+compression of the fingers of steel that seemed to squeeze the last
+drop of blood from his heart.</p>
+
+<p>But it was mental suffocation now. For they were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>the fingers of her
+brother,&mdash;the flesh and sinew of the woman he loved! And it was this
+love that was being cruelly crushed and strangled.</p>
+
+<p>It was more terrible than the late physical struggle. The latter had
+invoked the energy, the courage, and the superhuman strength and
+endurance to meet it,&mdash;had roused the fire of conscious manhood. Now
+the sick soul revolted at its own folly. The props of self-respect had
+been knocked away, and he lay prone, humiliated, deprived of the
+initial courage to rise and hope.</p>
+
+<p>The chief cause of this self-degradation lay in the fact that he had
+grievously wronged the only one in the world he had found worth
+loving,&mdash;the one sweet being for whom he would have willingly
+sacrificed life. The fact that this wrong was by and in thought alone
+did not lessen the horrible injustice of it.</p>
+
+<p>The more Jean thought of these things the more sick at heart he was,
+the more hopeless his love became, the more desperately dark the
+future appeared. There seemed to be nothing left but misery and death.</p>
+
+<p>This train of bitterness was interrupted by a violent wrangle between
+the occupants of neighboring cells. A prisoner across the way had
+shouted "Vive l'arm&eacute;e!" Another responded by the gay chanson,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Entre nous, l'arm&eacute;e du salut,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Elle n'a jamais eu d'autre but<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Que d'amasser d' la bonne galette."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>It came from his next-door neighbor, and was the familiar voice of the
+saturnine George Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>"Shut your mouth, rascal!" yelled the guard, rapping the cell door
+with his sword bayonet.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later the van was stopped, the rear door opened, and one
+by one the prisoners, bloody, torn, and bedraggled, were handed out
+and hustled not very gently by two police agents through a heavily
+grilled doorway into a room already crowded with victims of law and
+order. All of these were yet to be called before the commissaire and
+interrogated in turn, and by him either held or discharged. A good
+many were both hatless and coatless, and altogether they certainly
+bore a riotous and suspicious look.</p>
+
+<p>In the crowd near the desk where they were led to be registered Jean
+met his old friend Villeroy.</p>
+
+<p>"Oho!" exclaimed the latter, laughingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; it is I, my friend."</p>
+
+<p>"Pinched this time, hein?"</p>
+
+<p>"So it seems."</p>
+
+<p>"And in what company?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yours, I suppose," retorted Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"Good company!" said Villeroy. "Kill any&mdash;any agents?"</p>
+
+<p>"No,&mdash;no!" said Jean, who did not relish this subject.</p>
+
+<p>"See Lerouge?"</p>
+
+<p>"N&mdash;that is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The mis&eacute;rable!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, as for that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he's done for, anyhow."</p>
+
+<p>"Wha-at?"</p>
+
+<p>"His goose is cooked!"</p>
+
+<p>"How is that? Not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>"Dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"As a mackerel!"</p>
+
+<p>Jean paled perceptibly and almost staggered against his friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Impossible!" he murmured. "It can't be! How&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, easy enough," interrupted the other, lightly. "Some ruffian
+choked him to death, they say. Liable to occur, is it not? Sorry, of
+course, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately for Jean's self-control, they were rudely separated by two
+angry opponents who wanted to fight it out then and there. He would
+have betrayed himself in another moment. And, wrought up to the
+present tension, it seemed as if he must go mad and shriek his guilt
+to all the world.</p>
+
+<p>He sought an obscure corner and sat down on the floor with his back to
+the wall, his chin upon his knees.</p>
+
+<p>In his own soul he was condemned already. He only awaited the
+guillotine.</p>
+
+<p>When he was aroused the room was almost cleared. A couple of agents
+roughly hustled him before the busy commissaire. It was the old
+official the student had struck that morning. The red welt across his
+face gave it a sinister appearance. He glanced at the arraigned, then
+read from the blotter,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Jean Marot, student,&mdash;um, um, um!&mdash;charged with&mdash;with&mdash;let's
+see&mdash;with uttering seditious cries calculated to lead to a breach of
+the peace. What have you got to say for yourself, young man?"</p>
+
+<p>The prisoner had nothing to say for himself,&mdash;at least, nothing better
+than that,&mdash;so he was speechless.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>"Ah! evidently never been here before," said the old commissaire. "Go!
+and never come here again. Discharged. Call the next."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur le Commissaire," began a police agent who had here risen to
+his feet with an air of remonstrance,&mdash;"monsieur&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Call the next!" said the commissaire, waving the agent down
+peremptorily.</p>
+
+<p>And thus Jean Marot, before he had recovered from his surprise, or
+could even realize what had happened, was again hustled through the
+corridor, this time to be unceremoniously thrust into the street&mdash;a
+free man.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold, Monsieur Jean!" said the lively voice of Mlle. Fouchette. "What
+a precious long time you have been!"</p>
+
+<p>"It might have been longer," he remarked, vaguely accepting her
+presence as not unnatural, and suffering himself to be led down the
+block.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, here it is," said she, going straight to a cab in waiting. "Now,
+don't stop to ask questions or I'll be wicked. Get in! Dinner is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Dinner is, is it?" he repeated, almost hysterically.</p>
+
+<p>He felt exhausted physically and mentally, indifferent as to what now
+befell him, prepared to accept anything. Nothing could be worse. He
+felt as if everything was crumbling beneath his feet. There was nobody
+to lean against, nobody to sympathize with him, nobody to care one way
+or the other, or&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Only this girl at his side.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her wonderingly, now that he came to think of her. The
+thin, insignificant figure, the pale face, the drooping blonde hair
+lying demurely on the cheeks, the bright steel-blue eyes, the pussycat
+purr&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>"How absurd you are, Monsieur Jean, with that awful face! One would
+think it was because of the prospect of my dinner!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am thinking of you," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thanks, monsieur! And so savagely&mdash;I have fear!"</p>
+
+<p>She laughed gleefully, and affected to move away from him, only, at
+that instant, the hind wheel of the voiture struck a stray bowlder,
+and the shock threw her bodily back against him.</p>
+
+<p>Both laughed now.</p>
+
+<p>"It is provoking," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the fatality," said he.</p>
+
+<p>And he put his arm about her slender form and held her there without
+protest.</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking of you, mon enfant," he continued, "and of what a
+dear, good little thing you are. Mademoiselle, you are an angel!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! no, monsieur!" she answered, in a voice that trembled a
+little,&mdash;"do not believe it! I'm a devil!"</p>
+
+<p>It is easy for a man in deep trouble to accept the first sympathetic
+woman as something angelic. And now, in his gratitude, it was perhaps
+natural that Jean should unhesitatingly supply Mlle. Fouchette with
+wings. He had humbled himself in the dust, from which point of view
+all virtues look beautiful and all good actions partake of heaven. His
+response to her self-depreciation was a human one. He drew her closer
+and kissed her lips.</p>
+
+<p>In this he deceived neither himself nor the girl. She knew quite as
+well as he where his heart was. It was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>a kiss of gratitude and of
+good-will, and was received as such without affectation. In his
+masculine egotism, however, he quite overlooked any possible good or
+ill to her in the matter,&mdash;his consideration began and ended in the
+gratification of her conduct towards him. And he would have been cold
+indeed not to feel the friendly glow which answers so eloquently the
+touch of womanly gentleness and sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>As for Mlle. Fouchette, it must be admitted that this platonic caress
+created in her maidenly bosom a nervous thrill of pleasure not quite
+consistent in a young woman known to give the "savate" to young
+gentlemen who approached such familiarity, and who plumed herself on
+her invulnerability to the masculine wiles that beset her sex. And
+what might have been deemed still more foreign to her nature, she
+never said a word from that moment until the voiture drew up in front
+of her place of residence in the venerable but not venerated Rue St.
+Jacques.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;!" she then exclaimed, though it had not the tone of entire
+satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold on, little one, I will pay&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But he discovered that those who had cared for him had also
+benevolently relieved him of his valuables. He had not a sou.</p>
+
+<p>"The wretches!" cried the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"They might have left me my keys, at least," he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>"And your watch, monsieur?" she asked, apprehensively.</p>
+
+<p>"Gone, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the miserable cowards!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>He was less moved than she at the loss. It seemed trifling by the side
+of his other misfortunes.</p>
+
+<p>But the coachman was interested. He carefully noted the number of the
+house again, and when she passed up his fare looked into her face with
+a knowing leer.</p>
+
+<p>"If monsieur wishes to go back to the Pr&eacute;fecture," he said to her,
+tentatively.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!" said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>The girl, however, understood the significance of this inquiry, and
+coldly demanded the man's number.</p>
+
+<p>"If Mademoiselle Fouchette should need you again," she added, putting
+the slip in her pocket, "she will know where to find you."</p>
+
+<p>And to the manifest astonishment of the cabman, who could not divine
+what a woman of Rue St. Jacques would want with a man without money,
+or at least valuables, she slipped her arm through Jean's and entered
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>The shaded lamp turned low threw a dim light over a little table
+simply but neatly set for two in Mlle. Fouchette's chamber. A cold cut
+of beef, some delicate slices of boiled tongue, an open box of
+sardines, a plate heaped with cold red cabbage, a lemon, olives,
+etc.,&mdash;all fresh from the r&ocirc;tisserie and charcuterie below,&mdash;were
+flanked by a m&egrave;tre of bread and a litre of Bordeaux. The spread looked
+quite appetizing and formidable.</p>
+
+<p>Absorbed as he was in himself, Jean could not but note the certainty
+implied in all of this preparation. Mlle. Fouchette could not have
+known that he would be at liberty, yet she had arranged things exactly
+as if <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>she had possessed this foreknowledge. If they had not made a
+mistake and let him off so easily&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You were, then, sure I would come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very sure," said she, without turning from the small mirror where she
+readjusted her hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Monsieur Jean," she began, in a nervous, business-like way,
+suiting the action to the word, "I'm the doctor. You are to do just as
+I tell you. First you take this good American whiskey, then you lie
+down&mdash;here&mdash;there&mdash;that way,&mdash;voil&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No!" putting her delicate hand over his mouth gently,&mdash;"you are not
+to talk, you know."</p>
+
+<p>He stretched himself at full length on the low couch without another
+protest. She brought a towel and basin and, removing the collar which
+had been twisted into a dirty rope, bathed his face and neck. She saw
+the red imprint of fingers on his throat with mingled hatred and
+commiseration; but she said nothing, only pressing the wet towel to
+the spot tenderly. In the place of the collar she put a piece of soft
+flannel saturated with cologne, and passed a silk scarf around the
+neck to hold it there. With comb and brush she softly smoothed out his
+hair, half toying with the locks about the temples, and perching her
+little head this way and that, as if to more accurately study the
+effect.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! now that looks better. Monsieur is beginning to look civilized."</p>
+
+<p>She carefully pinned the ends of the scarf down over the shirt-front
+to hide the blood that was there.</p>
+
+<p>All of this with a hundred exclamations and little comments and
+questions that required no answers, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>broken sentences of pity, of
+raillery, of pleasure, that had no beginning and no ending as
+grammatical constructions.</p>
+
+<p>Purr, purr, purr.</p>
+
+<p>Finally she rubbed his shoes till they shone, and flecked the dust
+from his clothes,&mdash;to complete which operation it was necessary for
+him to get up.</p>
+
+<p>A slight noise on the landing caused him to start nervously.</p>
+
+<p>He was still thinking of one thing,&mdash;of a man lying cold and stiff at
+the H&ocirc;tel Dieu.</p>
+
+<p>Both carefully avoided the subject uppermost in either mind,&mdash;Henri
+Lerouge and his sister.</p>
+
+<p>First, she was astonished that he had not questioned her; next, she
+sought to escape questioning altogether. She was secretive by nature.
+And now, like a contrite and wretched woman conscious of her share of
+responsibility for a great wrong, she could only humble herself before
+him and await his will.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "we will eat. Come! You must be
+hungry,&mdash;come! &Agrave; table, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Au contraire, I feel as if I could never eat again," he said,
+desperately.</p>
+
+<p>"What nonsense! Come, monsieur,&mdash;sit down here and eat something! You
+will feel better at once."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you do not know! you cannot know!" he groaned, reseating himself
+and taking his head between his hands. "It is too horrible! horrible!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, monsieur! What is it? Are you, then, hurt within? Say! Do you
+suffer? How foolish I have been! I should have brought a doctor!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>She was kneeling in front of him in her genuine alarm. "Where is it,
+Monsieur Jean? Where is the pain? Tell me! Tell me, then, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"No! no! it is not that, my child! It is here! here! here!" He struck
+his breast at every word, and bowed his head with abject grief.</p>
+
+<p>She was silent, thinking only of his hapless love. There was no word
+for that!</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! if it were only that! If it had been me instead of him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur! My poor Monsieur Jean! You must not give way thus!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not fit to sit at the table with you, mademoiselle! My hands are
+red with blood! Do not touch them! Understand? Red!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you are crazy, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"No! I am&mdash;I am simply a <i>murderer</i>! Do you hear? A
+<span class="smcap">MURDERER</span>!"</p>
+
+<p>He whispered it with awful solemnity. Mlle. Fouchette, now thoroughly
+frightened, recoiled from him. He was mad!</p>
+
+<p>"That's right!" he cried. "That's right, mademoiselle! I'm not fit to
+touch you! No wonder you shrink from me! For I have blood on my
+hands,&mdash;his blood,&mdash;understand?&mdash;my friend's! Lerouge dead! dead! And
+by me!"</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" she demanded. "Lerouge dead? Nonsense! It is not so!
+Who told you that? I say it is not true!"</p>
+
+<p>He seized her almost fiercely,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Not dead? Her brother not dead? Say it again! Give me some hope!" he
+pleaded, pitifully.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>"I tell you again it is not so! I saw one who knows but a few minutes
+before I met you!"</p>
+
+<p>He sank on his knees at her feet and kissed her hands, now trembling
+with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"Again!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"It is as true as God!" said she. "And he is doing well!"</p>
+
+<p>He took her in his arms passionately, pouring out the thankfulness of
+his soul in kisses and loving caresses, sobbing like a child. They
+mingled their tears,&mdash;the blessed tears of joy and sympathy!</p>
+
+<p>For a long time they rested thus, immobile, with thoughts too deep for
+expression,&mdash;in a sacred silence broken only by sighs. Then when the
+calm was complete she softly disengaged herself in saying, "And <i>she</i>
+is there, Jean," as if completing the sentence long before begun. But
+it required an effort.</p>
+
+<p>He answered by a pressure of the hand. That was all.</p>
+
+<p>"And now, then, monsieur," she observed, abruptly and with playful
+satire, "I'm going to eat. I'm sorry you are not hungry, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Eat? Little one," he joyously cried, "I can eat a house and lot!" He
+took her bodily between his hands, he who a moment before had been so
+weak, and tossed her as one plays with a child.</p>
+
+<p>"For shame! There is no house here for you, but I've got a lot to eat!
+There! No more of that, Monsieur Jean, or you shall have no supper!"</p>
+
+<p>As he threatened her again with his exuberant spirits, she wisely but
+laughingly put the table between <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>them. But she looked a world of
+happiness from her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>From the extreme of mental depression Jean Marot was thus suddenly
+transported to the extreme of happiness and hopefulness. Simply
+because the life of the man whom he would have done to death, in his
+insane jealousy of a successful rival, had become precious, priceless,
+as that of the brother of his beloved. The conditions were desperate
+enough as they were. To have slain her brother would not only have
+rendered them hopeless, it would have condemned the survivor to a
+lifetime of remorse, unless, indeed, that life had not been happily
+shortened by the guillotine.</p>
+
+<p>So they laughed, talked, ate, drank, and made merry, these two, taking
+no thought of the morrow until both the supper and the time necessary
+to dispose of it were consumed.</p>
+
+<p>Jean lighted a cigarette that she gave him, and threw himself on the
+couch. Meanwhile, the girl, with the assistance of Poupon, got some
+hot water and washed the dishes, putting them one by one carefully
+back on the shelves in the wall. Finally the empty bottle found its
+place under the couch.</p>
+
+<p>Then she discovered that Jean was sleeping soundly. He had succumbed
+in spite of rattling dishes and her talk, and slept the heavy sleep of
+physical exhaustion. The cigarette had fallen from his fingers half
+finished. His throat was still muffled in her silken scarf, but she
+tried to see if the marks were still there. For fully a minute she
+remained standing over him, buried in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>thought. The old clock in the
+Henri IV. tower behind the Panth&eacute;on chimed eleven. She sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well!" she murmured. "Monsieur is right. He has no money, no
+keys, and he is weary. He shall rest where he is. C'est &eacute;gal!"</p>
+
+<p>With this philosophical reflection she immediately began preparation
+for retiring on her own account, completing this as if the monsieur
+snoring on the couch had no material existence.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;!" said she, when she had drawn her curtains.</p>
+
+<p>And in two minutes more she was as oblivious to the world as was Jean
+Marot.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>It would not be easy to define the sentiments or state the
+expectations of Mlle. Fouchette. Whatever they were, she would have
+been unable to formulate them herself.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was simply and insensibly conforming to her manner of
+life. She was drifting. She did not know where. She never thought of
+towards what end or to what purpose.</p>
+
+<p>Those who know woman best never assume to reduce her to the logical
+rules which govern the mathematical mind, but are always prepared for
+the little eccentricities which render her at once so charming and
+uncertain. The Frenchwoman perhaps carries this uncertainty to a
+higher state of perfection than her sex of any other nationality.</p>
+
+<p>That Mlle. Fouchette was the possessor of that indefinable something
+people call heart had never been so much as suspected by those with
+whom she had come in intimate contact. It had certainly never
+inconvenienced her up to this time. To have gone to her for sympathy
+would have been deemed absurd. Even in her intense enjoyment of "la
+vie joyeuse" her natural coldness did not endear her to those who
+shared her society for the moment. As a reigning favorite of the
+Bohemian set she would have earned the dislike of her sex; but this
+was greatly accentuated by her repute as an honest girl. The worst of
+these "filles du quartier" observed the proprieties, were sticklers
+for the forms of respectability. And Mlle. Fouchette, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>who was really
+good, trampled upon everything and everybody that stood in her way.</p>
+
+<p>As to her income from the studios, bah! and again bah!</p>
+
+<p>Then what was Mlle. Fouchette?</p>
+
+<p>That was the universal feminine inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette appeared to Jean Marot in a vaguely kaleidoscopic way
+as a woman of no account possessing good points. Sometimes she
+appeared to be cold, sly, vicious, and wholly unconscionable; again,
+good-hearted, self-sacrificing, sympathetic. But he did not bother
+about her particularly, though he covertly watched her this morning
+preparing breakfast. It was true, her blonde hair did not look as if
+it had been touched by comb or brush, that she wore pantoufles that
+exposed holes in the heels of her stockings, that her wrapper was
+soiled and gaped horribly between buttons on and off its frontage;
+but, then, what woman is perfect before breakfast?</p>
+
+<p>All this did not seriously detract from the fact that she had gone out
+of her way to look after him the day before. Nor did it explain that
+she had this morning invested herself with these slovenly belongings,
+taken in the demi-litre of milk that ornamented her door-knob, gone
+down into the street for additional "petits pains," added a couple of
+eggs "&agrave; la coque" to the usual morning menu, set Poupon to work on the
+caf&eacute;-au-lait, and was now putting the finishing touches to her little
+table in anticipation of the appetite of her awaking guest.</p>
+
+<p>"Bonjour, my little housekeeper."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! bonjour, Monsieur Jean. Have you rested <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>well? What a lazy man!
+You look well this morning, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; and why not, mon enfant?" said he, straightening up somewhat
+stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>"And your poor bones?" she laughingly inquired, referring to the
+improvised couch. "It is not a comfortable bed for one like monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"It is luxury unspeakable compared to the bed I had anticipated early
+last evening. I never slept better in all my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said she.</p>
+
+<p>"And I'm hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"Better!" said she. "Here is a clean towel and here is water," showing
+him her modest toilet arrangement, "and here is petite Poupon
+scolding&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"'Poupon'? 'scolding'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur. Have you, then, forgotten poor little Poupon? For
+shame!" With mock indignation.</p>
+
+<p>She took the small blue teakettle, which had already begun to "scold,"
+and, stooping over the hearth, made the coffee. She then dropped the
+two eggs in the same teakettle and consulted the clock.</p>
+
+<p>"Hard or soft?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Minute and a half," he replied in the folds of the towel.</p>
+
+<p>She was pouring the coffee back through the strainer in order to get
+the full strength of it, though it already looked as black as tar and
+strong enough to float an iron wedge. At the same time she saw him
+before her glass attentively examining the marks on his throat, now
+even more distinctly red than on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>the night before. But she knew
+instinctively that his thoughts were not of his own, but of another
+neck.</p>
+
+<p>Breakfast was not the lively repast of the previous evening. In the
+best of circumstances breakfast is a pessimistic meal. The world never
+looks the same as it appeared at yesterday's dinner.</p>
+
+<p>Jean had risen to a falling barometer. The first ebullition of joy at
+having been spared the slaughter of his friend and the brother of the
+girl he loved had passed and the real future stared him in the face.
+He began to entertain doubts as to whether a single glance from a pair
+of blue eyes was a solid foundation for the magnificent edifice he had
+erected thereon. But Jean Marot was intensely egoist and was prone to
+regard that which he wanted as already his.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was facing the same question on her own account,&mdash;a
+fact which she concealed from both as far as possible by making
+herself believe it was his affair exclusively. As it is always easier
+to grapple with the difficulties of others than with our own, she soon
+found means to encourage her illusion.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not at all a woman&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What, then, monsieur, if I am not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait! I mean not at all like other women," he hastily interposed.</p>
+
+<p>"Par exemple?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because, first, you have not once said 'I told you so,'&mdash;not
+reproached me for disregarding your advice."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>"No? But that would be unnecessary. You are punished. Next?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you let me remain here."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>She opened the steel-blue eyes on him sharply,&mdash;so sharply, in fact,
+that Jean Marot either could not just then remember why not or that he
+did not care to say. But she relieved him of that embarrassment very
+quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"If you mean that I should be afraid of you, monsieur, or that I would
+have thought for a moment&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no, no, no! I do not mean that, of course. It was the fear women
+have of others&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What do I care for 'others'!" she snapped, scornfully. "Pray,
+Monsieur Jean, are there, then, 'others' who care anything about me?
+No! Ask them. No! I do what I please. And I account to nobody.
+Understand? Nobody!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette brought the small, thin white hand down upon the table
+with a slap that gave sufficient assurance of her sincerity, at the
+same time giving a happy idea of her immeasurable contempt for
+society.</p>
+
+<p>"But, my dear Mademoiselle Fouchette, I, at least, care for
+you,&mdash;only&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;! Only you don't care quite enough, Monsieur Jean, to take
+my advice," she interrupted. "Is not that it?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I don't I shall be the loser, I'm afraid," he replied,
+lugubriously.</p>
+
+<p>"And then I should be sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>"Because I am not worthy of it. Now answer me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, because it pleases me," she responded, with a smile. "You know
+what I said but a moment ago? I do what I please and account to
+nobody."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Now, does it please your Supreme Highness to continue to
+shower the blessing of your royal favor upon me?"</p>
+
+<p>"For to-day, perhaps; if you obey my imperious will, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>He prolonged the comedy by kneeling on one knee and saying humbly, "I
+am your most obedient subject. Command!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bring me my clothes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Er&mdash;wha-at? clothes?" he stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"I said clothes,&mdash;on the bed there. Lay them out on the couch,
+please."</p>
+
+<p>He found her simple wardrobe of the previous day on the bed&mdash;the
+skirt, the little bolero, the hat with the feather&mdash;and laid them out
+on the couch one by one with mock care and ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>"There!"</p>
+
+<p>"Shake them out, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, your Highness."</p>
+
+<p>She was putting away the last breakfast things when she heard an
+exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>"Red!" said he. "And beard, too, as I'm a sinner!"</p>
+
+<p>He had found a tuft of red beard twisted in the fastening of the
+bolero. The expression on his face would have defied words. As for
+Mlle. Fouchette, she was for a moment of the same color of the
+telltale hair. For some reason she did not wish Jean to know <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>of her
+part in the riot. At the same time she was angry with herself for the
+womanly feeling of delicacy that surged into her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get it?" he asked, quizzically.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur! Go away!"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know you'd been decorated, mademoiselle,&mdash;really,&mdash;Legion of
+Honor, too!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! I must have given some man a good pull in the crowd," said she.
+"How provoking!"</p>
+
+<p>"For him, doubtless, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"To return to your affairs, Monsieur Jean," she said, grabbing the
+garments and proceeding to put them on with that insouciance begotten
+of studio life. "Have you any money?"</p>
+
+<p>"With me? Not a sou!"</p>
+
+<p>She slipped her hand down her neck and drew forth a small bag held
+there by a string and took from it a coin, which she tendered him.</p>
+
+<p>"Here is a louis,&mdash;you may repay it when you can."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, my child. But it is not necessary. I can get some money at
+the Cr&eacute;dit Lyonnais."</p>
+
+<p>"But, monsieur, you can't walk there! And we will be busy to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we will be busy, will we?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;unless you rebel," she replied, significantly.</p>
+
+<p>"At least, your Highness will let me know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"First, we must go and find out how Lerouge is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Good!"</p>
+
+<p>"Next, see an agent about your place. You are to sell your lease, you
+know, and furniture&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And furniture,&mdash;very well. After?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>"And then we must find you a new place,&mdash;cheaper, don't you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"A good deal cheaper," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"In this quarter they are cheapest."</p>
+
+<p>"Then let it be in the quarter."</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;! Now that's all right." A remark which may have equally applied
+to his affairs or to the putting on of her shoes.</p>
+
+<p>"A very simple appartement will serve," he observed, when she sounded
+him on his idea of cheapness.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a lovely one de gar&ccedil;on next door to me, but it is dear. It
+is a little parlor, bedroom, and kitchen. And this is a quiet house,
+monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Good! I like quietude, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is a very quiet place," she assured him.</p>
+
+<p>"This appartement,&mdash;dining-room?"</p>
+
+<p>"No! What does a man alone want with a dining-room? Let him eat in the
+parlor."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that would be luxury," he admitted.</p>
+
+<p>"One doesn't need the earth in order to eat and sleep."</p>
+
+<p>"N-no; but how much is this luxury of the Rue St. Jacques?" he
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"It is four hundred francs, I believe." She heaved a sigh of regret.
+It seemed a large sum of money to Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Four hundred a year? Only four hundred a year! Parbleu! And now what
+can one get for four hundred a year, ma petite Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh! monsieur,&mdash;a good deal!" she exclaimed, smiling at his na&iuml;vet&eacute;.
+With all his patronizing airs she instinctively felt that this man who
+treated her as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>if she were a child was really a provincial who needed
+both mother and business agent.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to see it, anyhow," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"At once, monsieur,&mdash;so you shall; but it is dear, four hundred
+francs, when you might get the same at Montrouge for two hundred and
+fifty francs. Here,&mdash;I have the key,&mdash;le voil&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the appartement of three rooms next door to her chamber, which
+seemed to have been cut off from it as something superfluous in the
+Rue St. Jacques.</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;and Monsieur de Beauchamp is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Gone."</p>
+
+<p>"Yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yesterday afternoon,&mdash;yes. Quite sudden, was it not?"</p>
+
+<p>She said this as though it was of no importance.</p>
+
+<p>"The huissier?" he suggested, official ejectment being the most common
+cause of student troubles.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed secretively.</p>
+
+<p>"The police?"</p>
+
+<p>Then she laughed openly&mdash;her pretty little silvery tinkle&mdash;and drew
+his attention to the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>It was a small dark place with a much-worn tile floor and a charcoal
+range of two pockets faced and covered with blue and white tiles; an
+immense hood above yawning like the flat open jaws of a gigantic
+cobra, which might not only consume all the smoke and smells but
+gobble up the little tile-covered range itself upon gastronomical
+provocation.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it just lovely!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, delightedly. "And
+see! here is a stone sink, and there's water and gas."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>Water and gas are still deemed luxuries in the more ancient quarters
+of Paris. As for baths, they are for the rich,&mdash;even the more modern
+structures are parsimonious of baths. You realize all this when in a
+close omnibus, or smell some well-dressed Parisienne ten feet away.
+When one of the dwellers of Rue St. Jacques takes a bath a battered
+old tub is brought around on a wagon and unloaded in the court with a
+noise and ceremony that arouses the entire neighborhood, which puts
+its head out of the window and wonders who is going to be married.</p>
+
+<p>"And here's a private closet, too," continued Mlle.
+Fouchette,&mdash;"everything! But that sweet little stove! I could cook a
+course dinner on that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you could, eh?" inquired Jean. "Then you shall."</p>
+
+<p>"Surely!" said the girl, as if it were settled from the first.
+"Besides, it is so much more economical for two than one."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, is it?" he replied, doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, if one lives at expensive restaurants. And in bad weather
+or when one feels grumpy&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>They looked at the large bedroom and small anteroom, or toilet-room
+adjoining, which Mlle. Fouchette declared was good enough for a lord,
+inspected the closets, commented on the excellent condition of the
+polished floors and newly papered walls, and finally decided that it
+really was a good deal for the money.</p>
+
+<p>"It could be made a little paradise," said she, enthusiastically.</p>
+
+<p>"Needing the angels," he suggested.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>"Possibly; but one can get along very comfortably without them."</p>
+
+<p>"But I wonder why M. de Beauchamp, installed here so comfortably day
+before yesterday, should be missing to-day. There must be some
+drawback here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. The truth is, M. de Beauchamp thought he saw&mdash;in fact, M. de
+Beauchamp did see visions. In one of these he was foretold of a
+possible difference of opinion between himself and the government;
+about something that was to have happened yesterday and didn't
+happen&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Did not happen. Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"There, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "that is all. Only, you see, M.
+de Beauchamp's arrangements having been made, he probably thought he
+might as well disappear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And his studio with him."</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely. Look what a nice big closet in the wall!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;funny. But, I say, mon enfant, was this handsome M. de
+Beauchamp really an artist?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! how do I know? He made pictures. Certainly, he made pictures."</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot laughed so heartily at this subtle distinction that he lost
+the mental note of her disinclination to gossip about her late
+neighbor,&mdash;a reluctance that is decidedly foreign to the French female
+character.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Monsieur Jean,"&mdash;when he had made up his mind,&mdash;"if you will let
+me manage the concierge," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>she went on, "it may save you fifty francs,
+don't you know? Very likely the term has been paid,&mdash;he will make you
+pay it again. I know Monsieur Benoit,&mdash;he'd rob you like saying a
+prayer."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a novelty to be looked after by a female agent, anyhow," mused
+the young man, when she had disappeared on this mission. "If she picks
+up the fifty francs instead of that surly rascal Benoit I'm satisfied.
+It is a quiet place, sure, and dog cheap. Now, I wonder what her game
+is, for women don't do all of these things for nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Jean was of the great pessimistic school of Frenchmen who never give a
+woman credit for disinterestedness or honesty, but who regard them
+good-naturedly as inferior beings, amusing, weak, selfish creatures,
+placed on earth to gratify masculine vanity and passion,&mdash;to be
+admired or pitied, as the case might be, but never trusted, and always
+fair game. The married Frenchman never trusts his wife or daughter
+alone with his best male friend. No young girl alone in the streets of
+Paris is free from insult, day or night; and such a girl in such a
+case would appeal to the honor of Frenchmen in vain.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot would have never dreamed that Mlle. Fouchette had saved him
+from imprisonment. Even in his magnanimous moments he would have
+listened to the accusation that this girl had robbed him of his money
+and watch quite as readily as to the statement that she had already
+taken measures to insure the recovery of that personal property. Yet,
+while his estimate of woman was low, it did not prevent him from
+loving one whom he had believed another man's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>mistress; it did not
+now steel his heart against the sympathy of mutual isolation.</p>
+
+<p>"All goes well!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, skipping into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"All goes well, eh?" he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Monsieur Jean. Think then! it is a bargain. Oh, yes, one hundred
+francs&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"I say one hundred francs saved! The semestre was paid and you get it
+less a term's rent, thus you save one hundred francs. Isn't that nice?
+One can live two months on one hundred francs."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! oh! oh! not I," he laughingly exclaimed. "But I guess I'd better
+let you manage, little one; you have begun so well."</p>
+
+<p>Her face almost flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled.</p>
+
+<p>"And you shall have fifty of that hundred francs saved. It is only
+fair, petite," he hastily added, seeing the brightness extinguished by
+clouds.</p>
+
+<p>But she turned abruptly towards the window. He mistook this gesture
+and said to himself, "She would like to have it all, I suppose. I'd
+better make a square bargain with her right here." Then aloud,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur,"&mdash;coldly.</p>
+
+<p>"What is your idea?"</p>
+
+<p>"As to what, Monsieur Jean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, say about our domestic affairs, if you will."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, monsieur, very simply this: I will care for the place if you
+wish,&mdash;somebody must care for it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>"Yes, that is evident, and I wish you to help me, if you will."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll serve the breakfasts and any other meal you wish to pay
+for. In other words, if you prefer it in terms, I will be your
+housekeeper. I can cook, and I'm a good buyer and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt of that, mon enfant; but I am a poor man now, you know, and
+the pay&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pay! And who has asked you to pay anything? Do you suppose&mdash;ah!
+Monsieur Jean, you don't think me that!"</p>
+
+<p>"But one can't be expected to work for nothing," protested the young
+man, humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"Work? It would be pleasure. And then you would be paying for what we
+ate, wouldn't you? I have to make my coffee,&mdash;it would be just as easy
+for two. And you would be perfectly free to dine at the restaurant
+when you chose,&mdash;we'd be as free as we are now,&mdash;and I would not
+intrude&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I never thought of that!" he declared.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not spoil my pleasure by suggesting money!" Her voice was growing
+low and the lips trembled a little, but only for a second or two, when
+she recovered her ordinary tone.</p>
+
+<p>"As a rich man's son living in the Faubourg St. Honor&eacute; you might have
+suspected that motive, but as a medical student chass&eacute;, and deserted
+by his parents and with no prospects to speak of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>His lugubrious smile checked her.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! Monsieur Jean, I did not wish to remind you of your
+misfortunes. Let us put it on purely selfish grounds. I am poor. I am
+alone. I am lonely. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>I should at least earn my coffee and rolls. I
+would see you every day. My time would be pleasantly occupied. I will
+be a sister,&mdash;bonne camarade,&mdash;nothing more, nothing less&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He had taken her hands impulsively, but her eyes were veiled by the
+heavy lashes.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;! It is then understood?" she asked, venturing to look up into
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Certes! But your terms are too generous,&mdash;and&mdash;and, you know the
+object of my heart, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Toujours! And I will help you attain that object if possible," she
+said, warmly, pressing his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"You are too good, mademoiselle," he responded. "Next to one woman I
+think you are the best woman I ever knew!"</p>
+
+<p>He took her in his strong arms and kissed her tenderly, though she
+struggled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>"Enough! enough! You must not do that, monsieur! I do not like it.
+Remember how I hate men, spoony men,&mdash;they disgust me! As a woman I
+can be nothing to you; as a friend I may be much. Save your caresses,
+monsieur, for the woman you love! You understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"There! no offence, little one. Am I not your brother?" he asked,
+laughing.</p>
+
+<p>She nervously readjusted her blonde hair before the little glass and
+did not reply. But it was evident that she was not very angry, for
+Mlle. Fouchette was explosive and went off at a rude touch.</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment a terrible racket rose from the stairway,&mdash;the
+sound of a woman's voice and blows and the howling of a dog. Leaning
+over the banister <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>the young couple saw a woman, short, broad,
+bareheaded, and angry, wielding a broom-handle. The passage was rather
+narrow, so that more than half of the whacks at the dog were spent
+upon the wall and balustrade, though the animal, lashed to the latter,
+yelped at every blow the same.</p>
+
+<p>Now, in Paris a dog is a sort of a privileged animal, not quite
+sacred. Rome was saved by geese, pigeons are venerated in Venice. Dogs
+preserved Paris in the fearful day of the great siege by suffering
+themselves to be turned into soups, steaks, sausage, etc. Since which
+Paris has become the dog paradise, where all good dogs go when they
+die. They not only have the right of way everywhere, but the exclusive
+right of the sunny sidewalks in winter and shady side in summer. A
+Frenchman will beat his wife, or stab his mistress in the back, club
+his horses fiendishly, but he will never raise hand or foot against a
+dog.</p>
+
+<p>From every landing came a burst of remonstrance and indignation.
+Vituperative language peculiar to a neighborhood that has enjoyed the
+intimate society of two thousand years of accumulated human wisdom and
+intellectual greatness, and embellished and decorated by the old
+masters, rose and fell upon the sinful dog-beater, with the effect of
+increasing the blows.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly three persons sprang to the rescue, two from below and one
+from above. The last was a woman and the owner of the dog.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! My dear little Tu-tu!" she screamed.</p>
+
+<p>And with a howl of wrath that drowned the piercing voice of poor
+little Tu-tu she precipitated herself upon the enemy.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>The latter turned her weapon upon the new-comer just as the two men
+from below grabbed her. This diversion enabled the infuriated
+dog-owner to plant both hands in the enemy's hair, which came off at
+the first wrench.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" cried Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"It is horrible!" said Mlle. Fouchette, with a shudder.</p>
+
+<p>From where they beheld the tragedy they could not see that the hair
+was false.</p>
+
+<p>But the dog-beater was just as angry as if it had been ripped from its
+original and virgin pasture, and she uttered a shriek that was heard
+around the block and grappled her three assailants.</p>
+
+<p>The whole four, a struggling composite mass of legs and arms, went
+rolling down to the next landing surrounded by a special and lurid
+atmosphere of oaths.</p>
+
+<p>There they were arrested by the aroused police agents.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Tu-tu had stopped howling. He was dead,&mdash;crushed under the
+human avalanche.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Jean, "this is a quiet house."</p>
+
+<p>"Dame!" replied Mlle. Fouchette, "it is like death!"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>An hour later Jean Marot and Mlle. Fouchette were at the foot of the
+broad stone steps leading to the H&ocirc;tel Dieu, the famous hospital
+fronting on the plaza of Notre Dame.</p>
+
+<p>"I will wait," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I will inquire," she assented. "I was here last night." And
+Mlle. Fouchette ran lightly up the steps and entered the palatial
+court.</p>
+
+<p>Another woman was hastily walking in the opposite direction. She bent
+her head and quickened her steps as if to avoid recognition.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it is Madeleine!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, throwing herself in the
+way.</p>
+
+<p>A face stamped with the marks of dissipation and haggard with watching
+was raised to meet this greeting. The one big, round, dark orb gleamed
+upon the speaker almost fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>"So you're here again," muttered the one-eyed grisette, in her deep
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems so. I wish to find out how he is."</p>
+
+<p>"What business is it of yours?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, come, now, Madeleine; you're all upset. You look worn out. You
+have been here all night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;! it is nothing. Have I not been up all night more than once?"</p>
+
+<p>"And monsieur&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"They say he is better."</p>
+
+<p>"You have seen him, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; they would not allow me. Besides, there is his sister."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>"Is she with him now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not now. They sent her away in the night. She will be back this
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor girl!"</p>
+
+<p>"But what is all this to you? Why are you here? Does the Ministry&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Madeleine!"</p>
+
+<p>But the tigerish look that swept over Mlle. Fouchette's face gave way
+to confusion when the grisette quickly shifted her ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Madeleine."</p>
+
+<p>"And so he has thrown her over for you, eh?" the other bitterly asked,
+with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no, no, no!" hastily protested Mlle. Fouchette, trembling a
+little in spite of herself. "That would be impossible! He is so sorry,
+Madeleine."</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry! Yes, and the wicked marks on his throat, mon Dieu!"</p>
+
+<p>"Are on Jean's also, Madeleine," said Mlle. Fouchette. "Let us set
+these friends right, Madeleine. Will you? Let them be friends once
+more."</p>
+
+<p>The one dark eye had been searching, searching. For the ears heard a
+voice they had never heard before. It came from the lips of Mlle.
+Fouchette, but was not the familiar voice of Mlle. Fouchette. But the
+search was vain.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! very well, petite," the searcher finally said, with a sigh.
+"Their quarrel is not mine. I have not set these men on to tear each
+other like wild beasts."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>Mlle. Fouchette turned her face away. But the veins on her white neck
+were as plain as print.</p>
+
+<p>They were read by the simple-hearted grisette thus: It could only be
+love or hate; since it is not hate, it is love! Lerouge or Marot?</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle!"</p>
+
+<p>The other turned a defiant face towards the speaker.</p>
+
+<p>"You know that a reconciliation between these men means&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That Jean Marot will be thrown into the arms of the woman he loves,"
+was the bold interpolation.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I wish."</p>
+
+<p>The dark eye gleamed again, and the breast heaved. It must be Lerouge!
+Jealousy places the desirability of its subject above everything. It
+must be Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>"Chut! Here she comes," whispered Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>It was Mlle. Remy. She was clad in a simple blue costume, the skirt of
+which cleared the ground by several inches, her light blonde hair
+puffing out in rich coils from beneath the sailor hat. Her sad blue
+eyes lighted at the sight of Madeleine, and her face broke into a
+questioning smile as she extended her small hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Monsieur Lerouge is much better, mademoiselle," said Madeleine.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you!&mdash;thank you for your good news, my dear," Mlle. Remy warmly
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>She turned towards Mlle. Fouchette a little nervously, and Madeleine
+introduced them.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>"It is strange, Mademoiselle Fouchette," observed Mlle. Remy; "could I
+have met you before?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think not, mademoiselle. One meets people on the boulevards&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't mean that,&mdash;a long time ago, somewhere,&mdash;not in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Remy was trying to think.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you confuse me with somebody else, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Scarcely, since I do not remember seeing anybody who resembled you.
+No, it is not that, surely."</p>
+
+<p>"One often fancies&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But my brother Henri thought so too, which is very curious. May I ask
+you if your name&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Just Fouchette, mademoiselle. I never heard of any other&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I am from Nantes," interrupted Mlle. Remy. "Think!"</p>
+
+<p>"And I am only a child of the streets of Paris, mademoiselle," said
+Mlle. Fouchette, humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Remy sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle Fouchette and Monsieur Marot have come to learn the news
+of your brother," said Madeleine, seeing the latter approaching.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot had, in fact, followed Mlle. Remy inside of the building,
+but having been overtaken by timidity for the first time in his life,
+had hesitated at a little distance in the rear. He could stand the
+suspense no longer.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot, Mademoiselle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we have met before, monsieur, have we not?" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>asked Mlle. Remy,
+lightly. "I thank you very much for&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Jean felt his heart beating against the ribbed walls of its prison as
+if it would burst forth to attest its love for her. He had often
+conjured up this meeting and rehearsed what he would say to her. Now
+his lips were dumb. He could only look and listen.</p>
+
+<p>And this was she whom he loved!</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time Mlle. Remy, who had flushed a little under the
+intense scrutiny she felt but could not understand, grew visibly
+uneasy. She detected a sign from Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>He had unconsciously disclosed the telltale marks upon his neck.</p>
+
+<p>At the sight Mlle. Remy grew pale. There was much about this young man
+that recalled her brother Henri, even these terrible finger-marks. All
+at once she remembered the meeting of Mardi Gras, when her brother
+insulted him and pulled her away.</p>
+
+<p>Why?</p>
+
+<p>It was because this young Marot admired her, and because he and her
+brother were enemies. She saw it now for the first time. Paris was
+full of political enemies. Yet, in awe of her brother's judgment and
+like a well-bred French girl, she dared not raise her eyes to
+his,&mdash;with the half-minute of formalities she hurried away. But as she
+turned she gave him one quick glance that combined politeness,
+shyness, fear, curiosity, and pity,&mdash;a glance that went straight to
+his heart and increased its tumult.</p>
+
+<p>A pair of sharp, steel-blue eyes regarded him furtively, and, while
+half veiled by the long lashes, lost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>not a breath or gesture of this
+meeting and parting,&mdash;saw Jean standing, hat in hand, partly bowed,
+speechless, with his soul in his handsome face.</p>
+
+<p>The one black eye of the maimed grisette saw only Mlle. Fouchette. If
+that scrutiny could not fathom Mlle. Fouchette's mind, it was perhaps
+because the mind of Mlle. Fouchette was not sufficiently clear.</p>
+
+<p>"Allons!" said the latter young woman, in a tone that scarcely broke
+his revery.</p>
+
+<p>There is often more expression in a simple touch than in a multitude
+of words. The unhappy grisette felt this from the sympathetic hand of
+the young man slipped into hers at parting. At a little distance she
+turned to see Jean and Mlle. Fouchette enter a cab and drive towards
+the right bank.</p>
+
+<p>"&Ccedil;&agrave;!" she murmured, "but if that petite moucharde had a heart it would
+be his!"</p>
+
+<p>During the next half-hour Mlle. Fouchette unconsciously gained greatly
+in Jean's estimation by saying nothing. They went to the Cr&eacute;dit
+Lyonnais, in Boulevard des Italiens, to Rue St. Honor&eacute;, to the "agent
+de location,"&mdash;getting money, taking a list of furniture, seeing about
+the sale of his lease. In all of this business Mlle. Fouchette showed
+such a clear head and quick calculation that from first being amused,
+Jean at last leaned upon her implicitly.</p>
+
+<p>The next day was spent in arranging his new quarters, Mlle. Fouchette
+issuing general direction, to the constant discomfiture of the worthy
+Benoit, thus deprived of unknown perquisites.</p>
+
+<p>When this work of installation had been completed, Jean found himself
+with comfortable quarters in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>Rue St. Jacques at a saving of
+nearly two thousand four hundred francs.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"At last!" said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," Mlle. Fouchette began, with enthusiasm, "I'm going to get
+dinner!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not to-day! Allons donc! We must celebrate by dinner at the
+restaurant."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's a sinful waste of money, when one has such a sweet
+range,&mdash;and you must economize, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"All right," he replied,&mdash;"to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>It is a popular plan of economy, that which begins to-morrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to-morrow; to-morrow you shall have your way. To-day I have
+mine. Why, what a parsimonious little wretch you are! And have you not
+been devoting all of your time and working hard for me these five
+days?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Monsieur Jean&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"We will treat ourselves to a good dinner au boulevard. You have been
+my best friend&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Monsieur Jean!"</p>
+
+<p>"Are my best friend," he added. "I really don't see how I could have
+gotten on without you."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Monsieur Jean!"</p>
+
+<p>"You have saved me hundreds of francs,&mdash;you are such a good little
+manager!"</p>
+
+<p>Nothing up to that moment had ever given Mlle. Fouchette half the
+pleasure bestowed with this praise. Mlle. Fouchette blushed. Jean saw
+this blush and laughed. It was so funny to see Mlle. Fouchette <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>blush.
+This made Mlle. Fouchette blush still deeper. In fact, it seemed as if
+all the warm blood that had been concealed in Mlle. Fouchette's system
+so long had taken an upward tendency and now disported itself about
+her neck and face.</p>
+
+<p>Jean would have kissed her, only she repulsed him angrily; then,
+seeing his surprise and confusion, she covered her face with her hands
+and laughed hysterically.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, stop, stop! I knew what you were going to say! It was money
+again!"</p>
+
+<p>"Really, mademoiselle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It was! You did! You know you did! And you know how I hate it! Don't
+you dare to offer me money, because I love&mdash;&mdash;" Mlle. Fouchette choked
+here a little,&mdash;"because I love to help you, Monsieur Jean!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I was not thinking of offering you money for your kindness, mon
+enfant." Jean took this play for safety as genuine wrath.</p>
+
+<p>"You were going to; you know you were!" she retorted, defiantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I suppose I may offer to repay the louis I borrowed the other
+day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! I'll make you pay your debts, monsieur,&mdash;never fear that!"</p>
+
+<p>She began to recover her equilibrium, and smiled confidently in his
+face. But he was now serious.</p>
+
+<p>"There are some debts one can never pay," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Never! never! never!" she exclaimed. "Monsieur, whatever I might do,
+I owe you still! It will always be so!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>"Uh! Uh! That's barred, petite."</p>
+
+<p>He stopped walking up and down and looked into her earnest eyes
+without grasping her meaning. "She is more feminine than one would
+suppose," he said to himself,&mdash;"almost interesting, really!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come!" he cried, suddenly, "this is straying from the subject, which
+is dinner. Come!"</p>
+
+<p>"We'd have to do some marketing, anyhow," she admitted, as if arguing
+with herself. "Perhaps it is better to go out."</p>
+
+<p>"Most assuredly."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at any fashionable place, Monsieur Jean&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; is there any such place in the quarter?" he laughingly asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't we go over on the other side?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my child, certainly."</p>
+
+<p>"I know a place in Montmartre where one may dine en f&ecirc;te for two
+francs and a half, caf&eacute; compris." She was getting on her things, and
+for the first time was conscious of the hole in the heel of her
+stocking.</p>
+
+<p>"There is the Caf&eacute; de Paris&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! it is five francs!" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, one may dine better on five francs than two and a half."</p>
+
+<p>"It is too dear, Monsieur Jean."</p>
+
+<p>"Then there is the H&ocirc;tel du Louvre table-d'h&ocirc;te, four francs,&mdash;very
+good, too."</p>
+
+<p>"It is too fashionable,&mdash;too many Americans."</p>
+
+<p>"Parbleu! one can be an American for one meal, can he not? They say
+Americans live well in their own country. They have meat three times a
+day,&mdash;even the poorest laborers."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>"And eat meat for breakfast,&mdash;it is horrible!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;they are savages."</p>
+
+<p>After discussing the various places and finding that his ideas of a
+good dining-place were somewhat more enlarged than her ideas, Mlle.
+Fouchette finally brought him down to a Bouillon in Boule'
+Miche',&mdash;the student appellation for Boulevard St. Michel. She would
+have preferred any other quarter of the city, though not earnestly
+enough to stand out for it.</p>
+
+<p>They settled on the Caf&eacute; Weber, opposite the ancient College
+d'Harcourt, a place of the Bouillon order, with innumerable dishes
+graded up from twenty centimes to a franc and an additional charge of
+ten centimes for the use of a napkin.</p>
+
+<p>Wine aside, a better meal for less money can be had in a score of
+places on Broadway. In the matter of wine, the New York to the Paris
+price would be as a dollar to the franc.</p>
+
+<p>In the Quartier Latin these places are patronized almost exclusively
+by the student class. Not less than fifty of the latter were at table
+in the Caf&eacute; Weber when Jean Marot and Mlle. Fouchette entered. Here
+and there among them were a few grisettes and as many cocottes of the
+Caf&eacute; d'Harcourt, costumes en bicyclette, demure, hungry, and silent.
+Young women in smart caps and white aprons briskly served the tables,
+while in the centre, in a sort of enclosed pulpit, sat the handsome,
+rosy-faced dame du comptoir, with a sharp eye for employ&eacute;s and a
+winning smile and nod for familiar customers.</p>
+
+<p>There was a perceptible sensation upon the entrance of the last
+comers. A momentary hush was succeeded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>by a general buzz of
+conversation, the subject of which was quite easily understood. The
+stately dame du comptoir immediately opened her little wicket and came
+down from her perch to show the couple to the best seats, a courtesy
+rarely extended by that impersonation of restaurant dignity. The
+hungry women almost stopped eating to see what man was in tow of the
+"Savati&egrave;re."</p>
+
+<p>"We are decidedly an event," laughingly observed Jean as they became
+seated where they could command the general crowd at table.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur," replied the dame du comptoir, though his remark had
+not been addressed to that lady,&mdash;"the fame of the brave Monsieur
+Marot is well known in the quarter. And&mdash;and mademoiselle," she added,
+sweetly, "mademoiselle&mdash;well, everybody knows mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>With this under-cut at Mlle. Fouchette the rosy-cheeked cashier left
+them in charge of the waitress of that particular table.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, Monsieur Jean," said his companion, not at all pleased by
+this reception, "we are both pretty well known here."</p>
+
+<p>"So it seems. Yet I was never in here before, if I remember
+correctly."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I," said she, "but once or twice."</p>
+
+<p>Notoriety is fame to Frenchmen, and while he did not yet fully
+comprehend it, Jean Marot had reached this sort of fame in a single
+day. His name had been actively and even viciously discussed in the
+newspapers. He was accused of being both royalist and anti-Dreyfusarde
+by the ultra republican press. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>was said to be a Bonapartist. The
+Dreyfusarde papers declared that the government had connived at his
+discharge from prison. The nationalist papers lauded him as a patriot.
+One extravagant writer compared him to the celebrated Camille
+Desmoulins who led the great Revolution. A noisy deputation had called
+upon him in the Rue St. Honor&eacute; to find that he had not been seen there
+since the riot.</p>
+
+<p>Of all of this Jean Marot actually knew less than any other
+well-informed person in Paris. Being wholly absorbed in his domestic
+affairs, he had scarcely more than glanced at a newspaper, and did not
+at this moment know that his name had ever been printed in the Paris
+journals. The few acquaintances he had met had congratulated him for
+something, and some students he did not know had raised their hats to
+him in the streets; and once he had been saluted by a class procession
+with desultory cries of "Vive Marot!" Mere rioting was then too common
+in Paris to excite particular attention individually.</p>
+
+<p>But Jean Marot had been magnified by newspaper controversy into a
+formidable political leader; besides which there were young men here
+who had followed him a few days before in the riots. Therefore he was
+now the cynosure of curious attention.</p>
+
+<p>From admiring glances the crowd of diners quickly passed to
+complimentary language intended for his ears.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a brave young man!" "You should have seen him that day!" "Ah,
+but he's a fighter, is M. Marot!" "Un bon camarade!" "He is a
+patriot!" etc.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>These broken expressions were mingled with sly allusions to Mlle.
+Fouchette from the women, who were consumed by envy. They had heard of
+the Savati&egrave;re's conquest with disbelief, now they saw it with their
+own eyes. The brazen thing! She was showing him off.</p>
+
+<p>"She's caught on at last."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur has more money than taste."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he as rich as they say?"</p>
+
+<p>"The skinny model."</p>
+
+<p>"Model, bah!"</p>
+
+<p>"Model for hair-pin, probably."</p>
+
+<p>"The airs of that kicker!"</p>
+
+<p>"He might have got a prettier mistress without trying hard."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll find her a devil."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, there's no doubt about it. He has fitted up an elegant
+appartement for her in the Rue St. Jacques."</p>
+
+<p>"Rue St. Jacques. Faugh!"</p>
+
+<p>It should be unnecessary to say that these encomiums were not designed
+for the ears of Mlle. Fouchette, though the said ears must have burned
+with self-consciousness. But it may be well enough to remark that
+despite the spleen the object of it had risen immensely in the
+estimation of the female as well as the male habitu&eacute;s of Caf&eacute; Weber.</p>
+
+<p>As the couple occupied a table in the extreme rear, the patrons in
+front found it convenient to go out by way of the Rue Champollion in
+order to see if not to bow to the distinguished guest.</p>
+
+<p>The apparent fact that the new political leader had taken up with one
+of the most notorious women of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>Quartier Latin in no way detracted
+from their esteem for him,&mdash;rather lent an agreeable piquancy to his
+character. On the other hand, it raised Mlle. Fouchette to a certain
+degree of respectability.</p>
+
+<p>These demonstrations annoyed our young gentleman very much. Nothing
+but this patent fact saved them from a general reception.</p>
+
+<p>"It is provoking!" exclaimed his companion.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand it at all," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"I do," replied Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"And, see, little one, I don't like it."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew you wouldn't, and that is why I suggested the right bank of
+the river."</p>
+
+<p>"True,&mdash;I always make a mistake when I don't follow your advice. Have
+some more wine,&mdash;I call that good."</p>
+
+<p>"It ought to be at two francs a bottle," she retorted.</p>
+
+<p>"My father would call this rank poison, but it goes."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor me! I never tasted any better," laughed the girl, sipping the
+wine with the air of a connaisseuse. "A litre &agrave; cinquante is my
+tipple," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, what the devil do all these people mean?" he asked, when a party
+had passed them with a slight demonstration.</p>
+
+<p>"That you are famous, monsieur. I wish we had remained at home."</p>
+
+<p>"So do I, petite," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us take our coffee there, at least," she suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" he cried,&mdash;"by all means!"</p>
+
+<p>They were soon installed in his small salon, where she quickly spread
+a table of dainty china. She had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>agreed with him in keeping his
+pictures, bric-&agrave;-brac, and prettiest dishes.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! they are so sweet!" she would say. "Now here is a lovely blue cup
+for you. I take the dear little pink one,&mdash;it's as delicate as an
+egg-shell,&mdash;S&egrave;vres, surely! And here's some of my coffee. It is not as
+good, perhaps, as you are used to, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm used to anything,&mdash;except being stared at and mobbed by a lot
+of curious chaps as if I were a calf with six legs, or had run off
+with the President's daughter, or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Or committed murder, eh?" said she. "People always stare at
+murderers, do they not? Still, it isn't really bad, you know,"
+abruptly returning to the coffee, "with a petit verre and cigarette."</p>
+
+<p>"Au contraire," he retorted, gayly.</p>
+
+<p>And over their coffee and cognac and cigarettes, surrounded by his
+tasteful belongings, shut in by the heavy damask hangings, under the
+graceful wreaths of smoke, they formed a very pretty picture. He,
+robust, dark, manly; she, frail, delicate, blonde, and distinctively
+feminine.</p>
+
+<p>The comfort of it all smote them alike. The conversation soon became
+forced, then ceased, leaving each silently immersed in thought.</p>
+
+<p>But Mlle. Fouchette welcomed this interval of silence with a
+satisfaction inexpressible. She, too, was under the spell of the place
+and the occasion. Mlle. Fouchette was not a sentimental woman, as we
+have seen; but she had recently been undergoing a mental struggle that
+taxed all her practical common sense. She found now that she saw
+things more clearly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>The result frightened her.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette felt that she was happy, therefore she was frightened.</p>
+
+<p>She experienced a mysterious glow of gladness&mdash;the gladness of mere
+living&mdash;in her veins. It permeated her being and filled her heart with
+warm desires.</p>
+
+<p>This feeling had been stealing upon her so gradually and insidiously
+that she had never realized it until this moment,&mdash;the moment when it
+had taken full possession of her soul.</p>
+
+<p>"I love him! I love him!" she repeated to herself. "I have struggled
+against it,&mdash;I have denied it. I did not want to do it,&mdash;it is misery!
+But I can't help it,&mdash;I love him! I, Fouchette, the spy, who would
+have betrayed him, who wronged him, who thought love impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>She did not try to deceive herself. She knew that at this moment, when
+her heart was so full of him, he was thinking of another woman,&mdash;a
+beautiful and pure being that was worthy of his love,&mdash;that he had
+forgotten her very existence. She had not the remotest idea of trying
+to attract that love to herself. She did not even indulge in the
+pardonable girlish dreams in which "If" is the principal character.</p>
+
+<p>He was as impossible to her as the pyramids of Egypt. Therefore she
+was frightened.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! but I surely do love him!" She communed with her poor
+little bursting heart. "And it is beautiful to love!" She sighed
+deeply.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle!"</p>
+
+<p>She started visibly, as if he had read her thoughts as well as heard
+her sigh, and felt the hot blood mantle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>her neck again,&mdash;for the
+second time within her memory.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon! mademoiselle," he said, gently, "I forgot. I was
+thinking&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of her? Yes,&mdash;I know. It is&mdash;how you startled me!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a perceptible chord of sympathy in her voice, and he moved
+his chair around to hers and made as if he would take her hand in the
+usual way. But to his surprise she rose and, seating herself on a low
+divan some distance from him, leaned her elbows on her knees and
+rested her downcast face between her hands. She could not bear to have
+him touch her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon enfant! Mon amie!" he remonstrated, in a grieved tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! it is nothing," she murmured; "and nothing magnified is still
+nothing."</p>
+
+<p>There was that in her voice which touched a heart surcharged with
+tenderness. He came over and stood beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of her,&mdash;yes,&mdash;I understand&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And I lose myself in my love," he added.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; love! Oui da!"</p>
+
+<p>She laughed a little hysterically and shrugged the thin shoulders
+without changing her position.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" he exclaimed, pityingly, "you do not know what love is!"</p>
+
+<p>"Me? No! Why should I?"</p>
+
+<p>She never once looked up at him. She dared not.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet you once said love was everything," he continued, thinking
+only of himself.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>"Yes,&mdash;everything," she repeated, mechanically. "Did I say that?"</p>
+
+<p>"And you spoke truly, though I did not know it then&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No,&mdash;I did not know it then," she repeated, absently.</p>
+
+<p>In his self-absorption he did not see the girl in the shadow below him
+trembling and cowering as if every word he uttered were a blow.</p>
+
+<p>"Love to me is life!" he added, with a mental exaltation that lifted
+him among the stars.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette did not follow him there. With a low, half-smothered
+cry she had collapsed and rolled to the floor in a little quivering
+heap.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>As a medical student, as well as habitu&eacute; of the quarter, Jean Marot
+was not greatly alarmed at an ordinary case of hysterics. He soon had
+Mlle. Fouchette in her proper senses again.</p>
+
+<p>He was possibly not more stupid than any other egoist under similar
+circumstances, and he attributed her sudden collapse to
+over-excitement in arranging his affairs.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette lay extended on his divan in silent enjoyment of his
+manipulations, refusing as long as possible to reopen her eyes. When
+she finally concluded to do so he was smoothing back her dishevelled
+hair and gently bathing her face with his wet handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be alarmed, mon enfant," he said, cheerily, "you are all right.
+But you have worked too hard&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no, no, no!" she interrupted. "And it has been such a pleasure!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but too much pleasure&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She sighed. Her eyes were wet,&mdash;she tried to turn them away.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold on, petite! none of that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must not talk to me in that way,&mdash;not now!"</p>
+
+<p>"No? And pray, how, then, mademoiselle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Talk of&mdash;tell me of your love, monsieur, mon ami. You were speaking
+of it but now. Tell me of that, please. It is so&mdash;love is so
+beautiful, Monsieur <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>Jean! Talk to me of her,&mdash;of Mademoiselle Remy. I
+have a woman's curiosity, monsieur, mon fr&egrave;re."</p>
+
+<p>It was the first time she had called him brother. She had risen upon
+her elbow and nervously laid her small hand upon his.</p>
+
+<p>She invited herself to the torture. It had an irresistible fascination
+for her. She gave the executioner the knife and begged him to explore
+and lay bare her bleeding heart.</p>
+
+<p>"But, mon enfant&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! it will do me good to hear you," she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>It does not require much urging to induce a young man in love to talk
+about his passion to a sympathetic listener. And there never was time
+or place more propitious or auditor more tender of spirit.</p>
+
+<p>He began at the beginning, when he first met Mlle. Remy with Lerouge,
+every detail of which was fixed upon his memory. He told how he sought
+her in Rue Monge, how Lerouge interposed, how he quarrelled with his
+friend, how the latter changed his address and kept the girl under
+close confinement to prevent his seeing her,&mdash;Jean was certain of
+this.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur Lerouge had a right to protect his sister, even against his
+late friend; and even if she had been his mistress, Jean now argued,
+Lerouge was justified; but love is something that in the Latin rises
+superior to obstacles, beats down all opposition, is obstinate,
+unreasonable, and uncharitable.</p>
+
+<p>When Mlle. Fouchette, going straight to the core of the matter, asked
+him what real ground he had for presuming that his attentions, if
+permitted, would have been agreeable to Mlle. Remy, Jean confessed
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>reluctantly that there were no reasons for any conclusion on this
+point.</p>
+
+<p>"But," he wound up, impetuously, "when she knows&mdash;if she knew&mdash;how I
+worship her she <i>must</i> respond to my affection. A love such as mine
+could not be forever resisted, mademoiselle. I feel it! I know it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Monsieur Jean, it would be impossible to&mdash;to not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You think so, too, ch&egrave;re amie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very sure," said Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you can understand, Fouchette. You are a woman. Put yourself in
+her place,&mdash;imagine that you are Mademoiselle Remy at this moment. And
+you look something like her, really,&mdash;that is, at least you have the
+exact shade of hair. What beautiful hair you have, Fouchette! Suppose
+you were Mademoiselle Remy, I was going to say, and I were to tell you
+all this and&mdash;and how much I loved you,&mdash;how I adored you,&mdash;and got
+down on my knees to you and begged of you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"And asked you for a corner&mdash;one small corner in your heart&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! mon ami!"</p>
+
+<p>"What would you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I show you, mon fr&egrave;re?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;quickly!"</p>
+
+<p>He had, with French gesture, suiting the action to the word, knelt
+beside her and extended his arms, as if it were the woman he loved.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, throwing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>herself upon his breast
+precipitately and entwining his neck with her arms,&mdash;"it would be
+this! It would be this! Ah! mon Dieu! It surely would be this!"</p>
+
+<p>For the moment Jean was so carried away by his imagination that he
+accepted Mlle. Fouchette as Mlle. Remy and pressed her to his heart.
+He mingled his tears and kisses with hers. Her fair hair fell upon his
+face and he covered it with passionate caresses. He poured out the
+endearing words of a heart surcharged with love. It was a very clever
+make-believe on both sides,&mdash;very clever and realistic.</p>
+
+<p>As a medical adviser of an hysterical young woman Jean Marot could
+scarcely have been recommended.</p>
+
+<p>And it must be remarked, in the same connection, that Mlle. Fouchette
+remained in this embrace a good deal longer than even a clever
+imitation seemed to demand. However, since the real thing could not
+have lasted forever, there must be a limitation to this rehearsal.
+Both had become silent and thoughtful.</p>
+
+<p>It was Mlle. Fouchette who first moved to disengage, and she did so
+with a sigh so profound as to appear quite real. This was the second,
+and she felt it would be the last time. They would never again hold
+each other thus. Her eyes were red and swollen and her dishevelled
+hair stuck to her tear-stained face. She was not at all pretty at the
+moment, yet Jean would have gone to the wood of St. Cloud sword in
+hand to prove her the best-hearted little woman in the world.</p>
+
+<p>"Voil&agrave;!" she exclaimed, with affected gayety, "how foolish I am,
+monsieur! But you are so eloquent of your passion that you carry one
+away with you."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>"I hope it will have that effect upon Mademoiselle Remy," he said, but
+rather doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"So I have given a satisfactory&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"So real, indeed, Fouchette, that I almost forgot it was only you."</p>
+
+<p>Mademoiselle Fouchette was bending over the basin.</p>
+
+<p>"I think"&mdash;splash&mdash;"that I'll"&mdash;splash&mdash;"go on the stage," she
+murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd be a hit, Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"If I had a lover&mdash;er&mdash;equal to the occasion, perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! as to that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Monsieur Jean, we have not yet settled your affair," she
+interrupted, throwing herself again upon the divan among the cushions.</p>
+
+<p>"No; not quite," said he.</p>
+
+<p>She tried to think connectedly. But everything seemed such a jumble.
+And out of this chaos of thought came the details of the miserable
+part she had played.</p>
+
+<p>Her part!</p>
+
+<p>What if he knew that she was merely the wretched tool of the police?
+What would he say if he came to know that she had once reported his
+movements at the Pr&eacute;fecture? And what would he do if he were aware
+that she knew the true relation of Lerouge and Mlle. Remy and had
+intentionally misled both him and Madeleine?</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, Mlle. Fouchette had been spared the knowledge of the real
+cause of Madeleine's misfortune,&mdash;the jealous grisette whom she had
+set on to worse than murder.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>But she was thinking only of Jean Marot now. Love had awakened her
+soul to the enormity of her offence. It also caused her to suffer
+remorse for her general conduct. Before she loved she never cared; she
+had never suffered mentally. Now she was on the rack. She was being
+punished.</p>
+
+<p>Love had furrowed the virgin ground of her heart and turned up
+self-consciousness and conscience, and sowed womanly sweetness, and
+tenderness, and pity, and humility, and the sensitiveness to pain.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette, living in the shadow of the world's greatest
+educational institutions, was, perhaps naturally, a heathen. She
+feared neither God nor devil.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot was her only tangible idea of God. His contempt would be
+her punishment. To live where he was not would be Hell.</p>
+
+<p>To secure herself against this damnation she was ready to sacrifice
+anything,&mdash;everything! She would have willingly offered herself to be
+cuffed and beaten every day of her life by him, and would have
+worshipped him and kissed the hand that struck her.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps, after all, the purest and holiest love is that which stands
+ready to sacrifice everything to render its object happy; that,
+blotting out self and trampling natural desire underfoot, thinks only
+of the one great aim and end, the happiness of the beloved.</p>
+
+<p>This was the instinct now of the girl who struggled with her emotions,
+who sought a way out that would accomplish that end very much desired
+by her as well as Jean. There was at the same time a faint idea that
+her own material happiness lay in the same direction.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>"Monsieur Jean!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"You must make friends with Lerouge."</p>
+
+<p>"But, mon enfant, if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There are no 'buts' and 'ifs.' You must make friends with the brother
+or you can never hope to win his sister. That is clear. Write to
+him,&mdash;apologize to him,&mdash;anything&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't just see my way open," he began. "You can't apologize to a
+man who tries to assassinate you on sight."</p>
+
+<p>"You were friends before that day in the Place de la Concorde?"</p>
+
+<p>"We had not come to blows."</p>
+
+<p>"Politics,&mdash;is that all?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is all that divides us, and, parbleu! it divides a good many in
+France just now."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Monsieur Jean, you must change your politics," she promptly
+responded.</p>
+
+<p>"Wha-at? Never! Why&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not for the woman you love?"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Fouchette, you don't understand, mon enfant. A gentleman can't
+change his politics as he does his coat."</p>
+
+<p>"Men do, monsieur,&mdash;men do,&mdash;yes, every day."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What does it amount to, anyhow?&mdash;politics? Bah! One side is just like
+the other side."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"Half of them don't know. It's only the difference between celui-ci
+and celui-l&agrave;. You must quit ci and join l&agrave;, n'est-ce pas?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>Mlle. Fouchette laid this down as if it were merely a choice between
+mutton and lamb chops for dinner. But Jean Marot walked impatiently up
+and down.</p>
+
+<p>"You overlook the possible existence of such a thing as principle,&mdash;as
+honor, mademoiselle," he observed, somewhat coldly.</p>
+
+<p>"Rubbish!" said Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! oh! what political morals!" he laughingly exclaimed, with an
+affectation of horror.</p>
+
+<p>"There are no morals in politics."</p>
+
+<p>"Precious little, truly!"</p>
+
+<p>"Principles are a matter of belief,&mdash;political principles. You change
+your belief,&mdash;the principles go with it; you can't desert 'em,&mdash;they
+follow you. It is the rest of them, those who disagree with you, who
+never have any principles. Is it not so, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed the more as he saw that she was serious. And yet there was
+a nipping satire in her words that tickled his fancy.</p>
+
+<p>A gentle knock at the door interrupted this political argument. A
+peculiar, diffident, apologetic knock, like the forerunner of the man
+come to borrow money. There was a red bell-cord hanging outside, too,
+but the rap came from somebody too timid to make a noise.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette started up as if it were the signal for execution. She
+turned pale, and placed her finger on her lips. Then, with a
+significant glance at Jean, she gathered herself together and tiptoed
+to a closet in the wall.</p>
+
+<p>She entered the closet and closed the door softly upon herself.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>Jean had regarded her with surprise, then with astonishment. He saw no
+reason for this singular development of timidity. As soon as he had
+recovered sufficiently he opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>A tall, thin man quietly stepped into the room, as quietly shut the
+door behind him, and addressed the young man briskly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur, at your service."</p>
+
+<p>"So."</p>
+
+<p>"And this is&mdash;ah! I remember&mdash;this is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Inspector Loup."</p>
+
+<p>The fishy eyes of Monsieur l'Inspecteur had been swimming about in
+their fringed pools, taking in every detail of the chamber. They
+penetrated the remotest corners, plunged at the curtains of the bed,
+and finally rested for a wee little moment upon the two cups and
+saucers, the two empty glasses, the two spoons, which still remained
+on the table. And yet had not Inspector Loup called attention to the
+fact one would never have suspected that he had seen anything.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, Monsieur Marot," he said, half behind his hand, "but I am not
+disturbing any quiet little&mdash;er&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," replied the young man, suggestively.
+"Go on, I beg."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! not yet? Good! Very well,&mdash;then I will try not to do so."</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon Monsieur l'Inspecteur dived down into a deep pocket and
+brought up a package neatly wrapped in pink paper and sealed with a
+red seal.</p>
+
+<p>The package bore the address of "M. Jean Marot."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>"May I ask if Monsieur Marot can divine the contents of this parcel?"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur l'Inspecteur will pardon me,&mdash;I'm not good at guessing."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur missed some personal property after his arrest&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If that is my property," Jean interrupted, brusquely, "it ought to be
+a gold watch, hunting case, chronometer, Geneva make, with
+eighteen-carat gold chain, dragon-head design for hook; a bunch of
+keys, seven in number, and a door-key, and about one hundred and
+eighty francs in paper, gold, and silver."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good. Excellent memory, monsieur. It ought to serve you well
+enough to keep out of such brawls hereafter. Here,&mdash;examine!"</p>
+
+<p>Hastily opening the package, Jean found his watch and chain and
+everything else intact, so far as he could recollect. He expressed his
+delight,&mdash;and when his grasp left the thin hand of the police official
+it was to leave a twenty-franc gold piece there.</p>
+
+<p>"Will monsieur kindly sign this receipt?" inquired Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur, whose hand had closed upon the coin with true official
+instinct.</p>
+
+<p>"But how and where did they get the things back?" inquired Jean,
+having complied with this reasonable request.</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing about that," said the man.</p>
+
+<p>"And how did they know I had lost them? I never complained."</p>
+
+<p>"Then perhaps somebody else did, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>The bright little fishy right eye partially closed to indicate a
+roguish expression.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>"Bon soir, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>And with another wink which meant "You can't fool me, young man," he
+was gone.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, this is luck!" muttered Jean aloud. He examined the watch
+lovingly. It was a present from his father. "But how did they get
+these? how did they know they were mine? and how did they know where I
+lived? Who asked&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He went back to the closet and told Mlle. Fouchette the coast was
+clear. There was no answer. He tried the door. It was locked. She had
+turned the key on the inside.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle! Come!"</p>
+
+<p>He waited and listened. Not a sound.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle! Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;! He is gone long ago!"</p>
+
+<p>Still not a stir. Perhaps she was asleep,&mdash;or, maybe,&mdash;why, she would
+smother in that place!</p>
+
+<p>He kicked the door impatiently. He got down upon his breast and put
+his ear to the crevice below. If she were prostrated he might hear her
+breathing.</p>
+
+<p>All was silence.</p>
+
+<p>This closet door was the merest sheathing, flush with the wall and
+covered with the same paper, after the fashion of the ancient Parisian
+appartements, and had nothing tangible to the grasp save the key,
+which was now on the inside. Jean tried to jostle this out of place by
+inserting other keys, but unsuccessfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Sacr&eacute;!" he cried, in despair; "but we'll see!"</p>
+
+<p>And he hastily brought a combination poker and stove-lifter from the
+kitchen, and, inserting the sharp end in the crack near the lock, gave
+the improvised <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>"jimmy" a vigorous wrench. The light wood-work flew in
+splinters.</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment the interior of the closet was thus suddenly
+exposed to the uninterrupted view.</p>
+
+<p>Jean recoiled in astonishment that was almost terror. If he had been
+confronted with the suspended corpse of Mlle. Fouchette he could have
+scarcely been more startled.</p>
+
+<p>For Mlle. Fouchette was not there!</p>
+
+<p>The cold sweat started out of him. He felt among his clothes,&mdash;passed
+his hand over the three remaining walls. They appeared solid enough.</p>
+
+<p>"Que diable! but where is she, then?" he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>He was dazed,&mdash;rendered incapable of reasoning. He went around vaguely
+examining his rooms, peering behind curtains and even moving bits of
+furniture, as if Mlle. Fouchette were the elusive collar-button and
+might have rolled out of sight somewhere among the furniture.</p>
+
+<p>"Peste! this is astonishing!"</p>
+
+<p>All of this time there was the lock with the key on the inside.
+Without being a spiritualist, Jean felt that nobody but spirits could
+come out of a room leaving the doors locked and the keys on the
+inside. But for that lock, he might have even set it down to optical
+illusion and have persuaded himself that perhaps she had really never
+entered that place at all.</p>
+
+<p>As Jean Marot was not wholly given to illusions or superstitions, he
+logically concluded that there was some other outlet to that closet.</p>
+
+<p>"And why such a thing as that?" he asked himself. What could it be
+for? Was it a trap? Perhaps it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>was a police sourici&egrave;re? He remembered
+the warning of Benoit.</p>
+
+<p>Jean hesitated,&mdash;quite naturally, since he was up to the tricks of the
+political police. If this were a trap, why, Mlle. Fouchette must have
+known all about it! Yet that would be impossible.</p>
+
+<p>Then he thought of M. de Beauchamp, and his brow cleared. Whatever the
+arrangement, it could have never been designed with regard to the
+present occupant of the appartement,&mdash;and M. de Beauchamp had escaped.</p>
+
+<p>He lighted a cigarette and took a turn or two up and down,&mdash;a habit of
+his when lost in thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! it is a door of love!" he concluded. "Yes; that is all. Well, we
+shall find out about that pretty soon."</p>
+
+<p>The more he thought of the handsome, godlike artist who had so
+mysteriously fled, why, the more he recalled Mlle. Fouchette's
+confusion on a certain evening when he first called on her, and her
+recent disinclination to discuss his disappearance. He was now certain
+that this mysterious exit emptied into her room. He smiled at his own
+sagacity. His philosophy found the same expression of the cabman of
+Rue Monge,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Toujours de m&ecirc;me, ces femmes-l&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed at the trick she had played him; he would show her how
+quickly he had reached its solution. He went outside and tapped gently
+on her door.</p>
+
+<p>No reply.</p>
+
+<p>He tried the lock, but it was unyielding. Examination by the light of
+a match showed no key on the inside.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>"Eh bien! I will go by the same route," he said, returning to his
+room.</p>
+
+<p>He brought a lighted candle to bear on the magical closet. It proved
+to be, as stated, the ordinary blind closet of the ancient Parisian
+houses, the depth of the wall's thickness and about three feet wide;
+the door being flush with the wall and covered with the same paper,
+the opening was unnoticeable to the casual view.</p>
+
+<p>All Parisian doors close with a snap-lock, and a key is indispensable.
+This knowledge is acquired by the foreigner after leaving his key on
+the inside a few times and hunting up a locksmith after midnight.</p>
+
+<p>The back of these closets, which are used for cupboards as well as
+receptacles for clothing, abuts on the adjoining room, quite often, in
+a thin sheathing of lath and plaster, which, being covered with the
+wall-paper, is concealed from the neighboring eyes, but through which
+a listener may be constantly informed as to what is going on next
+door.</p>
+
+<p>A superficial survey of the place having developed no unusual
+characteristics, Jean took down all of his clothing and emptied the
+closet of its contents to the last old shoe.</p>
+
+<p>With the candle to assist him, he then carefully examined the rear
+wall.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had her reasons for not wishing to meet Inspector Loup
+anywhere or at any time. These reasons were especially sound,
+considering this particular time and place.</p>
+
+<p>And that the knock on Jean's door was that of Inspector Loup she had
+no more doubt than if she had been confronted by that official in
+person.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore her flight.</p>
+
+<p>The visit of Inspector Loup had the same effect upon Mlle. Fouchette
+that the unexpected appearance of the general of an army might have
+upon a sleepy picket-guard or a man off post. Inspector Loup was to
+her a sort of human monster&mdash;a moral devil-fish&mdash;that not even the
+cleverest could escape if he chose to reach out for them.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had been seized by the tentacles of Inspector Loup in
+her infancy, as has been seen, and from that moment had become the
+creature of his imperial will,&mdash;had, in fact, finally become one of
+the myriad infinitesimal tentacles herself, subservient to the
+master-mind. Whatever scruples she had imbibed from the society of the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers had been dissipated by the Jesuit sisters of
+Le Bon Pasteur. In the select circle of the vagabonds of the Porte de
+Charenton and robbers of the wood of Vincennes the police agent was
+execrated, and the secret informer, or spy, was deemed the most
+despicable of human creatures and worthy only of a violent death;
+whereas the good Mother Sup&eacute;rieure of Le Bon Pasteur encouraged the
+tale-bearer and rewarded the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>informer with her favor and the
+assurance of the Divine blessing. Even the good Sister Agnes&mdash;now
+already a kind of shadowy memory&mdash;had taught the waif that spying out
+and reporting to the constituted authorities was commendable and
+honorable.</p>
+
+<p>And to do Mlle. Fouchette full justice she so profited by these
+religious teachings that she was enabled to impart valuable inside
+information to Inspector Loup's branch of the government concerning
+the royalist plottings at Le Bon Pasteur. The importance of these
+revelations Mlle. Fouchette herself did not understand, but that it
+was of great value to the ministry&mdash;as possibly corroborating other
+facts of a similar nature in their possession&mdash;was evidenced by the
+transfer of Mlle. Fouchette's name to a special list of secret agents
+at the Ministry, with liberty to make special reports over the head of
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur himself.</p>
+
+<p>From that moment the latter official watched Mlle. Fouchette with a
+vigilant eye; for under the spy system agents were employed to watch
+and report the actions of other agents. This held good from the top of
+the Secret Service down,&mdash;reminding one of the vermin of Hudibras
+that&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">"had fleas to bite 'em,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And these same fleas had lesser fleas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So on ad infinitum."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>In Mlle. Fouchette the government had found one of the lesser fleas,
+but none the less sharp, shrewd, active, and unconscionable.</p>
+
+<p>Up to a quite recent period.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette's reports to the Pr&eacute;fecture had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>latterly betrayed a
+laxity of interest that invited official attention, if they did not
+call down upon her the official censure.</p>
+
+<p>The girl was conscious of this. Half sullen, half defiant, she was
+struggling under the weight of the new views of life recently
+acquired. Like the rest of the intelligent world, whose wisdom chiefly
+consists in unlearning what it has already learned, Mlle. Fouchette
+was somewhat confused at the rapidity with which old ideas went to
+pieces and new ideas crowded upon her mind.</p>
+
+<p>Because&mdash;well, because of Jean Marot.</p>
+
+<p>A single look from Inspector Loup before Jean would terrify her,&mdash;a
+word would crush her.</p>
+
+<p>She must have time.</p>
+
+<p>And why did Inspector Loup come there in person as errand-boy unless
+for another purpose? She thought of the secret agents who usually
+accompanied Inspector Loup. She knew that at this moment they were
+spread out below like the videttes of an army. They were down in the
+Rue St. Jacques in their usual function of Inspector Loup's eyes that
+saw everything and Inspector Loup's ears that heard everything.</p>
+
+<p>This visit to Jean was a mere pretext that covered something more
+important. Was it concerning Jean? Or, was it her? Perhaps Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur wanted her,&mdash;a species of flattery which would have been
+incense to her a month ago, and was now a terror.</p>
+
+<p>It was only a few days since she had earned fifty francs and the
+compliments of Inspector Loup. It was true, Monsieur de Beauchamp had
+got away to Brussels, the centre of the Orl&eacute;ans conspiracy.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>He was the first victim of the new ministry, and his flight indicated
+the change of policy as to the well-known and openly tolerated
+machinations of the royalists. Some of the more timid Orl&eacute;anists in
+Paris and the provinces, recognizing the signal, took the alarm and
+also put the frontier between them and Inspector Loup.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette's conscience was clear; she had combined feminine
+philanthropy with duty in Monsieur de Beauchamp's case&mdash;he was such a
+handsome and such an agreeable gentleman&mdash;and had given him the
+straight tip after having betrayed him. She had not repented this good
+action, but she felt the cold chills again when she thought of
+Inspector Loup. She was only a poor petite moucharde,&mdash;a word from
+him&mdash;nay, a nod, a significant wink&mdash;would deprive her of the sunshine
+that ripens the grapes of France.</p>
+
+<p>When Mlle. Fouchette fled before Inspector Loup's knock she took the
+key of the closet and these swift reflections with her. The snap-lock
+was familiar to her, and the key was the only means of pulling the
+door shut upon herself, and the only means of opening it again when
+she chose to come out.</p>
+
+<p>She leaned against the side of the dark box and listened. The sound of
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur's soft voice did not startle her,&mdash;she knew it.
+She would have been surprised if it had been anything else. The watch
+and chain episode reassured her but little,&mdash;beyond the assurance that
+Jean was in no immediate danger.</p>
+
+<p>She got over in the farthest corner behind the clothes, thinking to
+have some fun with Jean when he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>should come to search for her. The
+wall was very thick and there was ample space behind her, but this
+space seemed to give way and let her back farther and farther,
+unexpectedly, as one leans against an opening door.</p>
+
+<p>It was a door. And it let her into the wall, apparently, and so
+suddenly that she lost her balance.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she had recovered from her astonishment she stood perfectly
+still for a few moments and listened attentively. Fortunately, she had
+made no noise.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me! but this is very curious," she murmured, feeling the walls
+on all sides.</p>
+
+<p>She was in another closet similar to the one she had just left,&mdash;she
+could feel the empty hooks above her head. Her hand struck a key.</p>
+
+<p>All the curiosity of the moucharde came over her. She forgot all about
+Jean,&mdash;even Inspector Loup. She turned the key slowly and noiselessly
+and opened the door,&mdash;a little at first, then more boldly.</p>
+
+<p>She heard nothing. She saw nothing. Whatever the place it was as black
+as pitch.</p>
+
+<p>She now recalled the mysterious goings and comings of the friends of
+Monsieur de Beauchamp,&mdash;the disappearance of half a dozen at a
+time,&mdash;the peculiar noises heard from her side of the closet.</p>
+
+<p>"Truly, this is the back shop of Monsieur de Beauchamp," said she, as
+she stumbled upon a box. "If I only had a candle or a match."</p>
+
+<p>She felt the box, which was almost square, and was so heavy she could
+scarcely raise one end of it.</p>
+
+<p>She groped along the wall, where similar boxes were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>piled up, and
+began to wonder what on earth Monsieur de Beauchamp had stored there
+in his back shop.</p>
+
+<p>A startling suggestion stole into her mind,&mdash;perhaps it was&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>She hastily sought the door by which she had entered, and in her
+excitement she stumbled against it.</p>
+
+<p>The door closed with a snap.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was not afraid of being alone in the dark, yet she
+trembled nervously from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>She knew that the key was on the inside!</p>
+
+<p>Then she remembered that other door only a few feet away with its key
+on the inside and with Jean Marot on the outside. And she trembled
+more than ever.</p>
+
+<p>What would Jean think of her?</p>
+
+<p>Of course, she knew he would be likely to force the closet door; but
+when he had found her missing,&mdash;what then? Would he be angry? Would he
+not suspect some trick? Would he persevere till he found her?</p>
+
+<p>It was all about Jean,&mdash;of herself she scarcely thought, only so far
+as the effect might come through him. All at once she felt rather than
+heard the dull sound of the breaking door beyond.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! he has broken the door. He will come! He has discovered it!"</p>
+
+<p>She beat the walls with her small fists,&mdash;kicked the unresponsive
+stone with her thin little shoes,&mdash;her blows gave out no sound. If she
+only had something to knock with&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>She fumbled blindly in the darkness among the boxes. Perhaps&mdash;yes,
+here was one open, and&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>"Voil&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>She laid her hand on a heavy, cylindrical substance like a piece of
+iron gas-pipe, only&mdash;funny, but it was packed in something like
+sawdust.</p>
+
+<p>She tapped smartly on the wall with it&mdash;once, twice, thrice&mdash;at
+regular intervals, then listened.</p>
+
+<p>The two similar raps from the other side showed that she was both
+heard and understood.</p>
+
+<p>"He has found it. Ah! here he is!"</p>
+
+<p>And with her last exclamation Jean appeared, candle in hand, peering
+into the room and at Mlle. Fouchette in the dazed way more
+characteristic of the somnambulist than of one awake and in the full
+possession of his senses.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! mon enfant, what have we here?" he ejaculated as soon as he
+recovered breath. "What is it? Are you all right? How foolish you are,
+little one!"</p>
+
+<p>"All right, mon ami."</p>
+
+<p>And she briefly and rapidly recited her adventures, at the end
+triumphantly exhibiting the bit of iron pipe with which she had opened
+communication.</p>
+
+<p>His face suddenly froze with horror!</p>
+
+<p>"Give it to me!"</p>
+
+<p>He snatched it from her hand excitedly and held it an instant apart
+from his candle.</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand thunders!" he gasped, at the same time handling the thing
+gingerly and looking for a place to lay it down.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a dynamite bomb!" he said, hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>She turned as white as a sheet and staggered backward only to come in
+contact with one of the boxes on the floor. She recoiled from this as
+if she had been threatened by a snake. Mlle. Fouchette was quite
+feminine. A mouse now would have scared her into convulsions.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get this, petite?" he asked. "It is death,&mdash;a horrible
+death!"</p>
+
+<p>She pointed to the boxes, unable to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Dynamite bombs! cartridges! powder and ball!" he declared, as he
+casually examined the nearest. "It is a real arsenal!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Jean! Let us go!" said the girl, seizing him. "It is dangerous!
+Your candle! think! Come!"</p>
+
+<p>She dragged him towards the open door. "Ah! to think I beat upon the
+wall with that&mdash;that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She shivered like a leaf.</p>
+
+<p>"You are right," said he. "The candle is dangerous. I will get my
+bicycle-lamp and we will investigate this mystery."</p>
+
+<p>"It is no longer a mystery," she replied,&mdash;"not to me. It is the hand
+of the Duke."</p>
+
+<p>"It is very singular," he muttered. "Very curious."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a fairy romance," said she, as they passed back through the
+narrow opening to Jean's appartement.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no fairy story about that dynamite,&mdash;that, at least, is both
+practical and modern."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I mean this secret passage and all that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but don't you know, mon enfant, that I first thought it led
+to&mdash;to your&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"For shame! Monsieur Jean!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>"I don't know," said he, shaking his head smilingly. "Monsieur de
+Beauchamp was a very handsome man."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, besides being an ardent servant of the Duc d'Orl&eacute;ans and an
+artist collector of pictures and bric-&agrave;-brac&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Especially 'bric-&agrave;-brac,'" said Jean, with sarcasm.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow, mon ami, you now know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That I was unjust to you, yes; pardon me! You could know very little
+of Beauchamp, since he was able to collect all of this bric-&agrave;-brac
+under your nose."</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette reddened, thinking, nervously, of what Inspector Loup
+would say on that head. Jean saw this color and changed the
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, now, let us go and explore Monsieur de Beauchamp's articles of
+vertu."</p>
+
+<p>With the bicycle bull's-eye light in hand he led the way back through
+the secret passage, followed closely by the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur de Beauchamp wasn't the mighty C&aelig;sar in one thing," said
+Jean, as he squeezed through the narrow opening in the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"How is that?"</p>
+
+<p>"He had only lean men about him,&mdash;true conspirators."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;it was necessary."</p>
+
+<p>They found the dark room where all of the munitions of war and
+compound assassination were stored. Entering, they inadvertently
+closed the door behind them.</p>
+
+<p>"Dame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette. "The key, monsieur! the key!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>"Que diable!"</p>
+
+<p>"How provoking!"</p>
+
+<p>"But we have the dynamite&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>But somehow Mlle. Fouchette was not as badly frightened at the
+situation as one might have the right to expect. She even laughed
+gayly at their mutual imprisonment.</p>
+
+<p>"Dynamite!" muttered Jean,&mdash;"a throne founded upon dynamite would
+crumble quickly&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and by dynamite," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur de Beauchamp was&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Is a royalist leader&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"An assassin!"</p>
+
+<p>"A tool of the Duc d'Orl&eacute;ans."</p>
+
+<p>"The Duke would never stoop to wholesale murder! Never!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is the way of kings, n'est-ce pas? to shelter themselves from
+responsibility behind their tools?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop! there must be guns for this ammunition. It must be&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Before the idea had fairly germinated in his brain Jean discovered a
+door that in the candle-light had easily escaped their observation. It
+was at the opposite side of the room from which they had entered. It
+was a narrow door and the key was in the lock.</p>
+
+<p>"Another way out," suggested the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, petite, since that closet entrance was never meant for a
+porte-coch&egrave;re."</p>
+
+<p>The door opened upon a narrow and dark passage paved with worn tiles.
+At the end of this passage another door barred the way. An examination
+showed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>at once that this last had not been used for a long time. To
+the left, however, a mere slit in the stone was seen to involve a
+steep stair of very much worn steps. Opposite the entrance to this
+stairway was a shallow niche in the wall, in which were the remains of
+burned candles.</p>
+
+<p>"Cat stairs," said Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"And the cats have used it a good deal of late, I should judge," he
+observed, carefully examining the entrance in the glare of the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>"Leads to the roof, probably," she muttered.</p>
+
+<p>"Probably. Let us mount."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, let us follow the trail."</p>
+
+<p>The instinct of the woman and the spy was now strong within her.</p>
+
+<p>The "cat stairs" were closed at the top by a heavy oaken trap securely
+fastened within by two iron hooks.</p>
+
+<p>"It is astonishing!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"These fastenings, keys, bolts, bars, are all on this side."</p>
+
+<p>"Which shows merely that they are to be used only from this direction,
+does it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that is plain; but we are now in another building, evidently,&mdash;a
+building that must open on some other street than the Rue St.
+Jacques."</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time Jean had finally unfastened and forced the trap. In
+another moment he had drawn her through the opening and they stood
+under a cloudless sky.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"We are free, at least, mon enfant."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>She was not thinking of that. The silence, the glorious vault of
+stars, the&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's the bell of Sainte Genevi&egrave;ve," he whispered, crossing himself
+involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>"Cover the light, Monsieur Jean. These roofs have scores of eyes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And a couple of prowlers might be the target for a score of bullets,
+eh? True enough!"</p>
+
+<p>"Midnight!"</p>
+
+<p>She had been counting the strokes of the clock, the sound of which
+came, muffled and sullen, from the old square belfry beyond the
+Panth&eacute;on.</p>
+
+<p>The roofs of this old quarter presented a curious conglomeration of
+the architectural monstrosities of seven centuries. It was a fantastic
+tumult of irregular shapes that only took the semblance of human
+design upon being considered in detail. As a whole they seemed the
+result of a great upheaval of nature&mdash;the work of some powerful
+demon&mdash;rather than that of human architectural conception. These
+confused and frightful shapes stretched from street to street,&mdash;stiff
+steeps of tile and moss-covered slate, massive chimneys and blackened
+chimney-pots, great dormer-windows and rows of mere slits and holes of
+glass betraying the existence of humanity within, walls and copings of
+rusty stone running this way and that and stopping abruptly,
+mysterious squares of even blackness representing courts and
+breathing-spaces,&mdash;up hill and down dale, under the canopy of stars,
+as far as the eye could reach!</p>
+
+<p>And here, close at hand, and towering aloft in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>entrancing
+grandeur of celestial beauty, rose the dome of the Panth&eacute;on,&mdash;so
+close, indeed, and so grandly great and beautiful in contrast with all
+the rest, that it seemed the stupendous creation of the angels.</p>
+
+<p>"You are cold, petite?" he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>She had shivered and drawn a little closer to him.</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied the girl, glancing around her, "but it is frightful."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, these sombre roofs."</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! petite," he responded lightly, "ghosts don't promenade the roofs
+of Paris."</p>
+
+<p>"They'd break their ghostly necks if they did."</p>
+
+<p>"Come! and let us be careful not to break ours. Allons!"</p>
+
+<p>They stole softly along the adjoining wall that ended at a court.
+There was clearly no thoroughfare in this direction. Coming back on
+the trail he examined the stone attentively, she meanwhile shading the
+light with the folds of her dress. It was comparatively easy to note
+the recent wear of feet in the time-accumulation of rust and dirt and
+dry moss of these old stones. In a few moments he discovered that the
+tracks turned off between two high-pitched roofs towards the Panth&eacute;on.
+As from one of these slopes grinned a double row of dormer-windows, it
+seemed incredible that any considerable number of prowlers might long
+escape observation.</p>
+
+<p>"But they may be vacant," said the girl, when Jean had suggested the
+contingency.</p>
+
+<p>"That is quite true."</p>
+
+<p>So they stealthily crept rather than walked on, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>end of the gutter
+abutting on another court. The depression was marked here by virgin
+moss.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very extraordinary," growled Jean, entirely at a loss to
+account for the abrupt close of the trail. There was no way out of
+this trough save by climbing over one of these steep roofs, except&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The window, perhaps," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"True!"</p>
+
+<p>Rapidly moving the lamp along the bottom of the gutter, Jean stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"There it is!"</p>
+
+<p>She pointed to the window above them with suppressed excitement.</p>
+
+<p>There were almost imperceptible cleats cleverly laid across the
+corrugated tiling; for the roof had a pitch of fifty degrees, and the
+casement was half-way up the slope.</p>
+
+<p>"It must be so," he said. "Wait!"</p>
+
+<p>With the lantern concealed beneath his coat he scrambled noiselessly
+up and examined the window. It was not fastened. Whoever had passed
+here last had come this way. He opened it a little, then wider.</p>
+
+<p>"Come! Quickly!"</p>
+
+<p>Even as he called to her Jean threw open wide the windows,&mdash;which
+folded from within, like all French windows&mdash;and entered, leaving
+Mlle. Fouchette to follow at will. That damsel's catlike nature made a
+roof a mere playground, and she was almost immediately behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon Dieu! What is this?"</p>
+
+<p>They had descended four steps to the floor, and now the exclamation
+burst from them simultaneously.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>For a minute they stood, half breathless, looking about them.</p>
+
+<p>They seemed to be in an empty room embracing the entire unfinished
+garret of a house, gable to gable. The space was all roof and
+floor,&mdash;that is, the roof rose abruptly from the floor on two sides to
+the comb above.</p>
+
+<p>As the eye became accustomed to the place, it first took in the small
+square boxes, some of which had evidently been unpacked or prepared
+for that process, the litter being scattered about the floor,&mdash;the
+boxes similar to those stored in the dark room below. There were
+roughly constructed platforms beneath all of the windows, with steps
+leading up to the same. Beneath these platforms and along the whole of
+one side of the room were wooden arm-racks glistening with arms of the
+latest model. Belts, cartridge-boxes, bayonets, swords, an immense
+assortment of military paraphernalia, lay piled on the floor at one
+end of the room.</p>
+
+<p>At the opposite end was mounted on a swivel a one-pound Maxim
+rapid-firer, the wall in front of it being pierced to the last brick.</p>
+
+<p>A few blows, and lo! the muzzle of the modern death-dealer!</p>
+
+<p>Along the lower edge of the roof towards the Panth&eacute;on might have been
+found numerous similar places, requiring only a thrust to become
+loopholes for prostrate riflemen.</p>
+
+<p>The most cursory glance from the windows above showed that these
+commanded the Place du Panth&eacute;on and Rue Soufflot,&mdash;the scene of bloody
+street battles of every revolutionary epoch.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>Fifty active men from this vantage could have rendered either street
+or barricade untenable, or as support to a barricade in the Place du
+Panth&eacute;on have made such a barricade impregnable to exposed troops.</p>
+
+<p>"It is admirable!" cried Jean, lost in contemplation of the strategic
+importance of the position.</p>
+
+<p>"It is wonderful, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Artillery? Yes," he interrupted, anticipating her reasoning; "but
+artillery could not be elevated to command this place from the street,
+and as for Mont Val&eacute;rien&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The Panth&eacute;on&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;exactly,&mdash;they would never risk the Panth&eacute;on. Even the
+Prussians spared that."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Monsieur Jean, see!"</p>
+
+<p>She had discovered a white silk flag embroidered with the lilies of
+France.</p>
+
+<p>"The wretches! They would restore the hated emblem of the Louis! This
+is too much!" he exclaimed, in wrath.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the way of the king, n'est-ce pas?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him curiously.</p>
+
+<p>"But the Duc d'Orl&eacute;ans should know that the people of France will
+never abandon the tricolor,&mdash;never!"</p>
+
+<p>"The people of France are fools!"</p>
+
+<p>"True!" he rejoined, hotly, "and I am but one of them!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Monsieur Jean! Now you are uttering the words of wisdom. Recall
+the language of Monsieur de Beauchamp,&mdash;that it is necessary to make
+use of everybody and everything going the way of the king,&mdash;tending to
+re-establish the throne!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>"The throne! I will have none of it. I'm a republican!"</p>
+
+<p>She smiled. "And as a republican, what is your first duty now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, to inform the proper authorities of our discovery."</p>
+
+<p>"Good! Let us go!"</p>
+
+<p>"Allons!" he responded, briskly.</p>
+
+<p>"But how will we get out?"</p>
+
+<p>"How about this door?"</p>
+
+<p>He had brought the rays of the lamp to bear upon a door at the gable
+opposite the Maxim gun. It was bolted and heavily barred, but these
+fastenings were easily removed.</p>
+
+<p>As anticipated, this door led to a passage and to stairs which, in
+turn, led down to the street. They closed the door with as little
+noise as possible, carefully locking it and bringing away the key.</p>
+
+<p>A light below showed that the lower part of this house was inhabited,
+probably by people innocent of the terrible drama organized above
+their heads. But the slightest noise might arouse these people, and in
+such a case the Frenchman is apt to shoot first and make inquiries
+afterwards. However, once in the street, they could go around to their
+own rooms without trouble. It was worth the risk.</p>
+
+<p>The stairs, fortunately, had a strip of carpeting, so they soon found
+themselves safely at the street door. To quietly open this was but the
+work of a few seconds, when&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>They stepped into the arms of Inspector Loup and his agents.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>"Pardieu!" exclaimed Inspector Loup, who never recognized his agents
+officially outside of the Pr&eacute;fecture; "it is La Savati&egrave;re!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette trembled a little.</p>
+
+<p>"And Monsieur Marot! Why, this is an unexpected pleasure," continued
+the police official.</p>
+
+<p>"Then the pleasure is all on one side," promptly responded Jean, who
+was disgusted beyond measure.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup regarded the pair with his fishy eyes half closed. For
+once in his life he was nonplussed. Nay, if anything could be said to
+be surprising to Inspector Loup, this meeting was unexpected and
+surprising. But he was too clever a player to needlessly expose the
+weakness of his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette's eyes avoided scrutiny. She had given Jean one quick,
+significant glance and then looked demurely around, as if the matter
+merely bored her.</p>
+
+<p>Jean understood that glance and was dumb.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup's waiting tactics did not work.</p>
+
+<p>"So my birdies must coo at midnight on the house-tops," he finally
+remarked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, monsieur," retorted the young man, "is there any law against
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where's the lantern?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here," said Jean, turning the bull's-eye on the face of the
+inspector.</p>
+
+<p>"Bicycle. Is your wheel above, monsieur?" This ironically.</p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>"Now, Monsieur Jean," put in Mlle. Fouchette, "if Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur has no further questions to ask&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so fast, mademoiselle," sharply interrupted the officer. "Just
+wait a bit; for, while I do not claim that roof-walking at midnight is
+unpardonable in cats and lovers, it is especially forbidden to enter
+other people's houses when they are asleep."</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette's nervousness did not escape the little fishy eyes.
+While it was already evident that Monsieur l'Inspecteur was talking at
+random, it was morally certain that he would smoke them out.</p>
+
+<p>"And two persons armed with a dark-lantern, coming out of a house not
+their own, at this time of night," continued the inspector, "are under
+legitimate suspicion until they can explain."</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette made a sign to Jean that he was to hold his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, none of that, mademoiselle!" cried the inspector, angrily.</p>
+
+<p>He rudely separated the couple, and, taking charge of the girl
+himself, turned Jean over to four of his agents who were near at hand.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll put you where you'll have time to reflect," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was inspired. She saw that it was not a sourici&egrave;re. If
+the inspector knew what was above, he would not have left the
+entrances and exits unguarded. To be absolutely sure of this, she
+waited until they had passed the Rue St. Jacques.</p>
+
+<p>"Now is my opportunity to play quits," she said to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>herself, and her
+face betrayed the intensity of her purpose.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur l'Inspecteur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would like a private word with you, please."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that? Oh, it's of no use," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"To your advantage, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"And yours, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Undoubtedly," she frankly said.</p>
+
+<p>They walked on a few steps. Then the inspector raised his hand for
+those in the rear to stop.</p>
+
+<p>They soon stood in the dark entrance of a wine-shop, the inspector of
+the secret police and his petite moucharde, both as sharp and hard as
+flint.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, out with it, you little vixen!" he commanded, assuming his
+brutal side. "Let us have no trifling. You know me!"</p>
+
+<p>"And you know <i>me</i>, monsieur!" she retorted, with the first show of
+anger in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak!"</p>
+
+<p>"I said I had important information," she began, calmly. But it was
+with an effort, for he had shaken her roughly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!" he put in; "and see that you make good, mon enfant!"</p>
+
+<p>He was suspicious that this was some clever ruse to escape her present
+dilemma. Monsieur l'Inspecteur certainly knew Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Information that you do not seem to want, monsieur&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Will you speak?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>"I have the right to reveal it only to the Ministry," she coldly
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Is&mdash;is it so important as that?" he asked. But his tone had changed.
+She had made a move as if the interview were over.</p>
+
+<p>"So important that for you to be the master of it will make you master
+of the Ministry and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah!" he ejaculated, contemptuously. He was master of them already.</p>
+
+<p>"And the mere publicity of it would send your name throughout the
+civilized world in a day!"</p>
+
+<p>"Speak up, then; don't be afraid&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It is such that, no matter what you may do in the future, nothing
+would give you greater reputation."</p>
+
+<p>"But, ma fillette,"&mdash;it was the utmost expression of his official
+confidence,&mdash;"and for you, more money, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! It is not money!"</p>
+
+<p>She spoke up sharply now.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said he, "for you won't get it."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not a question of money, monsieur. If I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no 'if' about it!" he exclaimed, irritated at her bargaining
+manner and again flying into a passion. "You'll furnish the
+information you're paid to furnish, and without any 'question' or
+'if,' or I'll put you behind the bars. Yes, sacr&eacute; bleu! on a diet of
+bread and water!"</p>
+
+<p>He was angry that she had the whip hand and that she was driving him.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, monsieur,"&mdash;and her tone was freezingly polite,&mdash;"but then
+I will furnish it to the Ministry, as I'm specially instructed in such
+cases to do."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>"Then why do you come to me with it?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I would do you a favor if you would let
+me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"For a substantial favor in return!"</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely."</p>
+
+<p>"Ugh! of course!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, monsieur,&mdash;partly. Partly because you have been kind to
+me, generally, and I would now reciprocate that kindness."</p>
+
+<p>"So! Well, mademoiselle, now we understand each other, how much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"I say how much money do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>"But, monsieur&mdash;no, we do not understand each other. I said it is not
+a question of money. If I wanted money I could get it at the
+Ministry,&mdash;yes, thousands of francs!"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you overrate your find, mademoiselle," he suggested, but with
+unconcealed interest.</p>
+
+<p>"Impossible!" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"It ought to be very important indeed," she continued, "equally
+important to you in its suppression, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>The fishy eyes were very active.</p>
+
+<p>"And who besides you possesses this secret?"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot."</p>
+
+<p>"So! He alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"In a word, mademoiselle, then, what is it that you want?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>"Liberty!"</p>
+
+<p>The inspector started back, confused.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" he growled, warily.</p>
+
+<p>"I said 'liberty.' I mean freedom from this service! I'm tired,
+monsieur! I would be free! I would live!"</p>
+
+<p>The veteran looked at her first with incredulity, then astonishment,
+then pity. He began to think the girl was really crazy, and that her
+story was probably all a myth. He suddenly turned the lantern from
+under his cloak upon her upturned face, and he saw that which thrilled
+him, but which he could not understand.</p>
+
+<p>It was the first time within Inspector Loup's experience that he had
+found any one wanting to quit&mdash;actually refusing good money to
+quit&mdash;the Secret System, having once enjoyed its delightful
+atmosphere.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"</p>
+
+<p>But he was so much involved in his mental struggle with this new phase
+of detective life that he did not answer. He had figured it out.</p>
+
+<p>"So! I think I understand now. But why quit? You have struck something
+better; but, surely, mademoiselle, one can be in love and yet do one's
+duty to the State."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well; you can resign, can't you? Nobody hinders you." And be a
+fool! was in Monsieur l'Inspecteur's tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but that is not all, monsieur. I want it with your free consent
+and written quittance,&mdash;and more, your word of honor that I will never
+be molested by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>you or your agents,&mdash;that I will be as if I had never
+been!"</p>
+
+<p>"And if I agree to all this&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall prove my good faith."</p>
+
+<p>"When?"</p>
+
+<p>"At once!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good! Then we <i>do</i> understand each other," he said, taking her hand
+for the first time in his life.</p>
+
+<p>"I trust you, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"You have my word. But you will permit me to give you a last word of
+fatherly advice before I cease to know you. Keep that gay young lover
+of yours out of mischief; he will never again get off as easily as he
+did the other day."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, Monsieur l'Inspecteur!" said Mlle. Fouchette, very glad
+indeed now that the lantern was not turned on her.</p>
+
+<p>"Allons!" he cried, looking about him. "And my men, mademoiselle?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would put two at the door where you met us&mdash;out of sight&mdash;and leave
+two in the Rue St. Jacques where we shall enter,&mdash;until you see for
+yourself,&mdash;the coast is clear."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said he, and he gave the necessary orders.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup issued from the Rue Soufflot entrance an hour later
+with a look of keen satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>Between the royalists on the one hand, and the republicans on the
+other, there were gigantic possibilities for an official of Inspector
+Loup's elasticity of conscience.</p>
+
+<p>He had first of all enjoined strict silence on the part of Mlle.
+Fouchette and Jean Marot.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>"For the public safety," he said.</p>
+
+<p>During his inspection of the premises he had found opportunity to
+secretly transfer an envelope to the hand of Mlle. Fouchette. For the
+chief of the Secret System was too clever not to see the shoe that
+pinched Mlle. Fouchette's toes, and, while despising her weakness, was
+loyal to his obligation.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Mlle. Fouchette had bidden Jean good-night and found
+herself in her own room, she took this envelope from her pocket and
+drew near the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>It was marked "To be opened to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>She felt it nervously. It crackled. She squeezed it between her thumb
+and forefinger. She held it between her eyes and the light. In vain
+the effort to pierce its secrets.</p>
+
+<p>The old tower clock behind the Panth&eacute;on mumbled two.</p>
+
+<p>"Dame!" she said, "it is to-morrow!"</p>
+
+<p>And she hastily ripped the missive open.</p>
+
+<p>Something bluish white fluttered to the floor. She picked it up.</p>
+
+<p>It was a new, crisp note of five hundred francs!</p>
+
+<p>She trembled so that she sank into the nearest chair, crushing the
+paper in her hand. Her little head was so dizzy&mdash;really&mdash;she could
+scarcely bring it to bear upon anything.</p>
+
+<p>Except one thing,&mdash;that this unexpected wealth stood between her and
+what an honest young woman dreads most in this world!</p>
+
+<p>The tears slowly trickled down the pale <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>cheeks,&mdash;tears for which it
+is to be feared only the angels in heaven gave Mlle. Fouchette due
+credit.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she started up in alarm. But it was only some belated lodger,
+staggering on the stairs. She examined the lock on her door and
+resolved to get a new one. Then she looked behind the curtains of her
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>The fear which accompanies possession was new to her.</p>
+
+<p>Having satisfied herself of its safety, she cautiously spread out the
+bank-note on the table, smoothed out the wrinkles, read everything
+printed on it, and kissed it again and again.</p>
+
+<p>One of the not least poignant regrets in her mind was that she could
+tell no one of her good fortune. Not that Mlle. Fouchette was bavarde,
+but happiness unshared is only half happiness.</p>
+
+<p>She went to the thin place in the wall and listened. Jean was snoring.</p>
+
+<p>She could look him in the face now.</p>
+
+<p>It was a lot of money to have at one time,&mdash;with what she had already
+more than she had ever possessed at once in her life.</p>
+
+<p>Freedom and fortune!</p>
+
+<p>She picked up the envelope which had been hastily discarded for the
+fortune it had contained.</p>
+
+<p>Hold! here was something more! She saw that it was her quittance,&mdash;her
+freedom! Her face, already happy and smiling, became joyous.</p>
+
+<p>It was merely a lead-pencil scrawl on a leaf from Inspector Loup's
+note-book saying that&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>As she read it her head swam.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! mon Dieu! It is impossible! Not Fouchette? I am not&mdash;and Mlle.
+Remy is my sister! Ah! M&egrave;re de Dieu! And Jean&mdash;oh! grand Dieu!"</p>
+
+<p>She choked with her emotions.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall die! What shall I do? What shall I do? And Lerouge, my
+half-brother! I shall surely die!"</p>
+
+<p>With the paper crumpled in her folded hands she sank to her knees
+beside the big chair and bowed her head. Her heart was full to
+bursting, but in her deep perplexity she could only murmur, "What
+shall I do? what shall I do?"</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>Jean Marot started from his heavy sleep much later than usual to hear
+the clatter of dishes in the next room. Going and coming rose a rather
+metallic voice humming an old-time chanson of the Quartier. He had
+never heard Mlle. Fouchette sing before; yet it was certainly Mlle.
+Fouchette:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Il est une rue &agrave; Paris,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O&ugrave; jamais ne passe personne,"&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">and the rest came feebly and shrilly from the depths of his kitchen,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"La nuit tous les chats qui sont gris<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Y tiennent leur cour polissonne."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Oh! oui da!" he cried from his bed. "Yes! and the cats sometimes get
+arrested, too, hein?"</p>
+
+<p>The door leading to his salon was opened tentatively and a small
+blonde head and a laughing face appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Not up yet? For shame, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>"What time is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ten o'clock, lazybones."</p>
+
+<p>"Ten&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Aren't you hungry?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hungry as a wolf!" he cried, with a sweep of his curtains.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, then!" And the blonde head disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"This is living," said the young man to himself as he was
+dressing,&mdash;he had never enjoyed such comfort away from home,&mdash;"the
+little one is a happy combination of housekeeper and cook as well as
+guide, philosopher, and friend. Seems to like it, too."</p>
+
+<p>He noted that the little breakfast-table was arranged with neat
+coquetry and set off with a bunch of red roses that filled the air
+with their exquisite fragrance. Next he saw that Mlle. Fouchette
+herself seemed uncommonly charming. She not only had her hair done up,
+but her best dress on instead of the customary dilapidated morning
+wrapper.</p>
+
+<p>His quick, artistic eye took in all of these details at a glance,
+falling finally upon the three marguerites at her throat.</p>
+
+<p>"My faith! you are quite&mdash;but, say, little one, what's up?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm up," she laughingly answered, "and I've been up these two hours,
+Monsieur Lazybones."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I've been down in Rue Royer-Collard and paid our milk
+bill,&mdash;deux francs cinquante, and gave that &eacute;pici&egrave;re a piece of my
+mind for giving me omelette eggs for eggs &agrave; la coque; for, while the
+eggs were not bad, one wants what one pays for, and I'm <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>going to have
+it, so she gave me an extra egg this time. How do you like these?"</p>
+
+<p>Without waiting for him to answer she added, "They are vingt-cinq
+centimes for two, six at soixante-quinze centimes, and one extra,
+which is trois francs vingt-cinq; and I got another pound of that
+coffee in Boulevard St. Michel; but it is dreadful dear, mon
+ami,&mdash;only you will have good coffee, n'est-ce pas? But three-forty a
+pound! Which makes six francs soixante-cinq."</p>
+
+<p>It was her way to thus account for all expenditures for their joint
+household. He paid about as much attention as usual,&mdash;which was none
+at all,&mdash;his mind still dwelling on the cheerfulness and genuine
+comfort of the place.</p>
+
+<p>"And the flowers, petite&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," she hastily interrupted, "I pay for the flowers."</p>
+
+<p>"No! no!" he explained. "I don't mean that! Is it your birthday,
+or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, "that is it, Monsieur Jean. I was born
+this morning!"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed, but saw from the sparkle of the blue eyes that he had not
+caught her real meaning.</p>
+
+<p>"From the marguerites&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;! I made the marchande des fleurs give me those. Aren't they
+sweet? How I love the flowers!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I never saw such a remarkable effect, somehow. They are only
+flowers, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"'Only flowers'! Say, now!"</p>
+
+<p>"Still, it is curious," he added, resuming his coffee and rolls, as if
+the subject were not worth an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>argument or was too intangible to
+grasp. He could not account for the change in Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>And if Jean Marot had been very much more of a philosopher than he was
+he would not have been able to understand the divine process by which
+human happiness softens and beautifies the human countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"Mon ami," said the girl, seeking to hide the pleasure his admiration
+gave her, "do you, then, forget what we have to do to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Lerouge? Yes,&mdash;that's so,&mdash;at once!"</p>
+
+<p>Immediately after breakfast Jean sat down and wrote a friendly, frank
+letter, making a complete and manly apology for his anger and
+expressing the liveliest sympathy for his old-time friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell him, Monsieur Jean, that you have changed your political
+opinions and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"At least that you'll have nothing more to do with these
+conspirators."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Fouchette&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Last night's discoveries ought to satisfy any reasonable being."</p>
+
+<p>"True enough, petite."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why not say so to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet,&mdash;I prefer acts rather than words,&mdash;but in good time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>It is more difficult for a man to bring himself to the acknowledgment
+of political errors than to confess to infractions of the moral law.</p>
+
+<p>In the mean time Mlle. Fouchette had cleared away and washed the
+breakfast things and stood ready to deliver the missive of peace.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>"It is very singular," he repeated to himself after she had departed
+upon this errand, "very singular, indeed, that this girl&mdash;really, I
+don't know just what to think of her."</p>
+
+<p>So he ceased to think of her at all, which was, perhaps, after all,
+the easiest way out of the mental dilemma.</p>
+
+<p>The fact was that Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming necessary to him.</p>
+
+<p>With a light heart and eager step she tripped down the Boulevard St.
+Michel towards the ancient Isle de la Cit&eacute;. On the bridge she saw the
+dark shadow of the Pr&eacute;fecture loom up ahead of her, and her face,
+already beaming with pleasure, lighted with a fresher glow as she
+thought of her moral freedom.</p>
+
+<p>The bridge was crowded as usual with vehicles and foot-passers, but
+this did not prevent a woman on the opposite side from catching a
+recognizing glance of Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>The sight of the latter seemed to thrill the looker like an electric
+shock. She stopped short,&mdash;so suddenly that those who immediately
+followed her had a narrow escape from collision. Her face was heavily
+veiled, and beneath that veil was but one eye, yet in the same swift
+glance with which she comprehended the figure she took in the elastic
+step and the happy face of Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"Mort au diable!" she muttered in her masculine voice,&mdash;a voice which
+startled those who dodged the physical shock,&mdash;and added to herself,
+"It must be love!" She saw the flowers at the girl's throat. "She
+loves!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span>It was at the same instant Mlle. Fouchette had raised her eyes to the
+Pr&eacute;fecture that stretched along the quai to the Parvis de la Notre
+Dame.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;!</p>
+
+<p>And after years of servitude,&mdash;from childhood,&mdash;some of it a servitude
+of the most despicable nature,&mdash;she had at last struck off the
+shackles!</p>
+
+<p>No,&mdash;she had merely changed masters; she had exchanged a master whom
+she feared and hated for one she loved&mdash;adored!</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette, for the first time in her life, walked willingly and
+boldly past the very front door of the Pr&eacute;fecture,&mdash;"like any other
+lady," she would have said.</p>
+
+<p>An agent of the Pr&eacute;fecture, who knew her from having worked with her,
+happened to see this from the court and hastily stepped out. He
+observed her walk, critically, and shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Something is in the wind," said he.</p>
+
+<p>But as the secret agents of the government are never allowed to enter
+the Pr&eacute;fecture, he watched for some sign to follow. She gave none.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, he slowly sauntered in the same direction, not daring to
+accost her and yet watchful of some recognition of his presence.</p>
+
+<p>It was the same polite young man who had surrendered his place in the
+dance to Jean on the night of Mardi Gras. He had not gone twenty yards
+before a robust young woman heavily veiled brushed past him with an
+oath.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardieu!" he said to himself, "but this seems to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>be a feminine
+chase." And he quickened his steps as if to take part in the hunt.</p>
+
+<p>Reaching the corner, Mlle. Fouchette doubled around the Pr&eacute;fecture and
+made straight for the H&ocirc;tel Dieu.</p>
+
+<p>Rapidly gaining on her in the rear came the veiled woman, evidently
+growing more and more agitated.</p>
+
+<p>And immediately behind and still more swiftly came the sleuth from the
+Pr&eacute;fecture. To be sure, there were always plenty of people crossing
+the broad plaza of Notre Dame from various directions and three going
+the same way would not have attracted attention.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette drew near the steps of the big hospital, taking a
+letter from her bosom.</p>
+
+<p>"That letter! Sacr&eacute;! I must have that letter!" murmured the veiled
+woman, aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"But you won't get it," thought the agent, gliding closer after her.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette kissed the superscription as she ran up the steps.</p>
+
+<p>"Death!" growled the veiled woman, half frantic at what she considered
+proof of the justice of her jealous suspicions as strong as holy writ.</p>
+
+<p>The man behind her was puzzled; astonished most at Mlle. Fouchette's
+osculatory performance; but he promptly seized the pursuer by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Not so fast, mademoiselle!"</p>
+
+<p>"Go! I must have that letter!"</p>
+
+<p>She turned upon the man like an enraged tigress, the one big black eye
+ablaze with wrath.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! It is you, eh? And right under the nose of the Pr&eacute;fecture!"</p>
+
+<p>"Au diable!" she half screamed, half roared, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>struggling to free
+herself from his iron grip. "It is none of your business."</p>
+
+<p>"Your best friend, too!"</p>
+
+<p>"Devil!" she shouted, striking at him furiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; not quite,&mdash;only an agent from the Pr&eacute;fecture, my bird."</p>
+
+<p>"Oho! And she's a dirty spy like you! I know it! And I'll kill her!
+D'you hear that? &Agrave; mort! The miserable moucharde!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not to-day, my precious!" said the man, cleverly changing his grip
+for one of real steel. "Not to-day. Here is where you go with me,
+deary. Come!"</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you I'll kill her!"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll see about that later; in the mean time you can have a chance to
+sweat some of that absinthe out of you in St. Lazare. And look sharp,
+now! If you don't come along quietly I'll have you dragged through the
+streets! Understand?"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had, happily unconscious of this exciting scene,
+passed out of sight, inquired as to the condition of Lerouge, sent in
+the letter by a trusty nurse, and was returning across the Parvis de
+la Notre Dame at the same moment that Madeleine, alternately weeping
+and cursing, was thrown into her cell at the Pr&eacute;fecture.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>A fortnight had passed since the note to Lerouge, and to all
+appearances the latter had ignored it and its author.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was ordinarily an infallible remedy for blue-devils;
+but to Jean Marot Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming a mere matter of
+course. A patient little beast of burden, she was none the less useful
+to a young man floundering around in the mire of politics, love, and
+other dire uncertainties.</p>
+
+<p>As otherwise very good husbands are wont to unload their irritability
+on their wives, so Jean was inclined to favor Mlle. Fouchette. And as
+doting wives who voluntarily constitute themselves drudges soon become
+fixed in that lowly position, so Mlle. Fouchette naturally became the
+servant of the somewhat masterful Jean Marot.</p>
+
+<p>She cheerfully accepted these exactions of his variable temper along
+with the responsibility for the economical administration of his
+domestic affairs.</p>
+
+<p>But even the brightest and most willing of servants cannot always
+anticipate what is in the master's mind; so Jean had come to giving
+orders to Mlle. Fouchette. He had not yet beaten her, but the careless
+observer might have ventured the opinion that this would come in time.</p>
+
+<p>It is the character of Frenchmen to beat women,&mdash;to stab them in the
+back one day when they are bored with them. The Paris press furnishes
+daily examples of this sort of chivalry. As a rule, the life of wife
+or mistress in France is a condition little short of slavery.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span>The mere arrangement of words is unimportant to the woman who
+anticipates blows, and who, doubtless, after the fierce fashion of the
+Latins, would love more intensely when these blows fell thickest and
+heaviest. As for being ordered about and scolded, it was a recognition
+of his dependence upon her.</p>
+
+<p>Over and above all other considerations was Jean's future happiness.
+In this, at least, they were harmonious. For Jean himself was also
+looking solely to that end.</p>
+
+<p>Since that memorable night when one brief pencilled sentence from
+Inspector Loup had bestowed upon her a new birth she found double
+reason for every sacrifice. She not only trampled her love underfoot
+with new courage, but bent all her energy and influence towards the
+reconciliation of Jean Marot and Henri Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had gone to the hospital every day to ascertain the
+young man's condition. And when he had been pronounced convalescent
+she ascertained his new address. All of which was duly reported to
+Jean, who began to wonder at this sudden interest in one for whom she
+had formerly expressed only dislike.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette offered no explanation of her conduct,&mdash;a woman is
+never bound to give a reason for her change of opinions. She never
+asked to see Lerouge,&mdash;never sent in her name to him,&mdash;but merely
+inquired, saying she was sent by one of his old friends. As she had
+intended, the name of this friend, Jean Marot, had been finally
+carried to Henri Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>One day she had seen Mlle. Remy, and had been so agitated and nervous
+that it was all she could do to sustain herself in the shadow of one
+of the great stone <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span>columns. She had watched for this opportunity for
+days; yet when it suddenly presented itself she could only hide,
+trembling, and permit the girl to pass without a word.</p>
+
+<p>"If I could only touch her!&mdash;feel her pretty fingers in my hand! Ah!
+but can I ever bring myself to that without betrayal? They would be so
+happy! and I,&mdash;why should I not be happy also? I love him,&mdash;I love
+her,&mdash;and if they love each other,&mdash;she can help it no more than
+he,&mdash;it would be impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>Thus she reasoned with herself as the sunny head of Mlle. Remy
+disappeared in the gloomy corridor. Thus she reasoned with herself
+over and over again, as if the resolution she had taken required
+constant bracing and strengthening.</p>
+
+<p>And it did require it.</p>
+
+<p>For Mlle. Fouchette, humble child of the slums, had bravely cut out
+for herself a task that would have appalled the stoutest moralist.</p>
+
+<p>Love had not only softened the nature of Mlle. Fouchette, as is
+seen,&mdash;it had revolutionized her. The fierce spirit to which she owed
+her reputation&mdash;of the feline claws and ready boot-heel&mdash;had vanished
+and left her weak and sensitive and meekly submissive. Personally she
+had not realized this change because she had not reasoned with herself
+on the subject. Not only her whole time but her entire mind and soul
+were absorbed in the service of Love. She gloried in her
+self-abasement.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette would have gone farther,&mdash;would have deliberately and
+gladly sacrificed everything that a woman can lay upon the altar of
+her affections. She <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>had no moral scruples, being only a poor little
+heathen among the heathen.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat disappointed and not a little chagrined at first that Jean
+had not required, or even hinted at, this sacrifice, she had ended by
+secretly exulting in this nobility of character that made him superior
+to other young men, and distinctly approved of his fidelity to the
+image in his heart. Deprived of this means of proving her complete
+devotion to him, she elevated him upon a higher pedestal and
+prostrated herself more humbly.</p>
+
+<p>Wherein she differed materially from the late Madame Potiphar.</p>
+
+<p>As for Jean Marot, it is to be reluctantly admitted that he really
+deserved none of this moral exaltation, being merely human, and a
+common type of the people who had abolished God and kings in one fell
+swoop, constructed a calendar to suit themselves, and worshipped
+Reason in Notre Dame represented by a ballet dancer. In other words,
+he was an egoist of the egoists of earth.</p>
+
+<p>He was, in fact, so unbearably a bear in his treatment of little
+Fouchette that only the most extraordinary circumstances would seem to
+excuse him.</p>
+
+<p>And the circumstances were quite extraordinary. Jean was suffering
+from personal notoriety. Unseen hands were tossing him about and
+pulling him to pieces. Unknown purposes held him as in a vice.</p>
+
+<p>Within the last two weeks his mail had grown from two to some twenty
+letters a day,&mdash;most of which letters were not only of a strongly
+incendiary nature, but expressed a wholly false conception of his
+political <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>position and desires. He was being inundated by
+indiscriminate praise and abuse. There were reams of well-meant advice
+and quires of threats of violence.</p>
+
+<p>Among these letters had been some enclosing money and drafts to a
+considerable amount,&mdash;to be used in a way which was plainly apparent.
+From a distinguished royalist he had received in a single cover the
+sum of ten thousand francs "for the cause." From another had come five
+thousand francs for his "personal use." Various smaller sums
+aggregated not less than ten thousand francs more, most of which was
+to be expended at discretion in the restoration of a "good" and
+"stable" and "respectable" government to unhappy France. Besides cash
+were drafts and promises,&mdash;the latter reaching unmeasured sums. And
+interspersed with all these were strong hints of political preferment
+that would have turned almost any youthful head less obstinate than
+that which ornamented the broad shoulders of Jean Marot.</p>
+
+<p>At first Jean was amused, then he was astonished. Finally he became
+indignant and angry to the bursting-point.</p>
+
+<p>It was several days before he could adequately comprehend what had
+provoked this furious storm, with its shower of money and warning
+flashes of wrath and rumblings of violence. Then it became clear that
+he was being made the political tool of the reactionary combination
+then laying the axe at the root of the republican tree. The
+Orl&eacute;anists, Bonapartists, Anti-Semites, and their allies were quick to
+see the value of a popular leader in the most turbulent and
+unmanageable quarter of Paris. The Quartier Latin was second <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>only to
+Montmartre as a propagating bed for revolution; the fiery youth of the
+great schools were quite as important as the butchers of La Villette.</p>
+
+<p>The conclusions of the young leader were materially assisted and
+hastened by the flattering attention with which he was received by the
+young men wearing royalist badges, and by the black looks from the
+more timid republicans. He thereupon avoided the streets of the
+quarter, and devoted his time to answering such letters as bore
+signature and address. He sought to disabuse the public mind, so far
+as the writers were concerned, by declaring his adherence to the
+republic, and by returning the money so far as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Marot had now for the first time, with many others, turned his
+attention to the revelations in the Dreyfus case as appeared in the
+<i>Figaro</i>, and saw with amazement the use being made of a wholly
+fictitious crisis to destroy French liberty. He was appalled at these
+disclosures. Not that they demonstrated the innocence of a condemned
+man, but because they showed the utter absence of conscience on the
+part of his accusers and the criminal ignorance of the military
+leaders on whom France relied in the hour of public danger. For the
+first time he saw, what the whole civilized world outside of France
+had seen with surprise and indignation, that the conviction of Captain
+Dreyfus rested upon the testimony of a staff-officer of noble blood
+who lived openly and shamelessly on the immoral earnings of his
+mistress, and who was the self-acknowledged agent of a maison de
+toleration on commission. In the person of this distinguished member
+of the "condotteri" was centred the so-called <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>"honor of the army." As
+for the so-called "evidence," no police judge of England or America
+would have given a man five days on it.</p>
+
+<p>Matters were at this stage when one morning about a fortnight since
+the day Mlle. Fouchette had changed masters they reached the
+bursting-point. Jean suddenly jumped from his seat where he had been
+looking over his mail and broke into a torrent of invective.</p>
+
+<p>"Dame!" said Mlle. Fouchette, coming in from the kitchen in the act of
+manipulating a plate with a towel,&mdash;"surely, Monsieur Jean, it can't
+be as bad as that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mille tonnerres!" cried Jean, kicking the chair viciously,&mdash;"it's
+worse!"</p>
+
+<p>"Worse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette, you're a fool!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette kicked the door till it rattled. She also used oaths,
+rare for her.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" he roared. "What in the devil's name are you doing that for?
+Stop!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? I don't want to be a fool. I want to do just as you do,
+monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! it is funny; but suppose Inspector Loup wanted you for a
+spy&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The plate slipped to the floor with a loud crash.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" he exclaimed. And seeing how confused she got,&mdash;"Never mind,
+Fouchette. Come here! Look at that!"</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Loup had politely requested Monsieur Marot to furnish
+privately any information in connection with the recent discoveries at
+his appartement which might be useful to the government,&mdash;especially
+in the nature of correspondence, etc.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>As if Inspector Loup had no agents in the Postes et T&eacute;l&eacute;graphes and
+had not already generously sampled the contents of Jean's mail, going
+and coming! But there are some cynical plotters in France who never
+use the public mails and, understanding the thoroughness of the Secret
+System, prefer direct communication.</p>
+
+<p>"It is infamous!" said the girl, when she had calmly perused the
+letter.</p>
+
+<p>"It is damnable!" said Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"Still, it is his business to know."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a miserable business,&mdash;a dishonorable business! And Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur will follow his dirty trade without any help from me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very surely!" said Mlle. Fouchette, emphatically.</p>
+
+<p>"I've had enough of politics."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" cried she, gleefully.</p>
+
+<p>"But, I'd like to punch the fellow who wrote this," he muttered,
+tearing an insulting letter into little bits and throwing them on the
+floor.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed. "But that is politics," she remarked.</p>
+
+<p>"True. We Frenchmen are worse than the Irish. I sometimes doubt if we
+are really fit for self-government; don't you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mon ami, you are improving rapidly," she replied, with a meaning
+smile,&mdash;"why not others?"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;mille diables!"</p>
+
+<p>"What! Another?"</p>
+
+<p>"Worse!"</p>
+
+<p>He slammed his fist upon the table in sudden passion.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very provoking, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>"Read it!" he said, dejectedly.</p>
+
+<p>She read beneath a Lyon date-line, in a small, crabbed, round hand,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You are not only a scoundrel, but a traitor, and you dishonor the
+mother who bore you as you betray the country which gives you shelter
+and protection."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a liar!" cried the girl, with a flash of her former spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"He is my father!" said Jean, scarcely able to repress his tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! mon Dieu!"</p>
+
+<p>She slipped down at his knees and covered his hand with kisses.</p>
+
+<p>"He cannot know!&mdash;he cannot know!" she said, consoling him. "He has
+only read the newspapers, like the rest. If he knew the truth, mon
+ami!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" sighed the young man,&mdash;"let us see,&mdash;a telegram? I hadn't
+noticed that. There can be nothing worse than what one's father can
+write his son."</p>
+
+<p>He read in silence, then passed it to her with a shrug of the
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur de Beauchamp!" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"'Come to Brussels at once.'"</p>
+
+<p>"It is the Duc d'Orl&eacute;ans."</p>
+
+<p>"Bah!"</p>
+
+<p>"He knows, then, that I am in possession."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;certainly."</p>
+
+<p>"Probably wants me to take charge of his guns&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And dynamite bombs&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The wretches!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>"You can tell him you have turned them over to Inspector Loup."</p>
+
+<p>"I will, pardieu!"</p>
+
+<p>He was inspecting the superscription of the next envelope.</p>
+
+<p>"Something familiar about that. Ah! its from Lerouge!"</p>
+
+<p>"Lerouge!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very good, very good! Look!"</p>
+
+<p>Jean jumped up excitedly,&mdash;this time with evident pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"Coming here! and to-night! Good!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I'm so glad, mon ami!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "And, see!
+'toi!'&mdash;he calls you 'thee;' he is not angry!"</p>
+
+<p>The note from Lerouge was simply a line, as if in answer to something
+of the day.</p>
+
+<p>"Merci,&mdash;je serai chez toi ce soir."</p>
+
+<p>"'Toi,'&mdash;it is good!" said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it looks fair. And Henri always had the way of getting a world
+of meaning in a few words."</p>
+
+<p>"It is as if there had occurred nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;to-night,&mdash;and we must prepare him a welcome of some kind. I
+will write him as to the hour. Let us say a supper, eh, Fouchette?"</p>
+
+<p>"A supper? and here? to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette recoiled with dismay written in every line of her
+countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see anything so strange or horrible about that," said Jean.
+"I did not propose to serve <i>you</i> for supper."</p>
+
+<p>"N-no; only&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette was greatly agitated. He looked at her curiously.
+Monsieur Lerouge coming to see him and coming to supper&mdash;where she
+must be present&mdash;were widely different propositions according to Mlle.
+Fouchette; for she had hailed the first with delight and the second in
+utter confusion.</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette, why don't you say at once that you don't want to do it!"
+he brutally added.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not understand. Would it be well for&mdash;for you, mon ami? It is
+not for myself. He probably does not know me."</p>
+
+<p>"What if he does? It strikes me that you are growing mighty nice of
+late. I don't see what Lerouge has to do with you,&mdash;and you have
+pretended&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretended? Oh, monsieur! I beg&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," he interrupted. "We can go out to a restaurant, I
+suppose, since you don't seem to want to take that trouble for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, monsieur!" she protested, earnestly, "it is not that; I would be
+glad, only&mdash;if it were not Lerouge."</p>
+
+<p>"And why not Lerouge, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"But, mon ami, would he not tell his sister that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know&mdash;&mdash;" she hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"Pouf! Lerouge will not know you. And what if he did recognize
+the&mdash;the&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Savati&egrave;re&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; what, then? But, say! Fouchette, you shall wear that pretty
+bonne costume I got you. Hein?"</p>
+
+<p>"But, mon ami,&mdash;mon cher ami! I'd rather not do <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>it," she faltered.
+"If Mademoiselle Remy should hear of it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! I know Lerouge. He'd think you my servant, my model. And have
+you not your own private establishment to retire to in case&mdash;really,
+you must!"</p>
+
+<p>"W-well, be it so, Monsieur Jean; but if harm comes of it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It will be my fault, not yours. It goes!"</p>
+
+<p>Thus Jean, having reduced the "Savati&egrave;re" to the condition of
+unsalaried servitude, now insisted upon her dressing the part.</p>
+
+<p>He had paid her no empty compliment when he said that she looked her
+best as a maid. He had fitted her out for an evening at the Bullier
+for twenty-five francs. In the Quakerish garb of a French bonne she
+had never looked so demurely sweet in her life. The short skirt showed
+a pair of small feet and neat round ankles. Her spotless apron
+accentuated the delicacy of the slender waist. And with a cute white
+lace cap perched coquettishly over the drooping blonde hair&mdash;well,
+anybody could see that Mlle. Fouchette (become simply Fouchette by
+this metamorphosis) was really a pretty little woman.</p>
+
+<p>And Jean kissed her on both cheeks and laughed at her because they
+reddened, and swore she was the sweetest little "bonne &agrave; toute faire"
+in all the world.</p>
+
+<p>No doubt Marie Antoinette and her court ladies looked most charming
+when they played peasant at Petit Trianon; for it is a curious fact
+that many women show to better physical advantage in the simple
+costume of a neat servant than in the silks and diamonds of the
+mistress.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>As for Fouchette, she was truly artistic, and she knew it. The
+knowledge that Jean comprehended this and admired her caused her eyes
+to shine and her blood to circulate more quickly. And a woman would be
+more than mortal who is not to be consoled by the consciousness of a
+successful toilet.</p>
+
+<p>Yet she had dressed with many misgivings, between many sighs and
+broken exclamations. A little time ago she would have cared nothing
+whether it were Lerouge or anybody else; but now,&mdash;ah! it was a cruel
+test of her.</p>
+
+<p>True, she must meet Lerouge some time. Oh! surely. She must see Mlle.
+Remy, too,&mdash;she must look into his sombre eyes,&mdash;feel the gentle touch
+of her hands! Often,&mdash;yes; often!</p>
+
+<p>For if Jean married Mlle. Remy, perhaps she, Fouchette, might&mdash;why
+not? She would become their domestic, could she not?</p>
+
+<p>Only, to meet Lerouge here,&mdash;in this way!</p>
+
+<p>It was a bitter struggle, but love conquered.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, she felt that she required all of her natural courage,
+all the cleverness learned of rogues and the stoicism engrafted by
+suffering, to undergo the ordeal demanded of her and to follow the
+chosen path to the end.</p>
+
+<p>"How charming you look, Fouchette!" he exclaimed, when she appeared in
+the evening.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>She gave the short bob of the professional domestic. Her face was
+wreathed in smiles.</p>
+
+<p>"But, I say, mon enfant, you are really pretty."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>She was blushing,&mdash;painfully, because she knew that she was blushing.
+He put his arm about her waist and attempted to kiss her.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no!" she cried, with an air of vexation,&mdash;"go away!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you are really artistic, Fouchette. I must have a sitting of you
+in that costume."</p>
+
+<p>He had made several sketches of her head, she serving as a model for
+Mlle. Remy. Only, he filled them out to suit his ideal. Mlle.
+Fouchette saw this; yet she was always pleased to pose for him.</p>
+
+<p>"That is, if you are good," he added, in his condescending way.</p>
+
+<p>"Have no fear,&mdash;I'll be good."</p>
+
+<p>"Une bonne bonne, say."</p>
+
+<p>"Bon-bon? Va!"</p>
+
+<p>"And can sit still long enough."</p>
+
+<p>"There! I can't sit still now, monsieur. The dinner,&mdash;it is nearly
+time."</p>
+
+<p>She had set out the table with the best their mutual resources
+afforded. She had run up and down the street after whatever seemed
+necessary earlier in the day. Now that final arrangement had come,
+nothing seemed quite satisfactory. She changed this, replaced that
+with something else, ran backward a moment to take in the ensemble,
+then changed things back again. She had the exquisite French
+perception of the incongruous in form and color. Between times she was
+diving in and out of the little kitchen, where the soup was simmering
+and where a chicken from the nearest r&ocirc;tisserie was being thoroughly
+warmed up. And in her lively comings and goings she wore a bright
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>smile and kept up the incessant purr, purr, purr of a vivacious
+tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"And you must have champagne!" said she, reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>He had come in with the bottles under his arm. "You should have let me
+purchase it, at least. How much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ten francs."</p>
+
+<p>"Ten francs! It is frightful! And two for this claret, I'll warrant!"</p>
+
+<p>"More than that, innocent."</p>
+
+<p>"What! more than&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Four francs."</p>
+
+<p>She held up her little hands, speechless, being unable to do justice
+to his extravagance. He laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"It is an important occasion," said he. "But, really, you are simply
+astonishing, little one."</p>
+
+<p>"L&agrave;, l&agrave;, l&agrave;!"</p>
+
+<p>Jean had an artistic sense, and Mlle. Fouchette now appealed to it. He
+watched her skipping about the place and tried to reconcile this
+sweet, bright-eyed, light-hearted creature with the woman he had known
+as "La Savati&egrave;re."</p>
+
+<p>"Que diable! but she is&mdash;well, what in the name of all the goddesses
+has come over the girl, anyhow? It can't be that Lerouge&mdash;yet she
+didn't want to have him see her here."</p>
+
+<p>Conscious of this scrutiny, Fouchette would have been compelled to
+retreat to the kitchen on some pretext if she had not got this
+occasional shelter by necessity. She was so happy. Her heart was so
+light she could not be quite certain if she were really on the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>earth
+or not. Never had Jean looked so handsome to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Dame! It is nothing," she said and repeated over and over to
+herself,&mdash;"it is nothing; and yet I am surely the happiest girl in the
+world. Oh, when he looks at me with his beautiful eyes like that I
+feel as if I could fly! Mon Dieu! but if he touched me now I should
+faint! I should die!"</p>
+
+<p>A vigorous ring at the door smote her ear. She trembled.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, why don't you go, melon?" He spoke with a sharpness that fell
+on her like a blow.</p>
+
+<p>She fumbled nervously at her apron-strings.</p>
+
+<p>"Go as you are, stupid!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>If her heart had not already fallen suddenly to zero, it would have
+dropped there when she opened the vestibule door.</p>
+
+<p>The elderly image of Jean Marot stood before her. Somewhat stouter of
+figure and broader of feature, with full grayish beard and moustache
+that concealed the outlines of the lower face, but still such a
+striking likeness of father to son that even one less versed in the
+human physiognomy than Mlle. Fouchette must have at once recognized
+Marot p&egrave;re. The deeply recessed eyes looked darker and seemed to burn
+more fiercely than Jean's, and more accurately suggested Lerouge.
+Indeed, to the casual observer the man might have been the father of
+either of the two young men. In bearing and attire the figure was that
+of the prosperous French manufacturer. His voice was coldly harsh and
+imperious.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>"So! mademoiselle!"</p>
+
+<p>He paused in the vestibule and gazed searchingly at the trembling
+little woman with a fierce glare that made her feel as if she were
+being shrivelled up where she stood.</p>
+
+<p>"So! May I inquire whether I am on the threshold of Monsieur Jean
+Marot's appartement or that of his&mdash;his&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He was evidently making an effort to preserve his calmness, but the
+words seemed to choke him.</p>
+
+<p>The implication, though not at once fully understood by Mlle.
+Fouchette, had the effect of rousing her powers of resistance.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Monsieur Marot's, monsieur," she replied, with dignity.</p>
+
+<p>"And you are&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"His servant, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! So!"</p>
+
+<p>"And you, monsieur&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I am his father, mademoiselle."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" He need not have told her that.</p>
+
+<p>At this instant the inner door was thrown wide open, and Jean, who had
+recognized his father's voice with consternation, was in the opening.</p>
+
+<p>Father and son stood thus confronting each other for some seconds,
+mute,&mdash;the father sternly and with unrelenting eye, the son with a
+pride sustained by obstinacy and bitterness. The sting of his father's
+letter was fresh, and he nerved himself for further insults. Nor had
+he to wait long, for his father advanced upon him as he retired into
+the room, with a growing menace in his tone at every successive step.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>"So! Here you are, you&mdash;you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Father!"</p>
+
+<p>The old man had excitedly raised his hand as if to strike his son
+without further words, but he found Mlle. Fouchette between them.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur! Monsieur! Hold, Jean! Do not answer him! Not now,&mdash;not
+now!"</p>
+
+<p>The elder Marot glanced at her as if she were some sort of vermin.
+This at first, then he hesitated before kicking her out of the way.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, messieurs! is it the way to reconciliation and love to go at it
+in hot blood and hard words? Take a little time,&mdash;there is plenty and
+to spare. Anger never settles anything. Sit down, monsieur, will you
+not? Why, Monsieur Jean! Will you not offer your father a chair? And
+remember, he is your father, monsieur. Remember that before you speak.
+It is easy to say hard words, but the cure is slow and difficult,
+messieurs. Why not deliberate and reason without anger?"</p>
+
+<p>As she talked she placed chairs, towards one of which she gently urged
+Marot senior. Then she insisted upon taking his hat. A man with his
+hat off is not so easily roused to anger as he is with it on, nor can
+one maintain his resentment at the highest pitch while sitting down.
+There was this much gained by Mlle. Fouchette's diplomacy.</p>
+
+<p>But the first glance about the room restored the father's
+belligerency. He saw the elaborately laid table, the flowers, the
+wine&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I am honored, monsieur," he said to his son, sarcastically, "though I
+had no idea that you expected me."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span>"It is&mdash;er&mdash;I had a friend&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I know quite well I have no reason to anticipate such a royal
+welcome. Yet there are three plates&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That was for Fouchette," said Jean, hastily and unthinkingly. "You
+will be welcome at my humble table, father."</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette,"&mdash;he had noticed the glance at the girl, now making a
+pretence of arranging the table,&mdash;"and so this is Fouchette, eh? And
+your humble table, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>The irascible old gentleman regarded both of the adjuncts of life de
+gar&ccedil;on with a bitter smile. Still it was something like a smile, and
+the girl was quick to take advantage of it.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, this is a special occasion, monsieur,&mdash;a reconciliation dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"A reconciliation dinner, eh?" growled the old man, suspicious of some
+sly allusion to himself and son. "And will you be good enough to speak
+for this dummy here and inform me who is to be reconciled and what the
+devil you've got to do with the operation?"</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, with affected gayety. "Only I
+must begin at the last first. I'm the next-door neighbor of Monsieur
+Jean, your son, and I take care of his rooms for him&mdash;for a
+consideration. My appartement is over there, monsieur, if you please.
+We are poor, but we must eat&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And drink champagne," put in the elder Marot, significantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Is not champagne more fitting for the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>reconciliation of two men who
+were once friends than would be violent words?" she asked, with
+spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"Who pays for it? It depends upon who pays for it!" He tried to ward
+off the conclusion by hurling this at both of them.</p>
+
+<p>Jean reddened. He knew quite well the insinuation. It is not an
+unusual thing for Frenchmen to live on the product of a woman's shame.</p>
+
+<p>"As if you should ask me if I were a thief, father!" protested the
+young man, now scarcely able to restrain his tears.</p>
+
+<p>"And as if we had not pinched and saved and economized and all that!
+And can you look around you and not see that?" She had hard work to
+smother her indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"Come to the point!" retorted the elder Marot, impatiently. "The
+woman! Where is the woman?"</p>
+
+<p>Jean reddened more furiously and was more confused than before.</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be this&mdash;this"&mdash;he regarded the slender, girlish figure
+contemptuously&mdash;"this grisette m&eacute;nag&egrave;re! You are not such a fool as
+to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no, no, no, no!" hastily interrupted Mlle. Fouchette, with great
+agitation. "Oh, no, monsieur! Think not that! She is an angel! I am
+nothing to him,&mdash;nothing! Only a poor little friend,&mdash;a servant,
+monsieur,&mdash;one who wishes him well and would do and give anything to
+see him happy! Nothing more, monsieur, I assure you! I&mdash;mon Dieu!
+nothing more!"</p>
+
+<p>There was almost a wail in her last note of too much protestation.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span>Both father and son scrutinized her attentively, while the color came
+and went in her now downcast face,&mdash;the one with a puzzled
+astonishment, the other with surprised alarm.</p>
+
+<p>And both understood.</p>
+
+<p>Not being himself a lover, the elder Marot divined at once what Jean,
+with all his opportunities, had till now failed to discover.</p>
+
+<p>Another pull at the bell came like a gift from heaven to momentarily
+relieve poor little Fouchette of her embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>Jean started nervously to his feet, in sympathy with her intelligence,
+but by no means relieved in mind.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Lerouge," he said, desperately. "Attend, Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>The father glanced from one to the other quickly, inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Lerouge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, father,&mdash;it is he,&mdash;the friend&mdash;whom we&mdash;whom I expect&mdash;to whom
+I owe reparation&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The two men studied each other in silence for the few seconds that
+followed, and Jean saw something like aroused curiosity and wonderment
+in his father's face,&mdash;something that had suddenly taken the place of
+anger.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had anticipated the coming of Lerouge with quite a
+different sentiment to that which overpowered Jean. The latter saw in
+it only the ruin of his most cherished hopes. Fouchette, on the other
+hand, with the quicker and surer intuition of the woman, believed the
+time now ripe for the reconciliation of not only Jean and Lerouge, but
+of father and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span>son. It would be impossible for Jean and his father to
+quarrel before this third party. Time would be gained. And then, were
+not the two affairs one? The straightening out of the tangle between
+the friends must carry with it the better understanding between Jean
+and his father.</p>
+
+<p>As to herself, the girl had not one thought. She was completely lifted
+out of self,&mdash;carried away with the intentness of her solicitude for
+Jean's future.</p>
+
+<p>The situation appealed to her sharpest instincts. Its possibilities
+passed through her alert mind before she had reached the door.
+Glorified in her purpose, she flung it wide open.</p>
+
+<p>She was confronted by two persons,&mdash;the one bowing, hat in hand; the
+other smiling, radiantly beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette stood for a moment like one suddenly turned to stone.</p>
+
+<p>This was more than she had bargained for. She leaned against the wall
+instinctively, as if needing more substantial support than her limbs.
+Her throat seemed parched, so that when she would have spoken the
+result was merely a spasmodic gasp. Even the friendly semi-darkness of
+the little antechamber failed to hide her confusion from her visitors.</p>
+
+<p>Then, recovering her self-possession by a violent effort, she reopened
+the inner door and announced, feebly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Lerouge,&mdash;Mademoiselle Remy!"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>Fortunately for Mlle. Fouchette, Jean's astonishment and temporary
+confusion at the unexpected apparition of the angel of his dreams
+extinguished every other consideration.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Remy stood before him&mdash;in his appartement&mdash;smiling, gracious, a
+picture of feminine youth and loveliness,&mdash;her earnest blue eyes
+looking straight into his lustrous brown ones, searching, p&eacute;n&eacute;trante!</p>
+
+<p>He forgot Fouchette; he forgot his friend Henri; he forgot even the
+presence of an angry father.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Jean!"</p>
+
+<p>"Henri, mon ami!"</p>
+
+<p>Recalled partially to his senses, Jean embraced his old friend after
+the effusive, dramatic French fashion. They kissed each other's
+cheeks, as if they were brothers who had been long parted.</p>
+
+<p>"We will begin again, Henri," said Jean,&mdash;"from this moment we will
+begin again. Forgive me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There!" cried Henri, "let us not go into that. We have both of us
+need of forgiveness,&mdash;I most of all. As you say, let us begin again.
+And in making a good start, permit me to present you to my sister
+Andr&eacute;e, whom you have met before, and, I have reason to believe, wish
+to meet again. I have brought her along without consulting you, first
+because she insists on going where I go, next as an evidence of good
+faith and a pledge of our future good-will. Mademoiselle Remy, mon
+cher ami."</p>
+
+<p>"No apology is necessary for bringing in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span>sunshine with you, mon
+ami," said Jean, bending over the small hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Marot is complimentary," said Mlle. Remy.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment her eyes drooped beneath his ardent gaze.</p>
+
+<p>"But, then, I know him so well," she quickly added, recovering her
+well-bred self-possession,&mdash;"yes, brother Henri has often talked about
+you, and I have seen you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>There was a faint self-consciousness apparent here. And he knew that
+she was thinking of his lonely watches in front of her place of
+residence.</p>
+
+<p>They rapidly exchanged the usual courtesies of the day, in the usual
+elaborate and ornate Parisian fashion.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette saw every minute detail of this meeting with an
+expression of intense concern. She weighed every look and word and
+gesture in the delicate, tremulous balance of love's understanding.
+And she realized that Jean's way was clear at last, and at the same
+time saw the consequences to herself.</p>
+
+<p>Well, was not this precisely what she had schemed and labored to bring
+about?</p>
+
+<p>Yet she stole away unobserved to the little kitchen, and there turned
+her face to the wall and covered her ears with her hands, as if to
+shut it all out. Her eyes were dry, but her heart was drenched with
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the elder Marot, who had risen politely upon the entrance
+of Lerouge and his sister, stood apparently transfixed by the scene.
+At the sight of Andr&eacute;e his face assumed a curious mixture of eagerness
+and uncertainty. Upon the mention of her name the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span>uncertainty
+disappeared. A flood of light seemed to burst upon him with the
+encomiums showered upon his son.</p>
+
+<p>When Jean turned towards his father&mdash;being reminded by a plucking of
+the sleeve&mdash;he was confounded to behold a face of smiles instead of
+the one recently clouded with parental wrath.</p>
+
+<p>"This is m-my father, Monsieur Lerouge,&mdash;Mademoiselle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What? Monsieur Marot? Why, this is a double pleasure!" exclaimed
+Lerouge, briskly seizing the outstretched hand. "The father of a noble
+son must perforce be a noble father. So Andr&eacute;e says, and Andr&eacute;e has
+good intuitions.&mdash;Here, Andr&eacute;e; Jean's father! Just to think of
+meeting him on an occasion like this!"</p>
+
+<p>Neither Lerouge nor his sister knew of the estrangement between Jean
+and his home. They had puzzled their heads in vain as to the reasons
+for Jean's retirement to the Rue St. Jacques, but were inclined to
+attribute it to politics or business reverses.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! so this is Monsieur Lerouge,&mdash;of Nantes," remarked the old
+gentleman when he got an opening.</p>
+
+<p>"Of Nantes," repeated Lerouge.</p>
+
+<p>"And this is Andr&eacute;e,&mdash;bless your sweet face!&mdash;and&mdash;and,"&mdash;turning a
+quizzical look on the wondering Jean,&mdash;"and 'the woman'!"</p>
+
+<p>It was now Lerouge's turn to be astonished. Jean and the girl
+attempted to conceal their rising color by casting their eyes upon the
+floor. Marot p&egrave;re was master of the situation.</p>
+
+<p>"Your father was a noted surgeon," he continued, still holding the
+girl's hand.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span>"One of the best of his time," said Henri, proudly.</p>
+
+<p>"And your mother&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Is dead, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>The look of pain that passed swiftly over M. Marot's face was
+reflected in an audible sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"One of the best of women," he went on, musingly,&mdash;"and you are the
+living image of your mother when I last saw her. Her name, too&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, monsieur!" interrupted Andr&eacute;e, excitedly, "you knew my mother,
+then?"</p>
+
+<p>"So well, my dear girl, that I asked her to be my wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"Father!"</p>
+
+<p>"That is the truth. It is the additional truth that my cousin, the
+doctor, got her."</p>
+
+<p>"My father was your cousin?" asked Lerouge. "Why, I come right by the
+family resemblance, Jean!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," laughingly retorted the latter, "and the family temper."</p>
+
+<p>"I was not aware that your mother again married," observed M. Marot.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,&mdash;Monsieur Fr&eacute;d&eacute;ric Remy, the father of Andr&eacute;e, here," said
+Henri. "Alas! neither he nor my mother long survived the loss of their
+younger daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"Then there is yet another child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Was," replied the young man, sadly. "For Louise, who was two years
+younger than Andr&eacute;e, disappeared one day&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span>"Disappeared!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and has never been heard of to this date. She was scarcely three
+years old. Whether she wandered away or was stolen, is dead or living,
+we do not know. She was never seen again."</p>
+
+<p>"What a terrible blow! What a terrible blow!" murmured the elder
+Marot, thinking of the unhappy mother.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had reappeared a few moments before,&mdash;just in time to
+hear this family history. But she immediately returned to the kitchen,
+where she sank upon a low stool and bowed her face in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette! Here, Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>It was Jean's peremptory voice.</p>
+
+<p>She hastily roused herself. She re-entered the little salon, and upon
+a sign from Jean conducted Henri Lerouge and his sister to Jean's
+bedroom, where she assisted Mlle. Remy to remove her hat. For up to
+this time the party had been grouped in running conversation without
+having settled down.</p>
+
+<p>"How you tremble, child!" exclaimed Andr&eacute;e,&mdash;"and you look so scared
+and pale. Is it, then, so bad as all that? What is the matter? Have
+they been quarrelling? I don't understand."</p>
+
+<p>"Andr&eacute;e!" whispered her brother, warningly. "Remember the salt woman!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette raised one little nervous finger to her lips and
+gently closed the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Pray do not seem to notice," she whispered. "But you did not know,
+then, that Jean and his father have been estranged, oh! for months?
+That the poor young <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span>man had been cast off,&mdash;forsaken by father and
+mother&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But why?" insisted Mlle. Remy. "It must have been something
+dreadful,&mdash;some horrible mistake, I mean. Why should&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The confusion of Mlle. Fouchette was too evident to press this
+questioning. And it was increased by the curious manner in which the
+pair regarded her.</p>
+
+<p>For a single instant she had wavered. She had secretly pressed her
+lips to her sister's dress, and she felt that she could give the whole
+world for one little loving minute in her sister's arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>At least one dilemma relieved her from another; so she flew to answer
+Jean's call, like the well-trained servant she was fast becoming.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, Fouchette. I'm glad to find you more attentive to our
+guests than I am. But I've been so confoundedly upset&mdash;and
+everlastingly happy. We shall want another plate. Yes, my father will
+honor us. I say, Fouchette, what a night! What a night!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am so glad, Monsieur Jean! I am so glad!"</p>
+
+<p>He considered her an instant and then hustled her into the kitchen and
+shut the door. "Let us consult a moment, my petite m&eacute;nag&egrave;re," were his
+last words to be overheard. In the kitchen he took her hands in his.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Fouchette! I owe my happiness to you. Everything, mind
+you,&mdash;everything!"</p>
+
+<p>"But have I not been happy, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"There! For what you have done for me I could not repay you in a
+lifetime, little one."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>"Then don't try, Monsieur Jean," she retorted, as if annoyed.</p>
+
+<p>"And I'm going to ask you to increase the obligation. It is that you
+will continue to preserve the character you have assumed,&mdash;just for
+this occasion, you know. It will save me from&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, &ccedil;&agrave;! It is not much, Monsieur Jean," she interrupted, with a
+seraphic smile. "To be your servant, monsieur, is&mdash;&mdash; I mean, to do
+anything to please you is happiness."</p>
+
+<p>"You are good, Fouchette,&mdash;so good! And when I think that I have no
+way to repay you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Have I laid claim to reward?" she interposed, suddenly withdrawing
+her hands. "Have I asked for anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! that is the worst of it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Only your friendship,&mdash;your&mdash;your esteem, monsieur,&mdash;it is enough.
+Yet now that your affairs are all right and that you are happy, we
+must&mdash;must part,&mdash;it will be necessary,&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;" There was a
+pleading note in her low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have been a brother,&mdash;a sort of a brother and protector to me,
+anyhow, you know, and it would wrong&mdash;nobody&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The blood had slowly mounted to her neck as she spoke and the lips
+quivered a little as she offered them.</p>
+
+<p>It was the last, and when he was gone she felt that it would
+strengthen her and enable her to bear up under the burden she had laid
+upon herself. She went about the additional preparations for the
+dinner mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>There was not a happier quartette in all Paris on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span>this eventful
+evening than that which sat around the little table in Jean Marot's
+humble appartement in ancient Rue St. Jacques.</p>
+
+<p>And poor little Mlle. Fouchette!</p>
+
+<p>The very sharpness of the contrast made her patient, resolute
+abnegation more beautiful, her sacrifice more complete, her poignant
+suffering more divine. Unconsciously she rose towards the elevated
+plane of the Christ. She wore the crown of thorns in her heart; on her
+face shone the superhuman smile of sainthood.</p>
+
+<p>If in his present sudden and overwhelming happiness Jean forgot Mlle.
+Fouchette except when she was actually before him he must be forgiven.
+But neither his father nor Henri Lerouge was so blind, though the
+latter evidently saw Mlle. Fouchette from a totally different point of
+view.</p>
+
+<p>The gracious manner and encouraging smile of Mlle. Remy happily
+diverted Fouchette from the consideration of her critics. Every kind
+word and every smile went home to Mlle. Fouchette. And for the moment
+she gave way to the pleasure they created, as a stray kitten leans up
+against a warm brick. Sometimes it seemed as if she must break down
+and throw herself upon the breast of this lovely girl and claim her
+natural right to be kept there, forever next to her heart!</p>
+
+<p>At these moments she had recourse to her kitchen, where she had time
+to recover her equilibrium. But Fouchette was a more than ordinarily
+self-possessed young woman. She had been educated in a severe school,
+though one in which the emotions were permitted free range. It was
+love now which required the curb.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span>She served the dinner mechanically, but she served it well. Amid the
+wit and badinage she preserved the shelter of her humble station.</p>
+
+<p>Yet she knew that she was the frequent subject of their conversation.
+She saw that she was being covertly scrutinized by Lerouge. And, what
+was harder to bear, the elder Marot showed his sympathy by
+good-natured comments on her appearance and service. The cry of
+"Fouchette!" recalling her to all this from her refuge in the kitchen
+invariably sent a tremor through her slender frame.</p>
+
+<p>"Henri said you were so practical!" laughingly remarked Mlle. Andr&eacute;e.</p>
+
+<p>"And am I not?" asked Jean, looking around the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit! There is nothing practical here,&mdash;no,&mdash;and your Fouchette
+is the most impossible of all."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Jean!" broke in Henri, "this Fouchette,&mdash;come now, tell us about
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"With proper reservations," said M. Marot, seriously.</p>
+
+<p>"No; everything!" cried Andr&eacute;e.</p>
+
+<p>She could see that it teased him, and persisted. "Anybody would know
+that she is not a common servant. Look at her hands!"</p>
+
+<p>"I've seen your Fouchette somewhere under different circumstances,"
+muttered Lerouge, "but I can't just place her."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Jean, after a moment's reflection, "she is an uncommon
+servant."</p>
+
+<p>He began to see that some frankness was the quickest way out of an
+unpleasant subject. "The fact is, as she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>has already told my father,
+Fouchette is an artist's model and lives next door to me. She takes
+care of my rooms for a consideration. But all the money in the world
+would not repay what I owe her,&mdash;quite all of my present happiness!
+Let me add, my dear mademoiselle, that the less attention you show
+her, the less you seem to notice her, the better she will like it."</p>
+
+<p>"How interesting!" cried Andr&eacute;e; "and how unsatisfactory!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very," said her brother, with a meaning smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Some day, mademoiselle, I will tell you,&mdash;not now. I beg you to
+excuse me just now."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, monsieur; but, pardon me, she must be ill,&mdash;and her face
+is heavenly!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is it?" asked Jean. "I had not noticed. Perhaps because one heavenly
+face is all I can see at the same time."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>She tried to hide her confusion in a sip of champagne.</p>
+
+<p>M. Marot and Lerouge became suddenly interested in a sketch upon the
+wall and rose, puffing their cigars, to make a closer and more
+leisurely examination.</p>
+
+<p>Jean's hand somehow came in contact with Andr&eacute;e's,&mdash;does any one know
+how these things come about?&mdash;and the girl's cheeks grew more rosy
+than usual. She straightway forgot Mlle. Fouchette. Her eyes were
+lowered and she gently removed her hand from the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Here is the true model for an artist," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"But I never sat," she declared.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't be too sure."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span>"Never; wouldn't I remember it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps not. One doesn't always remember everything."</p>
+
+<p>She blushed through her smile. She had unconsciously yielded her hand
+again.</p>
+
+<p>They talked airy nothings that conceal the thoughts. Then, in a few
+minutes, she discovered that his hand again covered hers and was
+innocently caressing it. She drew it away in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not take it away! Are we not cousins, mademoiselle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; funny, isn't it? Long-lost cousins!" She laughed merrily.</p>
+
+<p>"And now that we are found&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me as if I had known you a long time," she
+continued,&mdash;"for years and years! Or, perhaps it is
+because&mdash;because&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Come! let me show you something," he interrupted, still retaining the
+hand, "some poor sketches of mine."</p>
+
+<p>He led her to the portfolio-stand in the corner and seated himself at
+her feet.</p>
+
+<p>The elder connoisseurs, meanwhile, had taken the sketch in which they
+were interested from its place on the wall to the better light at the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>"'La Petite Chatte.'"</p>
+
+<p>"An expressive title, truly."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, its Mademoiselle Fouchette!" exclaimed M. Marot, holding the
+picture off at arm's length.</p>
+
+<p>"It is, indeed! And the real Fouchette as I last beheld her at the
+notorious Caf&eacute; Barrate. It's the 'Savati&egrave;re'! That solves a mystery."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span>Lerouge thereupon took M. Marot by the arm, replaced the picture on
+the wall, and led the old gentleman to the corner farthest from that
+occupied by the younger couple, and there the two conversed over their
+cigars in a low tone for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>In that time they had mutually disposed of the other couple,&mdash;Henri
+Lerouge, as brother and legal custodian of Mlle. Andr&eacute;e Remy; M.
+Marot, as father of Jean Marot. They had not only agreed that these
+two should marry, but had arranged as to the amount of the "dot" of
+the girl and the settlement upon the young man. Mlle. Andr&eacute;e had two
+hundred and fifty thousand francs in her own right, but the chief
+consideration in the case was, to M. Marot, the fact that she was the
+daughter of the beautiful woman whom he had once loved. For this
+consideration he agreed to double the amount of her dot and give his
+son a junior partnership in the silk manufactory at Lyons.</p>
+
+<p>This arrangement had no relation whatever to the sentiment existing
+between the young couple. It would have been concluded, just the same,
+if they had not loved.</p>
+
+<p>In French matrimonial matters love is a mere detail. The parents, or
+those who stand in the place of parents, are the absolute masters, and
+therefore the high contracting powers. Sons as well as daughters are
+subject to this will until after marriage. It is a custom strong as
+statute law. If inclination coincide with parental desire, well and
+good; if not, a social system which rears young orphan girls to feed
+the insatiate lust of Paris winks at the secret lover and the
+mistress.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span>With the reasonable certainty of the approval of both father and
+brother and with a heart surcharged with love for the sweet girl whom
+he felt was not indifferent to him, Jean had reason to feel happy and
+confident. As they bent over the pictures they formed a charming
+picture themselves.</p>
+
+<p>"Really, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Remy saw herself reproduced with such faithfulness that she
+started.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>Jean looked up in her face with all his passion concentrated in his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She was bending over the head of a young girl with a profusion of fair
+hair down upon her shoulders, and she forgot. Another showed the same
+face in a pen-and-ink profile, with the same glorious hair.</p>
+
+<p>"They are amateurish&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Au contraire," she interrupted, "they are quite&mdash;but Henri did not
+tell me, monsieur, that you were an artist."</p>
+
+<p>"And he was right, cousin."</p>
+
+<p>She had turned her face away from the light, so he could not see her
+blushes. For these pictures told a story of love more vividly and more
+eloquently than words. She was trying to piece out that which remained
+untold.</p>
+
+<p>"The pictures are well done, Cousin Jean,&mdash;and your model&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; I see now! She is a model, truly!"</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Remy seemed to derive a good deal of satisfaction from this
+conclusion.</p>
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep383" id="imagep383"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep383.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep383.jpg" width="45%" alt="It Was A Critical Moment" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">IT WAS A CRITICAL MOMENT<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>"But," she added, quickly, "do you think she looks so much like me?"</p>
+
+<p>"A mere suggestion," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It is curious,&mdash;very curious, mon&mdash;Cousin Jean; but do you know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Their heads were very close together. Unconsciously their lips met.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had been engaged in the work of washing dishes. It was
+an excuse to kill time and something to occupy her attention. As she
+carefully arranged everything in its place she realized that it was
+for the last occasion. She knew her work was done. So she made
+everything particularly bright and clean. The dessert dishes and
+glasses were still on the table, and she had stepped out cautiously
+and timidly to fetch them. It was a critical moment.</p>
+
+<p>With the noiseless tread of a scared animal she turned back again into
+the kitchen, and, closing the door softly, leaned against it with
+ghostly face. She quickly stuffed the corner of her apron into her
+mouth to keep back the scream of agony that involuntarily rose to her
+lips. Her thin hands were tightly clinched and her body half drawn
+into a knot.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"</p>
+
+<p>Even the Saviour stumbled and fell beneath the heavy cross He had
+assumed to insure the happiness of others.</p>
+
+<p>And Mlle. Fouchette was only a poor little, weak, nervous, ignorant
+woman, groping blindly along the same rugged route of her Calvary.</p>
+
+<p>Unconsciously the same despairing cry had broken from her lips.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span>"Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>It was Jean's voice.</p>
+
+<p>Half fainting, half terror-stricken at her unfortunate position, she
+drew a needle from the bosom of her dress and thrust it into her
+thigh&mdash;twice.</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monsieur!"</p>
+
+<p>"That poor girl is certainly ill, Je&mdash;Cousin Jean," said Mlle. Remy,
+sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" he lightly replied.</p>
+
+<p>He wished to spare the unhappy Fouchette this attention. "She has
+worked too hard. Drop it till to-morrow, little one," he said, gently.
+"You must let things alone for to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, it is nothing, monsieur. I must clear away these dessert
+dishes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Have a glass of wine," insisted Andr&eacute;e, putting her arm
+affectionately about the slender waist and pouring out a glass of
+champagne.</p>
+
+<p>Lerouge regarded them with a frown of disapproval. Turning to M.
+Marot, he said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You were congratulating France just now upon a new ministry,
+monsieur. At least the new ministry ought to give us a new set of
+spies. Don't you think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But the wine-glass broke the last sentence, as it fell to the floor
+with a crash.</p>
+
+<p>Only the protecting arm of Mlle. Remy sustained the drooping figure
+for a moment, then Jean and his affianced bride bore it gently to the
+model's home.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XXII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>"C'est fini!"</p>
+
+<p>The girl raised herself wearily from her knees by the side of her bed,
+where she had fallen when she had bravely gotten rid of Jean and
+Andr&eacute;e.</p>
+
+<p>"C'est fini!"</p>
+
+<p>She repeated the words as she looked around the room, the poor, cheap
+little chamber where she had been so happy. Just so has many a
+bereaved returned from the freshly made grave of some beloved to see
+the terrible emptiness of life in every corner of the silent home.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had grievously overrated her capacity to bear&mdash;to
+suffer. Instead of lightening the load she had assumed, the discovery
+of her sister in the beloved had doubled it.</p>
+
+<p>She had schooled herself to believe that to be near the object of her
+love would be enough. She had thought that all else, being impossible,
+might be subordinated to the great pleasure of presence. That to serve
+him daily, to share after a fashion his smiles and sorrows, to be at
+his elbow with her sympathy and counsel, would be her happiness,&mdash;all
+that she could ask for in this world. It would be almost as good as
+marriage, n'est-ce pas?</p>
+
+<p>Fouchette was in error. Not wholly as to the last assumption; it was a
+false theory, marriage or no marriage. Countless thousands of better
+and more intellectual people have in other ways found, are finding,
+will continue to find, it to be so.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette's tactical training in the great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span>normal school of
+life had not embraced Love. Therefore no line of retreat had been
+considered. She was not only defeated, she was overwhelmed.</p>
+
+<p>All of her theories had vanished in a breath.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of finding happiness in the happiness of those whom she loved,
+it was torture,&mdash;the thumbscrew and the rack. It was terrible!</p>
+
+<p>How could she have imagined that she might live contentedly under this
+day after day?</p>
+
+<p>The malice of Lerouge had been but the knock-out blow. It seemed to
+her now that his part was not half so cruel as that one kiss,&mdash;the
+kiss of Andr&eacute;e's, that had stolen hers, Fouchette's, from his warm
+lips!</p>
+
+<p>Yes, it was finished.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing to live for now. Her sun had set. The light had gone
+out, leaving her alone, friendless, without a future.</p>
+
+<p>The fact that she had herself willed it, brought it about, and that
+she earnestly desired their happiness, made her despair none the less
+dark and profound.</p>
+
+<p>She felt that she must get away,&mdash;must escape in some way from the
+consequences of her own folly.</p>
+
+<p>She precipitated herself down the narrow stairs at the risk of her
+neck and darted down the Rue St. Jacques half crazed with grief. She
+had made no change in her attire, had not even paused to restrain the
+blonde hair that fell over her face.</p>
+
+<p>Rue St. Jacques is in high feather at this hour in the evening. It is
+the hour of the jolly roysterer, male and female. Students, soldiers,
+bohemians, and bums jostle each other on the corners, while the dame
+de trottoir stealthily lurks in the shadows with one eye out for
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span>possible victims and the other for the agents de police. The caf&eacute;s and
+wine-shops are aglare and the terrasse chairs are crowded to their
+fullest of the day.</p>
+
+<p>The spectacle, therefore, of a pretty bonne racing along the middle of
+the street very naturally attracted considerable attention.</p>
+
+<p>This attention became excitement when another woman, who seemed to
+spring from the same source, broke away in hot pursuit of the servant.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing so generously appealed to the sensitiveness of Rue St. Jacques
+as a case of jealousy, and women-baiting was a favorite amusement of
+the quarter.</p>
+
+<p>There was now a universal howl of delight and approbation. When the
+pursuing woman tripped and fell into the gutter the crowd greeted the
+unfortunate with a shower of unprintable pleasantries.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma foi! but she is outclassed!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she's only stopped to rest."</p>
+
+<p>"Too much absinthe!"</p>
+
+<p>"The cow can never catch the calf!"</p>
+
+<p>"The fat salope! To think she could have any show in a race or in love
+with the pretty bonne!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but where's the man?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dame! It is one-eyed Mad!"</p>
+
+<p>"Let her alone,&mdash;she's drunk!"</p>
+
+<p>The fallen woman had laboriously regained her feet and turned a
+torrent of vulgar maledictions upon the jeering crowd.</p>
+
+<p>Then, having regained her equilibrium, she staggered forward in
+renewed pursuit. The broad-bladed, double-edged knife of the Paris
+assassin gleamed in her right hand.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span>"Bah! she will never catch her," said a man whose attention had been
+called to this.</p>
+
+<p>"Let them fight it out," assented his companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold! She is down again."</p>
+
+<p>Madeleine had reached the Rue Soufflot, and, in turning the corner
+sharply, had fallen against the irregular curb.</p>
+
+<p>The stragglers from the wine-shops hooted. The drunken women fairly
+screamed with delight. It was so amusing.</p>
+
+<p>But Madeleine did not get up this time.</p>
+
+<p>This was more amusing still; for the crowd, now considerably augmented
+by the refuse from the neighboring tenements, launched all sorts of
+humorous suggestions at the prostrate figure, laughing uproariously at
+individual wit.</p>
+
+<p>A few ran to where the dark figure lay, and a merry ruffian playfully
+kicked the prostrate woman.</p>
+
+<p>Still the woman stirred not.</p>
+
+<p>The ruffian who had just administered the kick slipped and fell upon
+her, whereat the crowd fairly split with laughter. It was so droll!</p>
+
+<p>But the man did not join in this, for he saw that he had slipped in a
+thin red stream that flowed sluggishly towards the gutter, and that
+his hands were covered with warm blood.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardieu! she's dead," he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>And they gently turned her over, and found that it was so.</p>
+
+<p>Madeleine had fallen upon her arm, and the terrible knife was yet
+embedded in her heart.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span>Meanwhile, unconscious of this pursuit and its fatal consequences,
+Mlle. Fouchette had swiftly passed from the narrow Rue St. Jacques
+into Rue Soufflot, and was flying across the broad Place du Panth&eacute;on.
+Blind to the glare of the wine-shops, deaf to the gay chanson of a
+group of students and grisettes swinging by from the Caf&eacute; du Henri
+Murger,&mdash;indeed, dead to all the world,&mdash;the grief-stricken girl still
+ran at the top of her speed&mdash;towards&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The river?</p>
+
+<p>Her poor little overtaxed brain was in a whirl. She had no definite
+idea of anything beyond getting away. As a patient domestic beast of
+burden suddenly resumes his savage state and rushes blindly,
+pell-mell, he knows not where, so Mlle. Fouchette now plunged into the
+oblivion of the night.</p>
+
+<p>Unconsciously, too, she had taken the road to the river,&mdash;the broad
+and well-travelled route of the Parisian unfortunate.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! the river!</p>
+
+<p>For the first time it occurred to her now,&mdash;how many unbearable griefs
+the river had swallowed up.</p>
+
+<p>There were so many things worse than death. One of these was to live
+as Madeleine had lived. Never that! Never! Not now,&mdash;once, perhaps;
+but not now. Oh, no; not now!</p>
+
+<p>The river seemed to beckon to her,&mdash;to call upon her, reproachfully,
+to come back to it,&mdash;to open its slimy arms and invite her to the
+palpitating bosom that had soothed the sorrows of so many thousands of
+the children of civilization.</p>
+
+<p>And Fouchette was the offspring of the river. Why <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>had she been
+spared, then? Had it proved worth while?</p>
+
+<p>She recalled every incident of that eventful period. She remembered
+the precise spot where she had been pulled out that gray morning,
+years before.</p>
+
+<p>This idea had flitted through her mind, at first vaguely, then, still
+unsought, began to assume definite shape.</p>
+
+<p>Eh, bien,&mdash;soit! From the river to the river!</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette, as we have seen, had all the spontaneity of her race,
+accentuated by a life of caprice and reckless abandon. To conceive was
+to execute. Consequences were an after-consideration, if at all worthy
+of such a thing as consideration.</p>
+
+<p>She stopped. But this hesitation was not in the execution of her
+suddenly formed purpose. It was necessary to recover breath, and to
+decide whether to go by the way of the Rue Clovis, or to turn down by
+the steep of Rue de la Mont Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve to the Boulevard St.
+Germain.</p>
+
+<p>It was but for a few panting moments.</p>
+
+<p>The clock of the ancient campanile of the Lyc&eacute;e Henri IV. struck the
+hour of eleven. The hoarse, low, booming sound went sullenly rumbling
+and roaring up and down the stone-ribbed plaza of the Panth&eacute;on, and
+rolled and reverberated from the great dome that sheltered the
+illustrious dead of France.</p>
+
+<p>The curious old church of St. &Eacute;tienne du Mont rose immediately in
+front of the girl, and the sound of the bells startled her,&mdash;shook her
+ideas together,&mdash;and, with the sight of the church, restored, in a
+measure, her presence of mind.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span>Her thoughts flew instantly back to the happy scene she had recently
+left behind. The bells of the old tower,&mdash;ah! how often she and Jean
+had regulated their m&eacute;nage by their music!</p>
+
+<p>And she looked up at the grimly mixed pile of four centuries, with its
+absurd little round tower, its grotesque gargouilles, and grass-grown
+walls,&mdash;St. &Eacute;tienne du Mont.</p>
+
+<p>Doubtless they would be married here.</p>
+
+<p>To be married where reposed the blessed bones of Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve, or at
+St. Denis amid the relics of royalty, was the dream of every youthful
+Parisienne. And Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve was the patronne of the virgins as well
+as of the city of Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette had witnessed a wedding at good old St. &Eacute;tienne du
+Mont,&mdash;indeed, any one might see a wedding here upon any day of the
+week, and at almost any hour of the day, in season,&mdash;and she now
+recalled the pretty scene. Yes, of course Jean and Andr&eacute;e would be
+married here.</p>
+
+<p>Obeying a curious impulse, the girl, still breathing heavily, ascended
+the broad stone steps and peeped into the little vestibule. The dark
+baize door within stood ajar, and she could see the faint twinkle of
+distant lights and smell the escaping odors from the last mass.</p>
+
+<p>She would go in&mdash;just for a moment&mdash;to see again where they would
+stand before the altar. It would do no harm. Her last thoughts should
+be of those she loved,&mdash;loved dearer&mdash;yes, a great deal more dearly
+than life.</p>
+
+<p>Entering, she mechanically followed her training at Le Bon Pasteur,
+and, bending a knee, dipped the tips <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span>of her fingers in the font and
+crossed her heaving breast.</p>
+
+<p>The great wax tapers were still burning about the ancient altar, and
+here and there pairs and bunches of expiatory candles flickered in the
+little chapels.</p>
+
+<p>As no other light relieved the sombre blackness of the vaulted
+edifice, an indefinite ghostliness prevailed, from out of which the
+numerous gilded forms of the Virgin and the saints appeared half
+intangible, as if hovering about with no fixed support or substance.</p>
+
+<p>The church might have been deserted, so far as any living indications
+were visible, though two or three darker splotches on the darkness
+could have been taken for as many penitents seeking the peace which
+passeth understanding.</p>
+
+<p>Gliding softly down the right, outside of the pews and row of stately
+columns, Mlle. Fouchette stopped only at the last pillar, from which
+she had a near view of the pretty white altar. She remained there,
+leaning against the pillar, her eyes bent upon the altar, motionless,
+for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>During that period she had pictured just how the young couple would
+look,&mdash;how beautiful the bride would appear,&mdash;how noble and handsome
+Jean Marot would shine at her side.</p>
+
+<p>She supplied all of the details as she had seen them once before,
+correcting and rearranging them in her mind with scrupulous care.</p>
+
+<p>All of this dreamily and without emotion, as one lies in the summer
+shade idly tracing the fleeting clouds across a summer's sky.</p>
+
+<p>She had grown wonderfully calm, and when she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span>turned away she gently
+put the picture behind her as an accomplished material thing.</p>
+
+<p>On her way she paused before the little chapel of Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve.
+There were candles burning before the altar, and a delicious, holy
+incense filled the air.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Fouchette recalled the stories of the intercession of Ste.
+Genevi&egrave;ve in behalf of virgin suppliants, and impetuously fell upon
+her knees outside the railing and bowed her face in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>She knew absolutely nothing of theological truth and error; religion
+was to her only a vague scheme devised for other people&mdash;not for her.
+She had never in all her life uttered a prayer save on compulsion.
+Now, impulsively and without forethought, she was kneeling before the
+altar and acknowledging God and the intercession of the Christ.</p>
+
+<p>It was the instinct of poor insignificant humanity&mdash;the weakest and
+the strongest, the worst and the best&mdash;to seek in the hour of
+suffering and despair some higher power upon which to unburden the
+load of life.</p>
+
+<p>To say now that Mlle. Fouchette prayed would be too much. She did not
+know how,&mdash;and the few sentences she recalled from Le Bon Pasteur
+seemed the mere empty rattle of beads.</p>
+
+<p>She simply wished. And as Mlle. Fouchette never did anything by
+halves, she wished devoutly, earnestly, passionately, and with the hot
+tears streaming from her eyes, without uttering a single word.</p>
+
+<p>It would have been, from her point of view, quite impertinent for her
+to thrust her little affairs directly before the Throne. She was too
+timid even to appeal to the Holy Virgin, as she had often heard others
+do, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span>with the familiarity of personal acquaintance; but she felt that
+she might approach Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve, patronne des vierges, with some
+confidence, if not a sense of right.</p>
+
+<p>She silently and tearfully laid her heart bare to Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve, and
+with her whole passionate soul called upon her for support and
+assistance. If ever a young virgin needed help it was she, Fouchette,
+and if Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve had any influence at the higher court, now was
+the time to use it. First it was that Jean and Andr&eacute;e might be happy
+and think of her kindly now and then; next, that she might be forgiven
+for everything up to date and be permitted to be good,&mdash;that some way
+might be opened to her, and that she might be kept in that way.</p>
+
+<p>Otherwise she must surely die.</p>
+
+<p>If Sister Agnes might only be restored to her, it would be enough. It
+was all she would ask,&mdash;the rest would follow. She must have Sister
+Agnes,&mdash;good Sister Agnes, who loved her and would protect her and
+lead her safely to the better life. Oh! only send her Sister Agnes&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"My child, you are in trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>That gentle voice! The soft, caressing touch!</p>
+
+<p>Ah! le bon Dieu!</p>
+
+<p>It was Sister Agnes, truly!</p>
+
+<p>The religieuse, ever struggling against the desires of the flesh, had
+unconsciously kneeled side by side with the youthful suppliant.
+Disturbed by the sobs of the latter, she had addressed her
+sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>To poor little ignorant and believing Fouchette it was as if one of
+the beautiful painted angels had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span>suddenly assumed life and, leaving
+the vaulted ceiling, had come floating down to softly brush her with
+her protecting wings. Awe-stricken at what seemed a direct
+manifestation of God, she found no words to express either surprise or
+joy. She simply toppled over into the arms of the astonished
+religieuse and lost consciousness. The reaction was too great.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes, who had not recognized in the girl dressed as a
+bonne-&agrave;-toute-faire her prot&eacute;g&eacute;e of Le Bon Pasteur, was naturally
+somewhat startled at this unexpected demonstration, and called aloud
+for the sacristan.</p>
+
+<p>"Blessed be God!" she exclaimed, when they had carried the girl into
+the light of the vestry,&mdash;"it is Mademoiselle Fouchette!"</p>
+
+<p>"What's she doing here?" demanded the man, with a mixture of suspicion
+and indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly nothing bad, monsieur. No, it can be nothing bad which
+leads a young girl to prostrate herself at this hour before the altar
+of the blessed Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve! That girl? That&mdash;&mdash; M&egrave;re de Dieu! what next?"</p>
+
+<p>"Chut!"</p>
+
+<p>"But it's a sacrilege, my sister. It's a profanation of God's holy
+temple!"</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh! monsieur&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a wonder she was not stricken dead! Before Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve!"</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh! monsieur," protested the religieuse, gently, "ne jugez pas!"</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span>"Ne jugez pas!"</p>
+
+<p>They had, in the mean time, applied simple restoratives with such
+effect that Mlle. Fouchette soon began to exhibit signs of
+reanimation.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you kindly leave me alone with her here for a few minutes?"
+whispered Sister Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>"Willingly," replied the ruffled attendant. "And mighty glad to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh!"</p>
+
+<p>When Mlle. Fouchette's eyes were finally opened they first fell upon
+the motherly face of Sister Agnes, then wandered rapidly about the
+room, as if to fix her situation definitely, to again rest upon the
+religieuse. And this look was one of inexpressible content,&mdash;of
+boundless love and confidence.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes, who was seated on the edge of the sofa on which the girl
+lay extended, leaned over and affectionately kissed her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"You are much better now, my child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, indeed! I was afraid it might be only&mdash;only a dream,&mdash;one
+dreams such things, n'est-ce pas? But it is true! There is really a
+God, and prayers are answered&mdash;when one believes,&mdash;yes; when one
+believes very hard! Even the prayers of a poor little, miserable,
+wicked, motherless girl like me. Ah!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Cer&mdash;certainly, ch&eacute;rie; but don't try to talk just yet. Wait a bit.
+You will feel stronger."</p>
+
+<p>The religieuse thought the girl's mind was wandering.</p>
+
+<p>"And good Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve heard me and had you sent to me. It was all I
+asked. For I knew that if I only had you, I could be good, and I would
+know what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span>to do. It was all I asked&mdash;for myself. And you were sent at
+once. Dear, good, sweet Sister Agnes!&mdash;the only one who ever loved
+me!&mdash;except Tartar,&mdash;and love is necessary, n'est-ce pas?"</p>
+
+<p>"You asked for me?"</p>
+
+<p>Sister Agnes listened now with intense interest. Mlle. Fouchette was a
+revelation.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes,&mdash;and they sent you&mdash;almost at once! Blessed Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what was the matter, Fouchette?" inquired Sister Agnes, wiping
+her eyes, after gently disengaging the young arms from her neck. She
+tried to speak cheerily.</p>
+
+<p>"Take me as you did when I first saw you,&mdash;when I was in the
+cell,"&mdash;and the voice now was that of a pleading child,&mdash;"that way;
+yes,&mdash;kiss me once more."</p>
+
+<p>On the matronly bosom of Sister Agnes the girl told her story,&mdash;the
+story of her love, of her suffering, of her hopes, of her final
+failure, of her despair.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, my more than mother, it was too much&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Too much! I should think so!" interrupted the good sister, brusquely,
+to prevent a total breakdown. "Sainte M&egrave;re de Dieu! such is for the
+angels in heaven, mon enfant,&mdash;for mortals, never!"</p>
+
+<p>"When I found she was my sister,&mdash;that her brother was my
+brother,&mdash;and that even Jean Marot&mdash;I could not be one to spoil this
+happiness by making myself known. No, I would rather die. I should
+hate myself even if they did not hate me. No, no, no! I could never do
+that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Fouchette, you are an angel!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span>The religieuse slipped to the floor at the girl's side, and covered
+the small hands with kisses. She felt the insignificance of her own
+worldly trials.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not worthy to sit in your presence, Fouchette," she faltered.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>As they slowly passed out of the church the younger seemed to support
+the elder woman. Both bowed for a few moments in silence before the
+altar of Ste. Genevi&egrave;ve.</p>
+
+<p>And when they arose, Mlle. Fouchette took from the bosom of her dress
+a bit of folded paper and put it in the box of offerings inside the
+rail.</p>
+
+<p>It was the bank-note for five hundred francs.</p>
+
+<p>At the door the grim sacristan, long impatient for this departure,
+growled his final disapproval of Mlle. Fouchette.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a terror," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a saint, monsieur," was the quiet reply of Sister Agnes.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later the great door of the Dames de St. Michel closed
+upon the two women. Mlle. Fouchette had ceased to exist, and Mlle.
+Louise Remy had entered upon the coveted life of peace and love.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h4>THE END</h4>
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+<div class="tr">
+<p class="cen"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a>Typographical errors corrected in text:</p>
+<br />
+Page &nbsp;&nbsp;71: &nbsp;Prettly replaced with Pretty<br />
+Page 225: &nbsp;whch replaced with which<br />
+Page 227: &nbsp;companon replaced with companion<br />
+Page 241: &nbsp;ascerbity replaced with acerbity<br />
+Page 285: &nbsp;seing replaced with seeing<br />
+Page 323: &nbsp;amunition replaced with ammunition<br />
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Mlle. Fouchette, by Charles Theodore Murray
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MLLE. FOUCHETTE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 30041-h.htm or 30041-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/0/4/30041/
+
+Produced by Irma Špehar, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/old/30041-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/30041-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..540169e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/old/30041-h/images/decopage7.jpg b/old/30041-h/images/decopage7.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ff8252a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/images/decopage7.jpg
diff --git a/old/30041-h/images/frontis.jpg b/old/30041-h/images/frontis.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8e8257c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/images/frontis.jpg
diff --git a/old/30041-h/images/imagep136.jpg b/old/30041-h/images/imagep136.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ecc1993
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/images/imagep136.jpg
diff --git a/old/30041-h/images/imagep182.jpg b/old/30041-h/images/imagep182.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0bf110f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/images/imagep182.jpg
diff --git a/old/30041-h/images/imagep383.jpg b/old/30041-h/images/imagep383.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..26e8d61
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/images/imagep383.jpg
diff --git a/old/30041-h/images/titledeco.jpg b/old/30041-h/images/titledeco.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f8fa9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041-h/images/titledeco.jpg
diff --git a/old/30041.txt b/old/30041.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5a7c554
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,14404 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mlle. Fouchette, by Charles Theodore Murray
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mlle. Fouchette
+       A Novel of French Life
+
+Author: Charles Theodore Murray
+
+Illustrator: W. H. Richardson
+             E. Benson Kennedy
+             Francis Day
+
+Release Date: September 20, 2009 [EBook #30041]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MLLE. FOUCHETTE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Irma Spehar, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Transcriber's Note:                                       |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |
+    | been preserved.                                           |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |
+    | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+MLLE. FOUCHETTE
+
+_THIRD EDITION_
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration: FOUCHETTE]
+
+
+
+
+MLLE.
+FOUCHETTE
+
+BY
+
+CHARLES THEODORE
+MURRAY
+
+ILLUSTRATED BY W.H. RICHARDSON
+E. BENSON KENNEDY & FRANCIS DAY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
+J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
+MCMII
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1902
+BY
+CHARLES THEODORE MURRAY
+
+_All rights reserved_
+
+Published March, 1902
+
+
+_Printed by
+J. B Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A._
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+MR. R.F. ("TODY") HAMILTON
+
+A CHARMING GENTLEMAN, DELIGHTFUL
+TRAVELLING COMPANION, PRACTICAL
+PHILOSOPHER, AND
+RELIABLE FRIEND
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+FOUCHETTE                                          _Frontispiece_
+
+HIS STILL UNCONSCIOUS BURDEN                             Page 136
+
+SHE SEIZED JEAN BY THE ARM                                 "  182
+
+IT WAS A CRITICAL MOMENT                                   "  383
+
+
+
+
+MLLE. FOUCHETTE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"Get along, you little beast!"
+
+Madame Podvin accompanied her admonition with a vigorous blow from her
+heavy hand.
+
+"Out, I say!"
+
+Thump.
+
+"You lazy caniche!"
+
+Thump.
+
+"You get no breakfast here this morning!"
+
+Thump.
+
+"Out with you!"
+
+Thump.
+
+In the mean time the unhappy object of these objurgations and blows
+had been rapidly propelled towards the open door, and was with a final
+thump knocked into the street.
+
+A stray dog? Oh, no; a dog is never abused in this way in Paris. It
+would probably cause a riot.
+
+It was only a wee bit of a child,--dirty, clothed in rags, with
+tangled blonde hair that had never, apparently, seen a comb, and whose
+little bare feet and thin ankles were incrusted with the dried filth
+of the gutters.
+
+Being only a child, the few neighbors who were abroad at that early
+hour merely grinned at her as she picked herself up and limped away
+without a cry or a word.
+
+"She's a tough one," muttered a witness.
+
+"She's got to be mighty tough to stand the Podvin," responded another.
+
+In the rapidly increasing distance the child seemed to justify these
+remarks; for she began to step out nimbly towards the town of
+Charenton without wasting time over her grievances.
+
+"All the same, I'm hungry," she said to herself, "and the streets of
+Charenton will be mighty poor picking half an hour hence."
+
+She paused presently to examine a pile of garbage in front of a house.
+But the dogs had been there before her,--there was nothing to eat
+there.
+
+These piles of garbage awaited the tour of the carts; they began to
+appear at an early hour in the morning, and within an hour had been
+picked over by rag-pickers, dogs, and vagrants until absolutely
+nothing was left that could be by any possibility utilized by these
+early investigators. Here and there two or three dogs contested the
+spoils of a promising pile, to separate with watchful amity to gnaw
+individual bones.
+
+As it was a principal highway from the Porte de Charenton to the town,
+the piles of refuse had been pretty thoroughly overhauled by the dogs
+and human scum that infested the barrier.
+
+Finally, the girl stopped as a stout woman appeared at a grille with a
+paper of kitchen refuse which she was about to throw into the street.
+
+They looked at each other steadily,--the child with eager, hungry
+eyes; the woman with resentment.
+
+"There is nothing here for you," rasped the latter, retaining her hold
+upon the folded parcel as she advanced to the curb and glanced up and
+down the street.
+
+The child, who had unconsciously carried her rag-picker's hook, stood
+waiting in the middle of the road.
+
+"Don't you hear me?" repeated the woman, threateningly. "Be off with
+you!"
+
+"It is a public road," said the little one.
+
+"You beggar----"
+
+"I haven't asked you for anything, madame," interrupted the child,
+with quivering voice,--"I'd die before asking you for anything,--but I
+have as much right to the road as you."
+
+There was a flash of defiance in the small blue eyes now.
+
+Two street dogs came up on a run. The woman threw down her parcel to
+them and, retreating, slammed the iron gate after her.
+
+With a wicked swing of her hook the child drove the dogs away and
+hastily inspected the garbage. A piece of stale crust and some
+half-decayed fruit rewarded her. A gristled end of beef she threw to
+the dogs, that watched her wistfully a few yards away.
+
+"Voila! I divide fair, messieurs," said she, skilfully munching the
+sound spots out of the fruit and casting the rest on the ground.
+
+"One would have thought madame was about to spread a banquet," she
+muttered.
+
+She sauntered away, stopping to break the crust with a piece of loose
+paving, with a sharp eye out for other windfalls.
+
+A young girl saw her from a garden, and shyly peeped through the high
+wrought-iron fence at the little savage.
+
+Though the latter never stopped a second in her process of
+mastication, she eyed the other quite as curiously,--something as she
+might have regarded a strange but beautiful animal through the bars of
+its cage.
+
+In experience and practical knowledge of life the respective ages of
+these two might have been reversed; the child of the street been
+sixteen instead of twelve.
+
+Undersized, thin, sallow, and sunburned,--bareheaded, barefooted,
+dirty, and ragged,--she formed a striking contrast to the
+rosy-cheeked, plump, full-lipped, and well-dressed young woman within.
+
+The extraordinary sound of crunching very naturally attracted the
+first attention of the elder.
+
+"What in the world is that which you are eating, child?" she asked.
+
+"Bread, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Bread! Why, it's covered with dirt!"
+
+"Yes, ma'm'selle."
+
+Redoubled exertion of the sound young teeth.
+
+"Why do you eat that?"
+
+"Hungry, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Heavens!"
+
+Continuous crunching, while the child knocks the remaining crust
+against the wall to get the sand out of it, the dirt of the
+paving-stone.
+
+"What's your name?"
+
+"Fouchette."
+
+"Fouchette? Fouchette what?"
+
+"Nothing, ma'm'selle,--just Fouchette."
+
+"Where do you live, Fouchette? Do throw that dirty bread away, child!"
+
+"Say, now, ma'm'selle, do you see anything green in my eye?"
+
+The young woman seriously inspects the blue eye that is rolled up at
+her and shakes her head.
+
+"N-no; I don't see anything."
+
+"Very well," said Fouchette, continuing her attack on the slowly
+dissolving crust.
+
+"Throw it away, I tell you!--I'll run and get you some,--that's a good
+child!"
+
+Fouchette stopped suddenly and remained immobile, regarding her
+interlocutor sharply.
+
+"Truly?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly."
+
+The child looked at what remained of the crust, hesitated, sighed,
+then dropped it on the ground. The young woman hastily re-entered the
+house and presently reappeared with a huge sandwich with meat on a
+liberal scale.
+
+"Oh, how good you are, ma'm'selle!" cried Fouchette.
+
+Her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure,--her young mouth watered as the
+sandwich was passed between the railing.
+
+"What is that,--why, there is blood on your neck, Fouchette!"
+
+The child felt her neck with her hand and brought it away.
+
+"So it is," said she, sinking her teeth into the sandwich.
+
+"Here,--come closer,--turn this way. It's running down now. How did
+you hurt yourself?"
+
+"Dame! It is nothing, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Nothing! You are just black and blue!"
+
+"Mostly black," said Fouchette. The world looked ever so much
+brighter.
+
+"You've been fighting," suggested the young woman, tentatively.
+
+"No, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Then somebody struck you."
+
+"Quite right, ma'm'selle."
+
+This was delivered with such an air of nonchalance that the young lady
+smiled.
+
+"You speak as if it were a common occurrence," she observed.
+
+"It is," said Fouchette, with a desperate swallow,--"Podvin."
+
+"Po-Podvin?"
+
+"Yes, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Person you live with?"
+
+Fouchette nodded,--she had her mouth full.
+
+"They beat you?"
+
+"Most every day."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Er--exercise, mostly, I think."
+
+The half-sly, half-humorous squint of the left blue eye set the
+sympathetic young woman laughing in spite of herself. The remarkable
+precocity of these petites miserables of the slums was new to her.
+
+"But you had father and mother----"
+
+"I don't know, ma'm'selle,--at least they never showed up."
+
+"But, my child, you must have started----"
+
+"I started in a rag-heap, ma'm'selle. There's where the Podvin found
+me."
+
+"In a rag-heap!"
+
+"Yes, ma'm'selle,--so they say."
+
+"But don't you remember anything at all before that?"
+
+"Precious little. Only this: that I came a long ways off, walking, and
+riding in market carts, and walking some more,--and then the Podvin
+found me,--near here,--and here I am. That's all."
+
+"What does Podvin do for a living?"
+
+"Drinks."
+
+"Ah! And madame?"
+
+"Hammers me."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Rags."
+
+"Now, Fouchette, which is 'the' Podvin?"
+
+"Madame, of course!"
+
+The young woman laughed merrily, and Fouchette gave forth a singular,
+low, unmusical tinkle. She was astonished that the young lady should
+put such a question, then amused as she thought of Mother Podvin
+playing second to anybody.
+
+"What a lively little girl you are, Fouchette!" said her questioner,
+pleasantly.
+
+"It's the fleas, ma'm'selle."
+
+"W-wh-what?"
+
+"I sleep with Tartar."
+
+"Who's Tartar, and what----"
+
+"He's the dog, ma'm'selle."
+
+"Heavens!"
+
+"Oh, he's the best of the family, ma'm'selle, very sure!" protested
+Fouchette, naively.
+
+"No doubt of it, poor child!"
+
+"Only for him I'd freeze in winter; and sometimes he divides his
+dinner with me--as well as his fleas--when he is not too hungry, you
+know. This amuses the Podvin so that sometimes, when we have company,
+she will not give me any dinner, so I'll have to beg of Tartar. And we
+have lots of fun, and I dance----"
+
+"You dance after that? Why----"
+
+"Oh, I love to dance, ma'm'selle. I can----"
+
+Fouchette elevated her dirty little bare foot against the railing
+above her head by way of illustration; while, half shocked, half
+laughing, the other hastily exclaimed,--
+
+"La, la, la! Put it down, Fouchette! Put it down!"
+
+A restless glance up and down the road and back towards the house
+seemed to relieve the young woman materially; she laughed now with
+delightful abandon.
+
+"So Tartar and you are good friends in spite of the--the----"
+
+"The fleas,--yes, ma'm'selle. He loves me and me alone. Nobody dares
+come near him when we sleep--or eat,--and I love him dearly. Did you
+ever love anybody, ma'm'selle?"
+
+This artless question appeared to take the young woman by surprise;
+for she grew confused and quite red, and finally told little Fouchette
+to "run along, now, and don't be silly."
+
+"Not with fleas,--oh, no; I didn't mean that!" cried the child,
+conscious of having made a faux pas, but not clear.
+
+But the young woman was already flying through the flower-garden, and
+quickly disappeared around the corner of the house without once
+looking back.
+
+Fouchette then let go of her breath and heaved a deep sigh as she
+turned away.
+
+It was the only occasion within her childish recollection when one of
+her own sex had spoken to her in kindness. Now and then she had
+dreamed of such a thing as having occurred in the long ago,--in some
+other world, perhaps,--this was real, tangible, perceptible to the eye
+and ear.
+
+                        "Sweet words
+    Are like the voices of returning birds,
+    Filling the soul with summer."
+
+For the moment the starved soul of the child was filled with summer
+softness, as she slowly returned along the route she had recently
+come, thinking of the beautiful young lady and the sensuous odor of
+the flowers which had penetrated to the innermost recesses of her
+being.
+
+As she neared the barriers, however, and was gradually recalled to the
+harsh realities of her daily environment, these fleeting dreams had
+disappeared with the rest, leaving the old, fixed feelings of
+hopelessness and sullen combativeness. With this revival came the pain
+from the still recent blows of the morning, temporarily forgotten.
+
+The barriers at Paris have long been the popular haunts of poverty and
+crime,--though their moral conditions have been greatly modified by
+the multitude of tramways that afford the poor of Paris more extended
+outings. The barriers run along the line of fortifications and form
+the "octroi," or tax limit of the city. These big iron gates of the
+barriers intercept every road entering Paris and are manned by customs
+officials, who inspect all incoming vehicles and packages for dutiable
+goods.
+
+Within the barriers is Paris,--beyond is the rest of the world. Inside
+are the police agents,--outside are the gendarmes.
+
+Cheap shows, gypsy camps, merry-go-rounds, and all sorts of games
+hover about the barriers, where no special tax is exacted and where
+the regulations with reference to public order are somewhat lax. They
+attract noisy and unruly crowds on Sundays and holidays. A once
+popular song ran:
+
+    "Pour rigoler montons,
+      Montons a la barriere."
+
+Which means, that to have a good time let us go up to the barrier.
+
+These resorts are infested by the human vermin that prey on the
+ignorant,--thieves, pickpockets, robbers, and cutthroats of every
+description. This very wood of Vincennes near at hand, now the glory
+of picnickers, was for centuries the home and stronghold of the robber
+and professional assassin. And it is a rash man at this day who would
+voluntarily risk his purse and life by being found alone in the
+neighborhood after nightfall.
+
+Fouchette's territory lay chiefly in the streets and suburbs of
+Charenton. To cover it she was compelled to get out before daylight.
+If she had good luck and brought in anything valuable she got an
+extra allowance of soup, sometimes with a scrap of meat, to be
+invariably divided between her and Tartar, or a small glass of red
+wine; if her find was poor her fare was reduced, and instead of food
+she often received blows.
+
+These blows, however, were never administered in the sight of the dog,
+Tartar,--only once, when the savage animal resented this treatment of
+his side partner by burying his teeth in Mother Podvin's arm.
+
+Little Fouchette remembered this friendly intervention by bringing
+home any choice bits of meat found in the house garbage during her
+morning tour. Mother Podvin remembered it by thereafter thumping
+Fouchette out of sight of her canine friend and protector. The
+infuriated woman would have slaughtered the offending spaniel on the
+spot, only Tartar was of infinite service to her husband in his
+business. She dared not, so she took it out on Fouchette.
+
+Monsieur Podvin's business was not confined wholly to drinking, though
+it was perhaps natural that Fouchette should have reached that
+conclusion, since she had seen him in no other occupation. Monsieur
+Podvin, like many others of the mysterious inhabitants of the
+barriers, worked nights. Not regularly, but as occasion invited him or
+necessity drove him. On such occasions Tartar was brought forth from
+the cellar, where he reposed peacefully by the side of his little
+protegee, and accompanied his master. As Tartar was held in strict
+confinement during the day, he was invariably delighted when the call
+of duty gave him this outing. And as he returned at all sorts of hours
+in the early morning, his frail partner and bedfellow never felt that
+it was necessary to sit up for him. Nevertheless, Fouchette was quite
+nervous, and sometimes sleepless, down there among the wine-bottles in
+the dark, on her pallet of straw, when she awoke to find her hairy
+protector missing; though, usually, she knew of his absence only by
+his return, when he licked her face affectionately before curling down
+closely as possible by her side.
+
+Now, Monsieur Podvin's business, ostensibly, was that of keeping a low
+cabaret labelled "Rendez-Vous pour Cochers." It might have been more
+appropriately called a rendezvous for thieves, though this seems
+rather hypercritical when one knows the cabbies of the barriers. But
+the cabaret was really run by Madame Podvin, which robs monsieur of
+the moral responsibilities.
+
+As a matter of fact, Monsieur Podvin was a mighty hunter, like Nimrod
+and Philippe Augustus, and other distinguished predecessors. His field
+of operations was the wood of Vincennes, where Philippe was wont to
+follow the chase some hundreds of years ago, and wherein a long line
+of royal chasseurs have subsequently amused themselves.
+
+With the simple statement that they were all hunters and robbers, from
+Augustus to Podvin, inclusive, the resemblance ends; for the nobles
+and their followers followed the stag and wild boar, whereas Monsieur
+Podvin was a hunter of men.
+
+At first blush the latter would appear to be higher game and a more
+dangerous amusement. Not at all. For the men thus run down by Monsieur
+Podvin and his faithful dog, Tartar, were little above the beasts from
+self-indulgence at any time, and were wholly devoid of even the
+lowest animal instincts when captured. They were the victims of their
+own bestiality before they became the victims of Podvin.
+
+Every gala-day in the popular wood of Vincennes left a certain amount
+of human flotsam and jetsam lying around under the trees and in the
+dark shadows, helpless from a combination of wood alcohol and water
+treated with coloring matter and called "wine." It was Monsieur
+Podvin's business to hunt these unfortunates up and to relieve them of
+any valuables of which they might be possessed, and which they had no
+use for for the time being. It was quite as inspiriting and ennobling
+as going over a battlefield and robbing the dead, and about as safe
+for the operators. The intelligence of Tartar and his indefatigable
+industry lent an additional zest to the hunt and made it at once easy
+and remunerative. Tartar pointed and flushed the prey; all his master
+had to do was to go through the victims, who were usually too helpless
+to object. If, as was sometimes the case, one so far forgot himself as
+to do so, the sight of a gleaming knife-blade generally reconciled the
+victim to the peaceful surrender of his property. On special occasions
+Monsieur Podvin was assisted by a patron of the Rendez-Vous pour
+Cochers; but he usually worked alone, being of a covetous nature and
+unwilling to share profits. When accompanied, it was with the
+understanding that the booty was to be divided into equal shares,
+Tartar counting as an individual and coming in on equal terms, and one
+share on account of Fouchette,--all of which went to Monsieur Podvin.
+
+For, without any knowledge or reward, Fouchette was made to do the
+most dangerous part of the business,--which lay in the disposal of the
+proceeds of the chase. It was innocently carried by her in her
+rag-basket to the receiver inside the barriers.
+
+Where adults would have been suspected and probably searched, first by
+the customs officers and then by the police, Fouchette went
+unchallenged. Her towering basket, under which bent the frail little
+half-starved figure, marked her scarcely more conspicuously than her
+ready wit and cheerful though coarse retorts to would-be sympathizers.
+Her load was delivered to those who examined its contents out of her
+sight. The price went back by another carrier,--a patron of the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. "La petite chiffonniere" was widely known in
+the small world of the Porte de Charenton.
+
+As for Fouchette,--well, she has already, in her laconic way, given
+about all that she knew of her earlier history. Picked up in a
+rag-heap by a chiffonniere of the barrier, she had succeeded to a
+brutal life that had in five years reduced her to the physical level
+of the spaniel, Tartar. In fact, her position was really inferior,
+since the dog was never beaten and had always plenty to eat.
+
+Instead of killing her, as would have been the fate of one of the
+lower animals subjected to the same treatment, all this had seemed to
+toughen the child,--to render her physically and morally as hard as
+nails.
+
+It would be too much or too little--according to the point of view--to
+assume that Fouchette was patient under her yoke and that she went
+about her tasks with the docility of a well-trained animal. On the
+contrary, she not only rebelled in spirit, but she often resisted
+with all her feeble strength, fighting, feet, hands, and teeth, with
+feline ferocity. Having been brought to the level of brutes, she had
+become a brute in instinct, in her sensibility to kindness, her
+pig-headedness, resentment of injury, and dogged resistance.
+
+On her ninth birthday--which, however, was unknown--Monsieur Podvin,
+over his fourth bottle, offered to put her up against the dog of his
+convive of the moment, so much was he impressed with Fouchette's
+fighting talent. Fouchette, who was serving the wine, was not
+unmindful of the implied compliment. She glanced at the animal and
+then at its owner with a bitter smile that in her catlike jaws seemed
+almost a snarl,--
+
+"I'd much rather fight le Cochon," said she.
+
+"Ho! ho! ho!" roared the man, who was a dirty ruffian of two hundred
+pounds, mostly alcohol, and who enjoyed the fitting sobriquet of "le
+Cochon," from his appearance and characteristic grunt.
+
+"Voila!" cried Monsieur Podvin; "that's Fouchette!"
+
+"Pardieu! but what a little scorcher!" exclaimed the ruffian, rather
+admiringly.
+
+"The dog is honest and decent," said the child, turning her steely
+blue eyes on the man.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+The peremptory voice was that of "the" Podvin behind the zinc. Such
+plain talk--any talk at all about "honesty" and "decency"--at the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers was interdicted. And had the girl noted the
+look which followed her retreating figure she might have gone abroad
+the next morning with less confidence.
+
+From that time on these two, ruffian and child, snapped at each other
+whenever they came in contact,--which, as the man was an habitue of
+the place, and occasional assistant of Monsieur Podvin in his business
+of scouring the wood of Vincennes for booty, was pretty nearly every
+day. For in addition to her labors as a rag-picker Fouchette was
+compelled to wait upon customers in the wine-shop and run errands and
+perform pretty much all the work of housekeeping for the Podvins. Her
+foraging expeditions merely filled in the time when customers were not
+expected.
+
+Strange as it may appear, Fouchette liked this extra hour or so abroad
+better than any other duty of the day,--it was freedom and
+independence. With her high pannier strapped to her slender back and
+iron hook in hand she roamed about the streets of Charenton, sometimes
+crossing over through ancient Conflans and coming home by the Marne
+and Seine. There were only footpads, low-browed rascals, thieves, and
+belated robbers about at this hour, before the trams began to make
+their trips to and from Paris, but these people never disturbed the
+petite chiffonniere, save to sometimes exchange the foul witticisms of
+the slums, in which contests the ready tongue and extensive vocabulary
+of little Fouchette invariably left a track of good-humor. They knew
+she hadn't a sou, and, besides, was one of their class.
+
+Fouchette was a shining example of what environment can make of any
+human being, taken sufficiently young and having no vacation.
+
+Up to this particular morning Fouchette had accepted her position in
+life philosophically as a necessary condition, and with no more
+consideration of the high and mighty of this world than the high and
+mighty had for her. Slowly and by insensible degrees, since she was
+too young to mark the phenomena in any case, she had been forged and
+hammered into a living piece of moral obliquity,--and yet the very
+first contact with an innocent mind and kindly sympathy awoke in her
+childish breast a subtle consciousness that something was wrong.
+
+She fell asleep later, worn out with toil and sore from bruises, her
+thin arm flung across Tartar's neck, to dream of a plump young face, a
+pair of big, dark, soulful eyes that searched and found her heart. The
+noise of the revelling robbers above her faded into one sweet, deep,
+mellow voice that was music to her ears. And the powerful odors that
+impregnated the atmosphere of the cellar and rendered it foul to
+suffocation--dampness and dog and dregs of wine, and garlic and
+decaying vegetables--became the languorous breath of June flowers.
+
+Ah! the beautiful young lady! The beautiful flowers!
+
+Their perfume seemed to choke her, like the deadly tuberoses piled
+upon a coffin.
+
+She tried to cry out, but her mouth was crowded full of something, and
+she awoke to find herself in the brutal hands of some one in the
+darkness. She kicked and scratched and struggled in vain, to be
+quickly vanquished by a brutish blow.
+
+Tartar! Tartar!
+
+Oh, if Tartar were only there!
+
+When she came to herself she was conscious of being carried in her own
+basket on the back of one who stepped heavily and somewhat uncertainly
+along the road.
+
+She was doubled up like a half-shut jack-knife, her feet and head
+uppermost, and had great difficulty in breathing by reason of her
+cramped position and the ill-smelling rags with which she was covered.
+Besides which, she felt sick from the cruel blow in her stomach.
+
+Yet her senses were keenly alert.
+
+She was well aware who had her; for the man gave out his
+characteristic grunt with every misstep, and there was no one else in
+the world likely to do her serious physical injury.
+
+She knew that it was still dark, both from the way the man walked and
+from the cool dampness of the atmosphere with which she was familiar.
+
+Yes, it was le Cochon.
+
+She knew him for an escaped convict, for a murderer as well as a
+robber, and that he would slit a throat for twenty sous if there were
+fair promise of immunity.
+
+She felt instinctively that she was lost.
+
+All at once the man stopped, went on, paused again.
+
+Then she heard other footsteps. They grew louder. They were evidently
+approaching. They were the heavy, hob-nailed shoes of some laborer on
+his way to work.
+
+Her heart stood still for a few moments as she listened, then beat
+wildly with renewed hope.
+
+If she could only cry out; but the rag that filled her mouth made
+giving the alarm impossible.
+
+Finally, after some hesitation, her abductor moved on as if to meet
+the coming footsteps, slowly, and leaning far over now and then, in
+apparent attempt to counterfeit the occupation of a rag-picker. And at
+such moments the child felt that she was standing on the back of her
+neck.
+
+The heavy tramp of the stranger grew nearer--was upon them.
+
+"Bonjour!" called out a cheerful, manly voice.
+
+"Bonjour, monsieur!" replied le Cochon, humbly.
+
+"You are abroad early this morning."
+
+"It is necessary, if an honest chiffonnier would live these times."
+
+"Possible. Good luck to you."
+
+"Thanks, monsieur."
+
+The steps had never paused and were quickly growing fainter down the
+road, while the young heart within the basket grew fainter and fainter
+with the fading sounds.
+
+This temporary hope thus crushed was more cruel than her former
+despair.
+
+Her bearer uttered a low volley of horrible imprecations directed
+towards the unknown.
+
+He stopped suddenly, and, unstrapping the basket from his shoulders,
+placed it on the ground.
+
+Fouchette smelled the morning vapors of the river; discerned now the
+distinct gurgle of the flood.
+
+As the robber took the rags from the basket and pulled her roughly
+forth, the full significance of her perilous situation rushed upon
+her. She trembled so that she could scarcely stand,--would have
+toppled over the edge of the quai but for the strong arm of le Cochon,
+who restrained her.
+
+"Not yet, petite," said he.
+
+And he began to strap the basket upon her young shoulders.
+
+"Pardieu! we must regard conventionalities," he added, with devilish
+malignity.
+
+It was early gray of morning, and a mist hung over the dark waters of
+the Seine. No attempt had been made to obstruct her vision, which,
+long habituated to the hour, took in the road, the stone quai, the
+boats moored not far away, the human monster at her side, all at a
+single sweeping glance.
+
+Her feet and arms were bound, the gag was still in her mouth,--there
+was no escape, no succor.
+
+There was the river; there was le Cochon.
+
+Nothing more.
+
+What more, indeed, was necessary to complete the picture?
+
+Death.
+
+Nothing was easier. No conclusion more mathematically certain.
+
+With his knife between his teeth the assassin hastily adjusted the
+straps under her arms. It was but the work of half a minute from the
+time he had stopped, though to the terror-stricken child it seemed an
+age of torment.
+
+The rags were packed tightly down in the bottom of the basket.
+
+"It'll do for a sinker," said the man.
+
+Then he cut the thongs that held her arms, severed the ligament that
+bound her feet, and with one hand removed the cloth from her mouth,
+while with the other he suddenly pushed his victim over the edge of
+the stone quai.
+
+"Voila!"
+
+Short as was the opportunity, Fouchette gave one terrified shriek as
+she went over the brink,--a shriek that pierced the river mists and
+reverberated from the stone walls and parapets and went ringing up and
+down the surface of the swiftly swirling stream.
+
+Again, as she reappeared, battling with the murky waters with
+desperate stroke and splash, her childish voice rose,--
+
+"Tartar! Tartar!"
+
+And yet again, choking with the flood,--
+
+"Tar--Tar--tar!"
+
+It was the last thought,--the last appeal,--this despairing cry for
+the only one on earth she loved,--the only being on earth who loved
+her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The piercing cry of Fouchette seemed yet to linger in the misty
+morning air, thrilling the distant ear, vibrating upon the unstrung
+nerves of the outcasts beneath the far-away bridges, borne upon the
+surface of the waters, when it was answered out of the darkness by a
+sharp, shrill note of sympathy.
+
+Those who have heard the wild hyena in his native fastnesses
+responding to the appeal of its imperilled young might have understood
+this half-human, half-savage cry of the roused animal.
+
+And almost simultaneously came the swift rush of feet that seemed to
+claw the granite into flying electric sparks.
+
+The repulsive face of the convict murderer turned pale at the sound,
+and at the sight of the glowing eye-balls his ugly teeth clattered
+against each other. Nevertheless, the instinct of self-preservation
+made him crouch low, deadly knife in hand, to receive the expected
+attack.
+
+At the sight of le Cochon the dog emitted a howl of wrath. With the
+marvellous judgment, however, of the trained animal that will not be
+turned from the trail of a deer by the scent of skunk, this sight
+scarcely checked his plunge.
+
+Tartar's divination was unerring. He wasted no effort in battling with
+the current or paddling around in a circle, but turned at once and
+swam rapidly with the stream. He spent no breath in useless
+vociferation. All his canine strength was put forth to an end. And
+these instincts were quickly rewarded by the sight of a strange
+object floating ahead of him,--something a little higher, than the
+water.
+
+The fiend who had packed the old rags into the bottom of the pannier
+with the double motive of indicating an accident and of carrying the
+child under beneath its weight had overdone the trick. For the rags,
+once soaked, proved so much heavier than the frail body that it turned
+turtle and threw the child face upward and partially above the
+surface. The load instead of sinking buoyed her up, and, being
+strapped securely to it, she could not fall off. Whereas if she had
+simply been thrown into the river without these precautions, she would
+have gone to the bottom.
+
+With a succession of low whines now that were almost human sobs, the
+excited spaniel quickened his stroke, if, indeed, such a thing were
+possible, and redoubled his energies. He saw that it was the body of
+his beloved mate.
+
+But when he reached the floating object and seized it with his teeth
+it was to find that he was powerless to drag it ashore. In vain he
+struggled and splashed and tugged at it. The load was too much for
+him. Almost frantic from disappointment, he soon became exhausted. He
+seemed to realize that he would not only be unable to save his little
+mistress, but was likely to perish with her. It was not long before
+his fight ceased. He hung on by his teeth now to keep from sinking.
+
+Thus the combination, waterlogged basket, unconscious girl, and
+exhausted dog, floated silently along, under the National Bridge, past
+the bridge of Tolbiac, and came opposite the great freight-yards of
+the Orleans Railway on the left and the greater Entrepots de Bercy on
+the right.
+
+The homeless of both sexes that swarm the shelter of the bridges of
+the Seine were just awakening to life and a renewed sense of misery.
+The thin fog had begun to lift. The sharper eyes of the dog discovered
+the proximity of human beings before the latter could see him, and he
+let go of his floater long enough to utter a few sharp yelps of
+distress.
+
+A tramp, wider awake or less benumbed by liquor than his fellows,
+heard the sounds from the river and called the attention of
+companions.
+
+A dog in distress,--it was enough to rouse the sympathetic blood of
+any true Parisian. The more active of the men ran vociferously along
+the bank, raising the watchmen of either shore.
+
+Numerous barges and tugs lay moored along the Quai de la Gare. From
+these lights began to show. Men sprang up as if by magic. Those on one
+side of the river shouted to those on the other side to find out what
+was the matter, and the other side shouted back that they didn't
+know,--but it was somebody or something in the river. As there is
+always "somebody" in the river, the idea did not attract so much
+attention as the possibility that it was "something."
+
+When it was ascertained that it was a dog--which followed upon
+additional pathetic appeals from the water--there was wild excitement
+all along the line. Men tumbled over barrels and boxes, and ran plump
+up against walls, and fell into pits, and even into the river itself,
+in their anxiety to keep pace with the sounds from the fog.
+
+Others began hastily to get out boats, and ran about with lanterns and
+oars and ends of rope and other life-saving paraphernalia. These boats
+put off simultaneously from either side, and contained police agents,
+bargemen, roustabouts, watchmen, watermen, and bums. As the
+inhabitants of the Long Island shore at the cry of "A whale!" man the
+boats and race to get in the first harpoon, so these rivermen of the
+Seine now pulled for a drowning dog.
+
+The conflicting sounds of human voices, the grating of boats against
+the stones, the rattle of chains, the splash of oars, were plainly
+heard and as plainly understood by the intelligent animal now
+struggling with death. Through his set jaws, which still clung to the
+child's clothing, or, rather, through his nose, there came occasional
+whines of distress that were almost heart-rending in their intensity.
+
+These last faint appeals for help directed the rescuers.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed a waterman, nearing the spot and rowing
+alongside.
+
+"It's a child!" screamed another.
+
+"No, it's a dog," said a third.
+
+The light was still uncertain and objects confusing.
+
+"It's dog and child----"
+
+"It's dead!"
+
+"Not yet, monsieur."
+
+"I mean the child."
+
+"Dead?"
+
+"No; the dog has held its face above water."
+
+"The dog,--quick! he's sinking!"
+
+"Here!"
+
+"A rope!"
+
+"There!"
+
+"No, no! Catch him by the neck!"
+
+"Save the child first!"
+
+"I've got him!"
+
+"And I've got her!"
+
+"Hang on to the dog! Pull him into the boat, stupid!"
+
+"Why, she's strapped down to something!"
+
+"What is this, anyhow?"
+
+"Pull the dog loose, man!--he'll drown her yet!"
+
+"There!"
+
+"Your knife, Pierre!"
+
+"Hold!"
+
+This was from the river policeman, who held up his bull's-eye lantern
+so that it threw a yellow glare on the white upturned face.
+
+"She's dead, poor little thing!"
+
+"We shall bring in the body just as it is," said the official.
+
+"But----"
+
+"That's the law!"
+
+"Tonnerre! Is it the law to let a child drown in one's sight?"
+
+"Oh, she's dead enough, I'm afraid."
+
+"I don't know about that."
+
+"Bring it in just as it is," repeated the official, adjusting a rope
+to the mysterious thing beneath the body.
+
+"Sacre bleu! And if she's alive?"
+
+"Poor doggie! He's about done for too."
+
+And so it really seemed, for Tartar lay in the bottom of the boat,
+still breathing, but in convulsive gasps. In his teeth remained a
+portion of the child's clothing, torn away with him. He had hung to
+his charge to the last. His jaws had never relaxed.
+
+In the mean time the whole fleet with its spoils had been floating
+steadily down with the powerful current. Amidst the wrangle of
+contending voices, and with some angry altercation, the police boat
+and its accompanying consorts were towing the yet unknown object and
+its silent burden towards the shore.
+
+This was not an easy job, since the river becomes more narrow as it
+threads the city, and the current proportionately stronger, and the
+undertow caught at the low-hanging mass as if determined to bear it
+down to the morgue just below. They had been carried under the Pont de
+Bercy and were drawing near the Quai d'Austerlitz. Finally they got
+ashore at the Gare d'Orleans.
+
+"Parbleu! it's a little chiffonniere!"
+
+"Truly!"
+
+"She has evidently fallen into the river with her basket on her back."
+
+They had now, in the rapidly growing daylight, discovered the
+character of the object that held her in its embrace. In fact, when
+half a dozen stout fellows had attempted to lift the whole thing out
+of the water the rags had dropped out unseen and were borne away by
+the current, leaving the light empty pannier and the body of the child
+in their hands. And the men marvelled at the resistance they had
+encountered.
+
+A messenger had been at once despatched for medical assistance. The
+great hospital of Salpetriere was near at hand.
+
+"May as well take her to the morgue," muttered one.
+
+"Soon enough,--soon enough," replied the river policeman. "Follow the
+custom."
+
+Notwithstanding the general opinion that it was too late, a rough
+boatman had torn off a section of his flannel shirt and was chafing
+the cold little hands, while another rubbed the legs and a third tried
+to restore respiration. These people were familiar with cases of
+drowning, and knew the best and simplest immediate first aid by heart.
+
+To their very great surprise a few minutes sufficed to show that the
+child was still alive. By the time the doctor arrived she gave decided
+signs of returning animation. Under the influence of his restoratives
+she opened her eyes.
+
+"Tartar!" she gasped.
+
+"What's that, little one?" inquired the doctor, bending low over her.
+She still lay on the stone quai, a laborer's coat beneath her extended
+figure.
+
+"Tar--Tartar," she repeated, again closing her eyes. "Oh, mon Dieu! I
+remember now. That wretch!--it could not have been!"
+
+"Maybe it's her dog," suggested a man.
+
+"Yes,--Tartar----"
+
+"There, my child,--don't! Is it the dog?"
+
+"Yes,--tell me----"
+
+"Oh, he's all right.--Say!"
+
+He hailed the group gathered about the other victim of the river.
+
+"How's the dog?"
+
+"All right, Monsieur le Docteur!"
+
+Fouchette heard and brightened perceptibly. The doctor increased the
+effect by observing that the dog was coming around all right.
+
+"But he's had a pretty close call."
+
+"So it was Tartar, after all," whispered Fouchette. "Dear Tartar!"
+
+"A brave dog, Tartar,--stuck to you to the last," put in the
+policeman.
+
+"Truly!"
+
+Half a dozen men cried at once, "Vive Tartar!" with the enthusiasm of
+true Frenchmen.
+
+And if a dog ever did deserve the encomiums that were showered upon
+him Tartar certainly was that dog.
+
+As soon as Fouchette began to revive, a stalwart bargewoman, awakened
+in her little cubby by the cries of the men in the vicinity, and who
+had hastily turned out to see for herself, had disappeared for a
+moment in her floating home, and shortly afterwards returned with some
+substantial clothing borrowed from her family wardrobe.
+
+"How thin the child is!" she remarked, as she substituted the dry
+clothing on the spot.
+
+"Thin!" growled a bystander; "she had to be mighty thin to come down
+the river on an empty basket!"
+
+"You see, she must have fallen in with the basket on her back----"
+
+"I was pushed in," corrected Fouchette.
+
+"Pushed into the river?"
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"Who did it, child?"
+
+"Impossible!"
+
+"There is some devilish crime here."
+
+"It's a case for the police."
+
+This last observation came from the policeman as he brought out his
+note-book, while a buzz of indignation ran through the crowd.
+
+Fouchette heard these mutterings and saw the inquisitorial pencil of
+the official in uniform. He had shut off his light with a snap.
+
+At this moment Tartar, having heard the voice of his mistress, had
+struggled to his feet, and now dragged himself over to where she lay.
+The crowd separated for him.
+
+"Ah! Tartar!" exclaimed Fouchette, affectionately, raising her hand to
+his head.
+
+With a whimper of joy the noble animal licked her hand, her face and
+neck, wagging his bedraggled tail with intense satisfaction, winding
+up this demonstration by lying down by her side as closely as he could
+get, and giving a long breath, which in a human being would be called
+a sigh.
+
+The act moved the coarse bargewoman to tears, while the men turned
+away to hide their emotion.
+
+The silence was profound,--the testimony of a sentiment too deep for
+mere words.
+
+The police agent was the first to come to the practical point in the
+situation. The violence phase of the case made him consequential. It
+would invite the attention of his superiors. It would get his name in
+the daily journals.
+
+"What is your name, child?"
+
+The intended victim of police interrogatory closed her eyes without
+answering.
+
+"You were thrown into the river. It is necessary for us to know the
+name of the person who committed this outrage. If you do not know, it
+is our business to find out. The miscreant must be arrested and
+punished. Where do you live?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Speak, my child! Speak up!"
+
+She had reopened her eyes and now looked at him steadily, stonily, but
+without a word. He was nonplussed.
+
+As Fouchette began rapidly to recover her strength she also recovered
+her self-possession, also the results of her training. Foremost among
+these were her suspicions of the police, whom she had come to believe
+were organized by society to restrain and harass the poor; that the
+informer was the lowest grade of humanity.
+
+In addition to these precepts of the barriers, Fouchette was afraid.
+She knew the character of those whom she had left behind. She felt
+certain that if she betrayed them to the police she would be put out
+of the way.
+
+Nor was this fear at all unreasonable. Without her recent terrible
+experience she would have been fully aware of the danger that attended
+a too loquacious tongue. The question of putting this one or that one
+"out of the way" had frequently been discussed openly and seriously at
+the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. A word from her now would send the
+police down on that resort. Just a little while ago she was nervous
+and unstrung, but, while she had at first formed the intention of
+bringing le Cochon to book, the very first question brought her face
+to face with the consequences. The second query increased her
+obstinacy. The peremptory command to speak out left her mute. By
+saying nothing she could compromise nobody.
+
+"Only a street waif," suggested the doctor,--"probably has no home."
+
+Fouchette, who had now risen to a sitting posture, nodded vivaciously.
+
+"Then why didn't you say so?" growled the police agent. "Have you any
+parents?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Whom were you living with, and where?"
+
+"Nowhere."
+
+"Now, again,--what is your name?"
+
+Silence.
+
+"Why don't you answer?"
+
+"Because it's none of your business," snapped Fouchette.
+
+"We'll see about that before the Commissaire," retorted the agent.
+"He'll take the sulk out of you."
+
+"Hold on," put in the bargewoman; "don't be harsh with her, monsieur.
+She has been abused dreadfully. Her body is covered with bruises."
+
+"So much more reason we should find out who did it,--who has attempted
+to murder the child into the bargain."
+
+"She has been cruelly beaten."
+
+Fouchette nodded.
+
+"I'll have to take you to the Commissariat, my child."
+
+"I don't care where you take me,--that is, if Tartar goes along."
+
+The dog regarded her inquiringly.
+
+"Certainly," responded the agent,--"Tartar is a part of the case.
+Allons!"
+
+He would have picked her up in his powerful arms, but she rebelled
+vigorously, protesting that she could walk.
+
+"Very well. Good! You're a plucky one. You're the right stuff."
+
+The little official party--the agent, Fouchette, Tartar, a waterman
+carrying the basket, the stout bargewoman bearing the child's wet
+clothing--took up the march, followed by several idlers in search of
+sensation.
+
+Having arrived at the Commissariat, it was necessary to await the hour
+when it pleased Monsieur le Commissaire to put in an appearance. In
+the mean time Fouchette was disposed of on a bench within a railed
+space, her bare feet dangling, momentarily growing physically better
+and more mentally perplexed.
+
+What would they do with her?
+
+She dared not return to the Podvins. She knew of no other place to go.
+She was desperately alone in the world. Only Tartar, who once more
+stretched himself at her feet, with his head in a position where he
+could keep a half-open eye on his mistress. Tartar needed rest, and
+was getting it.
+
+The police! Next to the murderer of the barrier she hated and feared
+the police.
+
+Would they send her to prison?
+
+After all, she thought, one might as well have been drowned to a
+finish. It would have been an easy escape from this uncertainty and
+agony of mind.
+
+She began to feel hungry. Gradually the thoughts of what she should do
+for something to eat, and where she would be able to get something for
+Tartar, drove out all other thoughts. If they could only get away
+now,--at this hour something might be found in the streets. She
+calculated the chances of escape by a sudden dash for the door. But
+there were several police agents lounging in the anteroom, and her
+conductor sat at the little gate of the enclosure. So the scheme was
+reluctantly dismissed. Anyhow, if they would let Tartar remain with
+her she didn't care much.
+
+During this time several successive attempts were made by the police
+agents to get her to talk. She responded by "Yes" or "No" or a motion
+of the head to all questions not connected with her case. On this
+subject she was persistently silent.
+
+An hour later the bargewoman, who had been in secret consultation with
+the police agents, went out and got Fouchette a roll and some cheese,
+which she ate eagerly. This woman was a coarse, masculine-looking
+creature with hands as hard and rough as a fowl's foot, a distinct
+moustache and tufts of hair cropping out here and there on her neck
+and chin, but her voice assumed a kindly tone. She led Fouchette to
+the farther corner of the room.
+
+"I must go back to my boat now, cherie. Cheer up! And promise me one
+thing,--don't try the river again. You were not born to be drowned,
+anyhow. If you really want to die you'll have to try something else."
+
+"But I don't want to die," protested Fouchette.
+
+"And they send people to prison who attempt suicide," continued the
+woman.
+
+"But I didn't, madame."
+
+"The bodies spoil the water. There are so many of them floating by.
+I've seen hundreds of 'em in my time."
+
+"No, indeed; I would rather live."
+
+"That's right,--that's a dear! My barge is 'La Therese,'--named after
+me. We are in the coal trade. I want you to come and see me, petite.
+You shall take a trip to Rouen. Yes,--would you like to----"
+
+"Oh, very much, madame!" interrupted Fouchette, joyfully.
+
+"You shall."
+
+"And Tartar?"
+
+"Shall go too. We'll have fine times, I promise you. You will find us
+at the Quai d'Austerlitz when in Paris."
+
+"Thank you,--so much! I've seen the big boats go by lots of times and
+wished I was on one--one with flowers and vines and a dog--Tartar. And
+sometimes I've seen 'em in my sleep--yes."
+
+Fouchette at once lost herself in this prospect. It would be the most
+delightful thing in her life.
+
+"Yes, it is very nice," continued the bargewoman. "Remember,
+cherie,--'La Therese.' You can bring the clothes with you. Ask for
+me,--'Therese.' My husband named the barge after me long ago."
+
+"It's a pretty name," said the child.
+
+"You think so? A name is--what is your real name, petite?"
+
+"I don't know, madame," replied Fouchette, promptly and truthfully.
+
+"What! Don't know your own name? Impossible!"
+
+The woman was vexed, and made no effort to conceal her vexation. To be
+outwitted by a mere child was too much to bear with equanimity. As
+kindly disposed as she was by nature, she lost her temper at once at
+what she considered a stupid falsehood.
+
+"You're an obstinate little brute!" she exclaimed, in a passion,--a
+state of mind aggravated by the laughter of the police agents in the
+room.
+
+"Yes, and a little liar," she added.
+
+"M--mad--madame!" stammered the trembling child, whose bright visions
+vanished in a twinkling.
+
+"I don't wonder they threw you in the river,--not a bit!"
+
+Fouchette's lips were now set in mute rage. She was up in arms at
+once. Her steely eyes shot fire. The honest bargewoman had almost won
+her childish confidence. Another word or two of kindness and she would
+have gained an easy victory. Now, however, everything was upset and
+the fat was in the fire.
+
+Without a word Fouchette began to hurriedly divest herself of the
+clothing she wore and to throw the garments, piece by piece, on the
+floor.
+
+So quickly was this accomplished that neither the astonished woman nor
+the puzzled police agents could interfere before the child stood there
+perfectly nude in the midst of them. Her frame, which was little more
+than a living skeleton covered with marks of violence, fairly quivered
+with anger. She choked so that she could not speak. In another minute
+she had resumed her wet rags.
+
+"Voila!" she finally cried, pointing to the discarded garments. "At
+least you can never say that I asked for them or didn't return them!"
+
+"Mon Dieu!" The woman was overwhelmed,--breathless.
+
+To be misunderstood is often the bitterest thing to bear in this life.
+Madame Therese and little Fouchette were suffering simultaneously from
+this evil.
+
+"Take 'em away!"
+
+"But listen, child! I----"
+
+"Take 'em away!" she screamed.
+
+Tartar rose with an ominous growl and looked from his mistress to the
+woman.
+
+"We don't need 'em, do we, Tartar? No! Let them take their gall and
+honey with 'em. Yes! They make us tired. Yes!"
+
+To all of these observations--somewhat heavily weighted with barrier
+billingsgate--Tartar showed his approval by wagging his tail knowingly
+and by covering the small face bent down to him with canine kisses.
+
+"Better come away, madame," said an agent, in a low voice, to the
+stupefied woman thus assailed. He laughed at her discomfiture. "It is
+waste kindness and waste time. You can't do anything with that sort of
+riffraff. It's only a stray cat fed to scratch you. They're a bad
+lot."
+
+The "bad lot" had overheard this police philosophy, and it confirmed
+her pre-existing opinion of the police.
+
+Monsieur le Commissaire was a grave and burly gentleman of middle
+life, with iron-gray hair and moustache, and eyes that seemed to read
+their object through and through. He pulled this moustache
+thoughtfully as he listened to the report of the river police agent,
+all the time keeping the eyes upon the diminutive but defiant child
+before him. When he had learned everything,--including the scene in
+the station,--he said, abruptly,--
+
+"Come in here, my child. Don't be afraid,--nobody's going to hurt you.
+Yes, bring the dog. Brave dog! Splendid fellow! Come! I'd like to own
+that dog, now,--I would, indeed!" he observed, as he closed the door
+of his private office; "but I suppose you wouldn't part with him for
+the world now, would you?"
+
+"N-no. But he isn't mine, monsieur," she replied, regretfully.
+
+"No? What a pity! Then perhaps I could buy him, eh?"
+
+"I--I don't know. Monsieur Podvin----"
+
+She stopped suddenly. But the magistrate was looking abstractedly over
+her head and did not appear to notice her slip of the tongue. He was
+thinking. It gave little Fouchette time to recover.
+
+He was something like the enthusiastic physician who sees in his
+patient only "a case,"--something devoid of personality. He recognized
+in this waif a condition of society to be treated. In his mind she was
+a wholly irresponsible creature. Not the whole case in question,--oh,
+no; but a part of the case. What she had been, was now, or would be
+were questions that did not enter into the consideration. Nothing but
+the case.
+
+Instead of putting the child through a course of questions,--what she
+anticipated and had steeled herself against,--he merely talked to her
+on what appeared to be topics foreign to the subject immediately in
+hand.
+
+"You must be taken care of in some way," he declared. "Yes,--a child
+like you should not be left in the streets of Paris to beg or
+starve,--and it's against the law to beg----"
+
+"But I never begged, monsieur," interrupted the child,--"never!"
+
+"Of course not,--of course not! No; you are too proud to beg. That's
+right. But you couldn't make a living picking rags, and the law
+doesn't permit a child to pick rags in the streets of Paris."
+
+"I never did, monsieur, never!"
+
+"Of course not,--you would be arrested. But outside the barriers the
+work is not lucrative. Charenton, for instance, is not as prolific of
+rags as it is of rascals."
+
+At the mention of Charenton Fouchette started visibly; but her
+interlocutor did not seem to notice it.
+
+"No; it does not even give as brave a child as you enough to eat,--not
+if you work ever so hard,--let alone to provide comfortably for
+Tar--for Tartar. Eh, my brave spaniel? We must get Tartar some
+breakfast. Has Tartar had any breakfast?"
+
+"No, monsieur,--oh, no! And he is so hungry!"
+
+She was all eagerness and softness when it came to her faithful
+companion. Tartar began to take a lively interest in the conversation
+of which he knew himself the subject.
+
+"Exactly," said the Commissaire, suddenly getting up. He had reached
+his conclusion. "Now, remain here a few minutes, little one, while I
+see about it."
+
+He disappeared into the outer office and remained closeted in a small
+cabinet with a telephone. Then, calling one of his men in plain
+clothes aside, he gave some instructions in a rapid manner.
+
+When he re-entered the private office he knew that a rascal named
+Podvin kept a disreputable cabaret near the Porte de Charenton, and
+that a small, thin child called Fouchette lived with the Podvins, who
+also kept a dog, liver-colored, with dark-brown splotches, named
+Tartar, but that the child was not yet missed, probably owing to the
+fact that it was her customary hour in the streets of Charenton. In
+the same time he had notified the Prefecture that a murderous attempt
+had been made on a child, probably by some one of the gang that
+infested the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, and had been directed to
+co-operate with two skilled Central men in an investigation.
+
+"All right, petite," said the Commissaire, rubbing his hands and
+assuming his most oily tone. "First we are going to have some dry
+clothes and some shoes and stockings and----"
+
+"I only--I never wore shoes and stockings," interrupted Fouchette,
+somewhat embarrassed by this flood of finery. "I don't need 'em,
+monsieur. It is only Tartar's----"
+
+"Oh, we'll attend to Tartar also,--don't be afraid."
+
+"Monsieur is very kind."
+
+"It is nothing. Come along, now. You're going to ride in a nice
+carriage, too,--for the crowd might follow you in the street, you
+know,--and I'll send a man with you to take good care of you."
+
+"But Tartar----"
+
+"You can take him in the carriage with you if you wish,--yes, it is
+better, perhaps. He might get run over or lost."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+And thus Fouchette rode in state, and in wet rags at the same time,
+down past the great Jardin des Plantes, the Halle aux Vins, and along
+the Boulevard St. Germain to Rue St. Jacques, where they turned down
+across the Petit Pont and stopped in the court-yard of an immense
+building across the plaza from Notre Dame. Tartar was somewhat uneasy,
+as well as his little mistress, at this novelty of locomotion, but as
+long as they were together it seemed to be all right. So they looked
+out of the carriage windows at the sights that were as strange to
+their eyes as if they had never before been in the city of Paris.
+Meanwhile, to divert the child, the man at her side had gayly pointed
+out the objects of interest.
+
+"Ah! and there is grand old Notre Dame," said he.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"Notre Dame."
+
+"It's a big house."
+
+"Yes; but you've seen it, of course."
+
+"Never."
+
+"What!" he exclaimed, in astonishment; "you, a little Parisienne, and
+never saw Notre Dame?"
+
+"You--you, monsieur, you have then seen everything in Paris?"
+
+There was a vein of cold irony in the small voice.
+
+"Er--w-well, not quite. Not quite, perhaps," he smilingly answered.
+
+"No, nor I," she said.
+
+"But Notre Dame----"
+
+"What's Notre Dame to me? Nothing!"
+
+A slight gesture of impatience.
+
+"But----"
+
+"What's it for?"
+
+"Why, it's a church, petite."
+
+"A church! And what's that to me?"
+
+"Well, truly, I don't know, child. Nothing, I suppose."
+
+"Nothing!"
+
+She snapped her fingers contemptuously.
+
+"Here is the Prefecture."
+
+It was the Prefecture de Police and not Notre Dame that had to do with
+little Fouchette and her kind. She knew what the Prefecture was,
+though she now saw it for the first time. And she shivered in her wet
+rags as the carriage turned into the great court-yard surrounded by
+the immense stone quadrangle that fronts upon the quai.
+
+A troop of the Garde de Paris was drilling at the upper end of the
+court. Sentinels with gay uniforms and fixed bayonets solemnly paraded
+at the three gate-ways.
+
+"Come, petite," said the man, flinging open the carriage doors and
+lifting the child in his arms to the ground. The dog leaped out after
+her and looked uneasily up and down.
+
+Half an hour later when Fouchette emerged with her conductor she had
+undergone a transformation that would have rendered her
+unrecognizable in Charenton. She had not only been washed and combed
+and rubbed down, but had been arrayed in a frock of grayish material,
+a chip hat with flowers in it, and shoes and stockings. She was so
+excited over the grandeur of her personal appearance that she had
+completely lost her bearings. It is true the hat was too old for a
+child of her years, and the coarse new costume was several sizes too
+large for her bony little frame, and the shoes were very embarrassing,
+but to Fouchette they seemed the outfit of a "real lady."
+
+She had entered the Prefecture sullenly, desperately, half expecting
+to be sent to a lonely cell and perhaps loaded with chains,--she had
+heard tell of such things,--and, instead, had been treated with
+kindness by a gentle matron, her body washed and clothed, her stomach
+made glad with rich soup and bread and milk, while Tartar was amply
+provided for before her own eyes.
+
+Fouchette was still in a daze when she found herself again in the
+closed carriage, with Tartar at her feet, being whirled away at a pace
+that seemed to threaten the lives of everybody in the streets. The
+same man sat beside her, and an extra man had, at the last moment,
+clambered up by the side of the driver.
+
+This furious speed was continued for a long time, until Fouchette
+began to wonder more and more where they were going. She could not
+recognize anything en route, and the man was now serious and taciturn.
+
+All at once she saw that they were approaching the barrier. Things
+looked differently from a carriage window, and yet there was a
+familiar air about the surroundings.
+
+The man noticed her uneasiness and pulled down the blinds.
+
+A terrible fear now seized her. Were they going to take her back to
+the Podvins?
+
+This fear increased as the speed of the vehicle lessened and as Tartar
+began to move about impatiently. He was trying to get his nose under
+the curtain.
+
+"Hold him down!" said the man in a low voice. He was afraid to touch
+the dog himself.
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" she finally exclaimed, "we are not going to--to----"
+
+"The Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, my little Fouchette," he put in, with a
+smile.
+
+"Oh, mon Dieu! Please, monsieur! Take me anywhere else,--back to the
+Prefecture--to prison--anywhere but to this place! They'll kill me!
+Oh, they'll kill me, monsieur!"
+
+"Bah! No, they won't, little one. We'll take care of that."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Besides," he continued, reassuringly, "we're not going to leave you
+there, so don't be afraid. Maybe you won't have to get out, or be seen
+even, if you do as I tell you. Have no fear."
+
+"Mon Dieu! monsieur does not know. They'll kill you, too!"
+
+"No, they won't. And I know all about them, my child. There are four
+of us, and---- Keep the dog down till I open the door."
+
+The carriage had stopped.
+
+"Stay right where you are," he whispered. "Let the dog out."
+
+Tartar could not have been held in by both of them. He jumped to the
+ground with joyous barks of recognition.
+
+It was now ten o'clock, and the usual odors of a Parisian second
+breakfast permeated the atmosphere of the cabaret.
+
+Four or five rough-looking men were lounging about, gossiping over
+their absinthe or aperatif. Monsieur Podvin was already, at this early
+hour in the day, on his second bottle of ordinaire. Opposite, as
+usual, sat le Cochon.
+
+Madame Podvin was busily burnishing up the zinc bar, and the vigorous
+and spiteful way in which she did this betrayed the fact that she was
+in bad temper. She was reserving an extra force of pent-up wrath
+against the moment when that "lazy little beast Fouchette" should put
+in an appearance.
+
+Monsieur Podvin was also irritated, but not because of Fouchette's
+prolonged absence. He was concerned about Tartar.
+
+Le Cochon sympathized with both of them.
+
+Among the various theories offered for these disappearances madame
+thought that Fouchette was simply playing truant. The dog did not
+bother her calculation, as he would not share the punishment.
+
+Monsieur was certain that the girl had enticed the dog away from home;
+though why she had taken her basket and hook if she were not coming
+back he could not say.
+
+Le Cochon took a gloomy view of it. He was afraid some accident had
+befallen her,--she might have got run over by a fiacre, or have fallen
+into the river.
+
+"Nonsense!" protested M. Podvin. "The dog would come home. He wouldn't
+get run over too, and you couldn't drown a spaniel."
+
+It was precisely at this moment that the loud barking of Tartar broke
+upon their ears, confirming his master's judgment and sending a thrill
+through everybody in the room. This sensation, however, was by no
+means the same.
+
+The brute master alone rejoiced for pure love of the dog and for the
+dog's sake.
+
+Madame Podvin went in search of a certain stout strap used upon
+Fouchette on special occasions of ceremonial penological procedure.
+
+Two strange men seated at some distance from each other, and who up to
+that moment had ignored each other's existence, exchanged looks of
+intelligence and rose as if to leave the place.
+
+Le Cochon alone seemed disconcerted. His beetle brows clouded, and his
+right hand involuntarily sought the handle of his knife.
+
+The instincts of the robber were this time unerring. For Tartar had
+scarcely licked the dirty hand of his master, when his eyes fell upon
+the would-be murderer of his beloved mistress. The sight appeared to
+startle the animal at first. But only for a second. Then, with a growl
+of rage that began low and ominously, like the first notes of a
+thunder-storm, and swelled into a howl, the spaniel sprang upon the
+villain and fastened his fangs in his fleshy throat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The onset was so sudden and swift, and the animal had received such a
+powerful impetus from his spring, that the burly robber went down with
+a tremendous crash.
+
+Man and dog rolled together in the dirt, upsetting tables and chairs
+and raising a terrible uproar. The desperate wretch plunged his knife
+again and again into the body of the enraged spaniel; the latter only
+clinched his teeth tighter and endeavored to tear his enemy by main
+brute strength.
+
+Madame Podvin, having been diverted from her original purpose by this
+unexpected melee, set up a scream that would have drowned an active
+calliope.
+
+"That's our bird!" shouted the man who had been serving as Fouchette's
+footman.
+
+Whereupon his partner and the two agents from the Prefecture who had
+been waiting within fell upon the struggling pair.
+
+It was all over in a few seconds.
+
+Yet within that brief period Tartar lay dead from a knife-thrust in
+the heart, and the robber was extended alongside of his victim, his
+hands securely manacled upon his back.
+
+"Hold on, gentlemen!" broke in M. Podvin at this juncture, having
+found his voice for the first time, "what does this mean?"
+
+"It means, my dear Podvin, that this amiable gentleman, who has always
+been so handy with his knife, is wanted at the Prefecture----"
+
+"And that you are politely requested to accompany him," added the
+other Central man, tapping M. Podvin on the shoulder.
+
+"But, que diable!"
+
+"Come! Madame will conduct the business all right, no doubt, while her
+patriot husband serves the State."
+
+"That cursed dog has finished me," growled the prostrate robber.
+"C'est egal! I've done for him and F---- If it had only been one of
+you, curse you!"
+
+This benevolent wish was addressed to the police agent who was at that
+moment engaged in binding up the horrible wound in the man's throat.
+Both were drenched with blood, partly from the dog and partly from the
+man. Le Cochon had been assisted to a sitting posture, sullen,
+revengeful, with murder in his black heart.
+
+All at once his inflamed eyes rested upon something in the doorway. At
+first it was but casually, then fixedly, while the bloated face turned
+ashen.
+
+He started to rise to his feet, and would have warded off the
+apparition with his hands, only they were laced in steel behind him,
+then, with a deep groan of terror, pitched forward upon his face,
+senseless.
+
+It was Fouchette.
+
+The others turned towards the doorway to see,--there was nothing
+there.
+
+Cowering for a few moments in the darkest corner of the carriage, she
+had heard the voice of Tartar raised in anger, followed by the tumult.
+The latter she had anticipated with fear and trembling. She had
+divined at the last moment that these were agents of the police, and
+that the object was arrests. The noise of combat roused her fighting
+blood, the silence that so soon followed heated her curiosity to the
+boiling-point. It was intolerable. Perhaps the agents were being
+killed. The suspense was dreadful. She felt that she could not endure
+it another second.
+
+The man had ordered her to remain in the carriage. The blinds were
+down; the coachman stood on the side next to the cabaret.
+
+Come what might, she must know. So Fouchette slipped softly out on the
+opposite side and sneaked swiftly around the horses' heads.
+
+The coachman on guard was for the same moment completely wrapped up in
+the riot that had been going on inside the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers;
+he saw the child just as she reached the doorway, and then he made a
+dash for her, grabbed her, and put her back in the carriage.
+
+Thus, it so happened that but a single pair of eyes within had seen
+Fouchette, and these eyes belonged to the man who believed her to be
+dead.
+
+It was for the purpose of the identification of her assailant that
+Fouchette had been brought to the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. Tartar had
+spared her that trouble, though it was for quite another reason that
+le Cochon fell into the grip of the police.
+
+The latter had experienced no difficulty in identifying Fouchette in
+spite of her obstinate silence. As she had come down the river from
+outside the barrier, it was clear that she made her living in some
+river suburb. A telephonic inquiry brought not only immediate
+confirmation from the authorities at Charenton, but had elicited the
+important details that brought the specials from the Prefecture down
+upon the suspected cabaret. In the man described as "le Cochon" the
+officials at once recognized a notorious escaped convict.
+
+It was not until Fouchette was on her way back to the Prefecture that
+it was learned that in their prisoner, le Cochon, they also had an
+assassin who up to this moment had eluded arrest.
+
+When the agent had informed her of the death of Tartar she was first
+overcome with grief. The sense of her utter loneliness rushed upon
+her. She wept convulsively. Her sorrow was bitter and profound.
+
+"Cheer up, my child; don't give way like that."
+
+Her companion tried now and then to comfort her in his rough way.
+
+"Ah, monsieur! but he was the only friend I had in the world!" she
+sobbed.
+
+"There, there!" he said, soothingly; "you'll have more friends. You'll
+be taken care of all right."
+
+"I don't care what becomes of me, now poor Tartar's gone! He loved me!
+Nobody will ever love me like he did,--never!"
+
+But when she had recovered from this tempest of tears it was to
+succumb to a tempest of wrath.
+
+"That wretch! I'll see him under the razor!" she exclaimed, meaning
+the guillotine. "He tried to drown me, the assassin! Yes, I know him
+for an assassin,--a murderer! It was he who pushed me into the river!"
+
+"Oho!"
+
+"It is true! That man is a fiend,--an assassin! I am ready to tell
+everything, monsieur! Everything!"
+
+Not for love of truth,--not for fear of law,--but for the love of a
+dog.
+
+In this mood she was encouraged by all the wiles and insinuating ways
+known to the professional student of human nature. So that, when
+Fouchette reached the Prefecture, she had not only imparted valuable
+information, she had astounded her official auditor. Not altogether by
+what she had revealed, but quite as much by her precocious cleverness
+and judgment.
+
+She was taken at once before Inspector Loup, of the Secret Service.
+
+Fouchette was not in the least intimidated when she found herself
+closeted alone with this mighty personage. For she did not know the
+extraordinary power wielded by Inspector Loup, and was in equal
+ignorance of the stenographer behind the screen. She was thinking only
+of her revenge. She had sworn, mentally, to have the head of le
+Cochon. She would see him writhing under the guillotine. Not because
+he had tried to drown her,--she would never have betrayed him for
+that,--but because he had murdered her dog. She would have vengeance.
+She would have overlooked his cowardly butchery of a stranger in the
+wood of Vincennes; but for the killing of Tartar she was ready and
+eager to see the head of le Cochon fall in the Place de la Roquette.
+
+Therefore Fouchette confronted Inspector Loup intent upon her own
+wrongs, and with a face which might have been deemed impudent but for
+its premature hardness.
+
+Inspector Loup was a tall, thin man, with small, keen, fishy
+eyes,--so small they seemed like beads, all pupil, so keen they
+glistened like diamonds, so fishy they appeared to swim round in two
+heavily fringed ponds. And they were always swimming,--indolently, as
+if it were not really worth while, but still leaving the vague and
+sometimes uncomfortable impression that they were on you, under you,
+around you, through you; that they were weighing you, analyzing you,
+and knew what was in your mind and stomach, as well as the contents of
+your inside pockets.
+
+It was the habit of Inspector Loup to turn these peculiar orbs upon
+whoever came under his personal jurisdiction for a minute or two
+without uttering a word, though usually before that time had expired
+the individual had succumbed to their mysterious influence and was
+ready to make a clean breast of it.
+
+Their awful influence upon the wrongdoer was intensified by the
+softness of his insinuating voice, that seemed to pry down into human
+secrets as a sort of intellectual jimmy, delicate but powerful, and by
+the noiselessness of his tread, which had the effect of creeping upon
+his victim preparatory to the final spring.
+
+In other words, Inspector Loup accomplished by moral force what others
+believed possible only to physical intimidation. Yet those
+law-breakers who had presumed too much upon his gentleness had
+invariably come to grief, and Inspector Loup had reached his present
+confidential position through thrilling experiences that had left his
+lank body covered with honorable scars.
+
+Inspector Loup was practically chief of the Secret System,--or,
+rather, was director of that system under the eye of the Minister of
+the Interior. He had served a dozen ministries. He had adopted the
+great Fouche as a standard, and no government could change quicker
+than Inspector Loup could. If he had been of the Napoleonic period he
+might have rivalled his distinguished model. As it was, he did as well
+as was possible with the weak governing material with which France was
+afflicted.
+
+The word "spy" being obnoxious in all languages and at all times and
+in all places, the myriad smaller particles of the Secret System were
+called "Agents."
+
+The Paris "agent" of this class has, happily, no counterpart in the
+American government. Our "detectives," or "plain clothes men," are
+limited to legitimate police duties in the discovery of crime and
+prosecution of criminals. They are known, are borne on pay-rolls,
+usually have good character and some official standing.
+
+The Paris "agent" is a widely different individual, speaking of that
+branch not in uniform and not regularly employed on routine work. This
+class is formed of government employes, all persons holding government
+licenses of any kind, all keepers of public-houses and places of
+public resort subject to government inspection, returned convicts
+under police surveillance, criminals under suspension of sentence, all
+persons under the eye of the police subject to arrest for one thing or
+another, or who may be intimidated.
+
+Add to these the regular service men and women, then bear in mind that
+the names of all "agents" are secure from public knowledge, even of a
+military court, that they can stab in the dark and never be held
+accountable by their victims, and that appropriations are made in bulk
+for this service without an accounting, and you will then understand
+the full strength and appreciate the unique infamy of the French
+Secret System.
+
+"Eh, bien?"
+
+Inspector Loup had finished his inspection of the childish figure
+before him and was compelled to break the ice.
+
+"Eh, bien, monsieur; it is me."
+
+An obstinate silence ensued.
+
+"Well, what do you want?" finally inquired the inspector, in a tone
+that clearly implied that, whatever it was, she would not get it.
+
+"Nothing," she replied.
+
+"Then what are you here for?"
+
+"Because I was brought."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"Well, now you are here----"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"What have you got to say?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Que diable! child, no fencing!"
+
+Another awkward silence, during which each coolly surveyed the other.
+
+"Why don't you speak?"
+
+"About what?"
+
+"Yourself."
+
+"Of what good is it to speak?" she asked, simply,--"monsieur knows."
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+This child was breaking the record. Inspector Loup contemplated her
+petite personality once more. Here was a rare diplomate.
+
+"You are called Fouchette?" he said.
+
+"Yes, mon----"
+
+"You come from Nantes. No; you don't remember. You were picked up in
+the streets by the Podvins and have been living with them ever since.
+Fouchette is the name they gave you. It is not your real name. You are
+ostensibly a ragpicker, but are the consort and associate of thieves
+and robbers and assassins, who have used you as well as abused you.
+You are suspected to be a regular go-between for these and the
+receivers of stolen goods."
+
+"M-monsieur!"
+
+Truly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur knew more of her than she did.
+
+"And I know that it is true. You would have been arrested in the act
+the next trip. This ruffian, so-called le Cochon, threw you in the
+river with the intention of drowning you. You were rescued through the
+sagacity and devotion of a dog. Both this man le Cochon and Podvin
+have been arrested. There are others----"
+
+"There are others," repeated Fouchette.
+
+"Which you----"
+
+"I know."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"The dead man of the wood of Vincennes--last year. Did they ever find
+the one who did that?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Le Cochon!"
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"Very sure."
+
+"You saw it?"
+
+"Oh, no. I heard them talking."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Monsieur Podvin and le Cochon."
+
+"Go on, mon enfant; you grow interesting at last."
+
+"Monsieur Podvin was very angry because of it. They quarrelled. I
+heard them from my bed in the cellar. The man had resisted,--over a
+few sous, think! And Monsieur Podvin said it was not worth while, for
+so little, to bring the police down on the neighborhood. It spoiled
+business. For the twelve sous Monsieur Podvin said he'd lose a
+thousand francs."
+
+"M. Podvin was undoubtedly right."
+
+"Yes; but le Cochon said it was worth a thousand francs to hear the
+man squeal."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Yes. And then Monsieur Podvin wanted to take it out of his share."
+
+"So?"
+
+"Yes; and so they quarrelled dreadfully."
+
+"And Madame Podvin,--she heard this?"
+
+"Madame is not deaf, monsieur."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"She was at the zinc."
+
+"Truly, Madame Podvin may become of value," muttered Inspector Loup.
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"Oh! And so you've kept this to your little self all this time. Why?"
+
+"I was afraid; then----"
+
+"I understand. But you got bravely over all this as soon as this
+miscreant undertook to put you out of the way, eh?"
+
+"It was not that, monsieur, for what I would be avenged."
+
+"So you confess to the motive?"
+
+"I would surely be revenged, monsieur," she avowed, frankly.
+
+"A mighty small woman, but still a woman, and sure Francaise,"
+observed the inspector.
+
+"He killed my only friend, monsieur."
+
+"What! Another murder? Le Cochon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tres bien! Go on, mon enfant; you grow more and more interesting!"
+
+"It was only this morning, monsieur," said the child, again reminded
+of her irreparable loss.
+
+"This morning, eh? The report is not yet in.--There, now, don't
+blubber, little one.--Another murder for le Cochon! Pardieu! we shall
+have his head!"
+
+"Truly?" Fouchette brightened up immediately at this prospect.
+
+"The infamous wretch!"
+
+"Yes; go on, monsieur. You grow more interesting!"
+
+"What an infernally impudent child!" observed the inspector to
+himself, yet aloud.
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"What--how about this morning's murder?"
+
+"Le Cochon's dreadful knife! Oh! I would love to see him strapped to
+the plank and his head in the basket! Yes, ten thousand curses on----"
+
+"La! la! la! Mon Dieu! will you never get on? Who was le Cochon's
+victim this time?"
+
+"Tartar, monsieur,--yes! Ah! Oh!"
+
+"Tartar? Tartar? Why, that's the name of----"
+
+"Yes, monsieur, the dog! Poor Tartar!"
+
+"So le Cochon killed your dog, eh?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur," sobbed Fouchette.
+
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur was silent for a while, thoughtfully regarding
+the grieving child with his fishy eyes.
+
+"After all, it was murder," he said. "Had this man committed no other
+crime, he deserves death for having killed such a noble beast."
+
+"Ah! thank you, monsieur! Thank you very much!"
+
+Having established this happy entente, Inspector Loup and Fouchette
+entered into a long and interesting conversation,--interesting
+especially to the chief of the Secret System.
+
+When the interview was over Fouchette was led away almost quite happy.
+Happier, at least, than she had ever been,--far happier than she had
+ever hoped to be. First, she had been promised her revenge; second,
+she was neither to go back to the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers nor to be
+turned into the street; third, she was to be sent to a beautiful
+retreat outside of Paris, where she would be taught to read and write
+and be brought up as a lady.
+
+It seemed to the child that this was too good to be true. The
+country, in her imagination, was the source and foundation of all real
+happiness. There was nothing in cities,--nothing but dust and crowds,
+and human selfishness and universal hardness of heart, and toil and
+misery.
+
+In the country was freedom and independence. She had tasted it in her
+furtive morning excursions in the wood of Vincennes. Tartar had loved
+the country. The woods, the fields, and the flowers,--to range among
+them daily, openly and without fear, would be heaven!
+
+To the Parisian all outside of Paris is country.
+
+And to learn to read and to write and understand the newspapers and
+what was in books!
+
+Yes, it seemed really too much, all at once. For of all other things
+coveted in this world, Fouchette deemed such a knowledge most
+desirable. Up to this moment it had been beyond the ordinary flight of
+her youthful imagination. It was one of the impossibilities,--like
+flying and finding a million of money. But now it had come to her. She
+might know something she had never seen, or of which she had never
+heard.
+
+To accomplish all of this and to be in the country at the same time,
+what more could anybody wish?
+
+Yet she was to have more. The inspector,--what was this wonderful man,
+anyhow, who knew everything and could do anything?--he, the inspector,
+had promised it. She was to have human kindness and love!
+
+The inspector was a nice gentleman. And the agents,--it was all a lie
+about the agents de police. They were all nice men. She had hated and
+dreaded them; and had they not been good to her? Had they not taken
+her from the river and fed her and clothed her and visited with swift
+punishment those who had cruelly abused her?
+
+Fouchette was learning rapidly. The change was so confusing, and
+events had chased one another so unceremoniously, that she must be
+pardoned if she grasped new ideas with more tenacity than accuracy. It
+is what all of us are doing day by day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a long distance by rail.
+
+Fouchette had never dreamed that a railroad could be so long and that
+the woods and fields with which her mind had been recently filled
+could become so monotonous and tedious. Even the towns and
+villages,--of which she had never heard,--that were interesting at
+first, soon became stupid and tiresome. She had long ceased to notice
+them particularly, her mind being naturally filled with thoughts of
+the place to which she was going, and where her whole future seemed to
+lay yet undeveloped. She finally fell into a sound sleep.
+
+The next thing she knew was that she was roughly shaken by the
+shoulder, and a voice cried, somewhat impatiently,--
+
+"Come, come! What a little sleepyhead!"
+
+It was that of a "religieuse," or member of a religious order, and its
+possessor was a stout, ruddy-faced woman of middle life, garbed in
+solemn black, against which sombre background the white wings of her
+homely headpiece and the white apron, over which dangled a cross,
+looked still more white and glaring than they were.
+
+Another woman in the same glaring uniform, though less robust and
+quite colorless as to face, stood near by on the station platform.
+
+"Bring her things, sister,--if she has anything."
+
+Following these instructions, the red-faced woman rummaged in the
+netting overhead with one hand while she pulled Fouchette from her
+corner with the other.
+
+"Come, petite! Is this all you've got, child?"
+
+"Yes, madame," replied the child, respectfully, but with a sinking
+heart.
+
+"So this is Fouchette, eh?" said the white-faced woman, as her
+companion joined her with the child and her little bundle.
+
+"Yes, madame," faltered Fouchette.
+
+But for the eyes, which were large and dark and luminous, and which
+seemed to grasp the object upon which they rested and to hold it in
+physical embrace, the face might have been that of the dead, so
+ghastly and rigid and unnatural it was.
+
+"She's not much, very sure," observed the other, turning Fouchette
+around by the slender shoulder.
+
+"She'll never earn her salt," said the pale-faced sister.
+
+Fouchette noticed that her lips were apparently bloodless and that she
+scarcely moved them as she spoke.
+
+"Not for long, anyhow," responded the other, with a significance
+Fouchette did not then understand.
+
+Without other preliminary they led Fouchette down the platform.
+
+"Where's your ticket?" asked the white-faced woman, coldly.
+
+Fouchette nervously searched the bosom of her dress. In France the
+railway ticket is surrendered at the point where the journey ceases,
+as the traveller leaves the station platform.
+
+"Sainte Marie!" exclaimed the ruddy-faced sister,--"lost it, I'll
+wager!"
+
+"Where on earth did you put it, child?"
+
+"Here, madame," said the latter, still fumbling and not a little
+frightened at the possible consequences of losing the bit of
+cardboard. "Ah! here--no, it isn't. Mon Dieu!"
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+The voice of the pale religieuse was stern, though her face rested
+perfectly immobile, no matter what she said.
+
+"Let me see----"
+
+"Search, Sister Agnes."
+
+The ruddy-faced woman obeyed by plunging her fat hand down the front
+of the child's dress, where she fished around vigorously but
+unsuccessfully.
+
+"Nothing but bones!" she ejaculated.
+
+Meanwhile, everybody else had left the platform, and the gatekeeper
+was growing impatient.
+
+Sister Agnes was a practical woman. She wound up her fruitless search
+by shaking the child, as if the latter were a plum-tree and might
+yield over-ripe railway tickets from its branches.
+
+It did. The ticket dropped to the platform from beneath the
+loose-fitting dress.
+
+"There it is!" cried the gatekeeper.
+
+"Stupid little beast!"
+
+And Sister Agnes shook her again, although, as there were no more
+tickets, the act seemed quite superfluous.
+
+Outside the station waited a sort of carryall, or van, drawn by a
+single horse, which turned his aged head to view the new-comer, as did
+also the driver.
+
+"Oh! so you're coming, eh?" said the latter.
+
+"Yes,--long enough!" grumbled Sister Agnes.
+
+They had driven some distance through the streets of a big town
+without a word, when the last speaker addressed her companion in a low
+voice.
+
+"You noted the ticket?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Another silence.
+
+"I don't see what they sent her to us for, do you?"
+
+"That is for the Superieure."
+
+A still longer silence.
+
+"It's a pity," continued Sister Agnes.
+
+"Yes, they ought to go to the House of Correction."
+
+"These Parisian police----"
+
+"Chut!"
+
+But they need not have taken even this little precaution before
+Fouchette. She had long been lost in the profound depths of her own
+gloomy thoughts. In her isolation she required but a single, simple
+thing to render her happy,--a thing which costs nothing,--something of
+which there is an abundance and to spare in the world, thank God!--and
+that was a little show of kindness.
+
+The child was not very sensitive to bad treatment. To that she was
+inured; but she had tasted the sweets of kindness, and it had
+inspired hopes that already began to wither, encouraged dreams that
+had already vanished.
+
+Fouchette was fast falling into her habitual state of childish
+cynicism. The police had tricked her, no doubt. She was more than
+suspicious of this as she noted their approach towards a pile of
+buildings surrounded by a high wall, which reminded her of La
+Roquette. This wall had great iron spikes and broken glass bottles set
+in cement on top, and seemed to stretch away out of sight in the
+growing shadows of evening. Once proceeding parallel with the wall,
+the buildings beyond were no longer visible to those outside.
+
+They stopped in front of an immense arched gateway, apparently of the
+mediaeval period, with a porter's lodge on one side, slightly recessed.
+The gates were of stout oak thickly studded with big-headed nails and
+bolts. In the heavy oaken door of the lodge was set a brass "judas," a
+small grille closed by an inner slide, and which might be operated by
+an unseen hand within so as to betray the identity of any person
+outside without unbarring the door,--a not uncommon arrangement in
+French gates and outside doors.
+
+If Fouchette had not been restricted by the sides and top of the van,
+she might have seen the words "Le Bon Pasteur" carved in the ancient
+stone above the great gateway. But, inasmuch as she could not have
+read the inscription, and would not have been able to understand it in
+any case, it was no great matter.
+
+The driver of the van got down and let fall the old-fashioned iron
+knocker. The judas showed a glistening eye for a second, then closed.
+This was immediately followed by a slipping of bolts and a clanging of
+iron bars, and then the big gates swung inward. They appeared to do
+this without human aid, and shut again in the same mysterious way when
+the vehicle had passed.
+
+"Supper, thank goodness!" said Sister Agnes, with a sigh.
+
+"You're always hungry----"
+
+"Pretty nearly."
+
+"Always thinking of something to eat," continued the other,
+reprovingly. "It is not a good example to the young, sister. The
+carnal appetite, it is a sin, my sister, to flatter it!"
+
+"Dame! As if one could possibly be open to such a charge here!"
+retorted the ruddy-faced Agnes.
+
+"We are taught to restrain,--mortify,--pluck out,--cut off the
+offending member. It is----"
+
+"But what are we going to do with this child, Sister Angelique?"
+interrupted Sister Agnes, and abruptly shutting off the religious
+enthusiast. "She must be hungry. And the Superieure----"
+
+"Cannot be disturbed at this hour. In the morning is time enough for
+an unpleasant subject. Take her to No. 17,--it is prepared,--in the
+right lower corridor."
+
+"Sainte Marie!" cried Sister Agnes, crossing herself, "as if I didn't
+know! Why, I was taken to that cell myself when I came here forty
+years ago!"
+
+"Perhaps, and have never had reason to regret it, quite surely. But
+take this child there. Let her begin her new life with fasting and
+prayer, as you doubtless did, sister. It will serve to fit her to
+come before the Superieure in the morning with the humble spirit of
+one who is to receive so much and who, evidently, can give so little."
+
+Fouchette was so bewildered with her surroundings that she paid little
+attention to what was being said. The great irregular piles of
+buildings, the going and coming of the ghostly figures, the silence,
+impressed her vividly. Of the nearest building, she could see that the
+windows were grated with iron bars; her ears registered the word
+"cell." Fouchette did not understand what was meant by the expression
+"fasting and prayer," but she had a definite idea of a "cell" in a
+house with grated windows within a high wall.
+
+"Come! hurry up, my child; I want my supper. Yes, and I'll see that
+they treat you better than they did me. Come this way! Yes,--mon Dieu!
+Mortify the flesh! Flatter the carnal appetite!"
+
+She muttered continuously, as she led Fouchette along a dark corridor
+with which her feet were familiar.
+
+"Forty years! Ah! Mother of God! Pluck it out! Cut it off! Blessed
+Sainte Agnes, give me patience! Forty years! Holy Mother, pardon me!
+Forty years! Yes! Reason to regret? May the good God forgive me!--Here
+we are, my child."
+
+She suddenly stopped and turned a key, opened a door, thrust the child
+within, and paused to look around, as if pursuing her reminiscences,
+oblivious of everything else.
+
+It was a plain cell, such as was used by the early monks when this
+building was a monastery, possibly nine by six feet, with a high,
+small, grated hole for the only light and air. A narrow iron cot, a
+combination stand, and a low stool constituted the sole furniture. A
+rusty iron crucifix in the middle of the wall opposite the bed was the
+only decoration. The rest was blank stone, staring white with
+crumbling whitewash.
+
+Stone floor, stone walls, stone ceiling,--cold, clammy, cheerless.
+
+The floor was worn into a smooth, shallow furrow lengthwise, showing
+where countless weary inmates had paced up and down, up and down,
+during the long hours. And beneath the crucifix were scooped out two
+round hollows in the solid rock, where countless knees had bent in
+recognition of the Christ.
+
+The religieuse seemed to forget the presence of Fouchette, for she
+dropped upon her own knees in the little hollows in the cold stone
+floor beneath the rusty iron crucifix on the wall.
+
+"Oh, pardon, my child!" she exclaimed, coming back to the present as
+she arose from prayer, "I forgot. Forty years ago,--it comes upon me
+here."
+
+She gently removed the little hat with its cheap flowers, then bent
+over and kissed the thin cheeks, promising to return soon with
+something to eat.
+
+Fouchette heard the door close, the key grate harshly in the lock.
+
+The moisture of the lips and eyes remained upon her cheeks. She felt
+it still warm, and involuntarily put up both hands, as if to further
+convince herself that the kisses were real and to hold them there.
+
+The Christ was to her a myth, the crucifix a vague superstition,
+prayer a mere unmeaning mummery. But the kisses were tangible and
+easily understood.
+
+But oh! the country!--the woods! the fields! the flowers!--freedom!
+
+She threw herself on the iron cot and wept passionately.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+"La, la, la!" came the cheery but subdued voice of Sister Agnes. She
+had re-entered the cell to catch the last faint sounds of childish
+grief coming out of the darkness.
+
+"There! Softly now, petite! Where are you? Oh! If they catch me here
+at this hour and bringing--sh!"
+
+The good-hearted woman had groped her way to the cot, raised Fouchette
+to a sitting posture, and, sitting down by her side, pulled the child
+over in her arms.
+
+Fouchette, who had almost ceased to weep by this time, was at once
+overcome anew by the motherly caress and broke down completely. She
+flung her arms wildly about Sister Agnes's neck and buried her face in
+the ample bosom.
+
+"La, la, la, la! my little skeleton, there is nothing to be afraid of
+here. Nothing at all! Don't take on so. God is everywhere, and takes
+care of us in the night as well as by day. Fear not! And here, my
+child, see what I've brought you! Feel, rather,--taste; you must be
+half starved. Here is a big, fat sandwich, and here's another. And
+here's a small flacon of the red wine of Bourgogne. You poor child!
+You need something for blood. Here's a bit of cheese, too, and, let's
+see,--by the blessed Sainte! I was told to let you have bread and
+water and I've actually forgotten the water!
+
+"Now eat! The idea of a big girl like you being afraid in the dark!"
+
+"No, it was not that, madame. Mon Dieu, no! I'm used to that. Indeed,
+I'm not afraid. It----"
+
+"Then what on earth have you been crying about, child?"
+
+"Oh, madame! it is because--because you are so good to me. Yes, that
+is it. I'm not used to that,--no!"
+
+Sister Agnes must have been quite agitated by this frank and
+unexpected avowal, for she pressed the child to her with still greater
+fervor, kissing her time and again more affectionately, after which
+she immediately slipped into the religious rut again below the
+crucifix.
+
+A single ray of moonlight from the high loophole in the wall fell
+athwart the sombre cell and rested caressingly upon her bowed head as
+she knelt and seemed to bless her.
+
+When she had recovered her self-possession she resumed her seat by the
+side of Fouchette, who, meanwhile, had been making havoc with the
+provisions.
+
+"Oh! I was afraid--dreadfully afraid--that night, forty years ago,"
+she whispered. "It was in this same place. And when they left me I
+almost cried my eyes out--and screamed,--how I screamed! Yet no one
+came. The next morning I had bread and water. And the next night and
+day, too. Ah! Sainte Mere de Dieu! how I suffered!"
+
+Fouchette shuddered.
+
+"And I was a strong, healthy child, but wilful; yet the dark seemed
+terrible to me--because I was wicked."
+
+Fouchette wondered what dreadful crime this child of forty years ago
+had committed to have been thus treated. She must have been very, very
+wicked.
+
+"Yes, forty years ago----"
+
+"How much did they give you, madame?"
+
+"Er--what's that, petite?"
+
+"Pardon, madame, but how much time yet do you have to serve?"
+
+"I don't understand," replied the puzzled woman, unfamiliar with
+worldly terms.
+
+"Why, I mean, how long did they send you up for?" asked the child.
+
+"Send?--they?--who?"
+
+"The police."
+
+"Police? Mon Dieu! my child, the police had nothing to do with me."
+
+"Well, the gendarmes."
+
+"The gendarmes?"
+
+"No; you could never have been guilty, madame! Never! Whatever it was
+they charged you with----"
+
+"Charged? Sainte Marie be praised, I never committed any crime in my
+life,--unless it was a crime to be thoughtless and happy."
+
+"I was sure of that!" cried Fouchette, much relieved nevertheless.
+
+"Why, I never was charged with any!" protested the astonished Sister
+Agnes.
+
+"Then they imprisoned you without trial, as they have me. Ah! mon
+Dieu! madame, I see it all now! And forty years! Oh!"
+
+"Well, blessed be the saints in heaven!" exclaimed the enlightened
+religieuse. "What do you think this place is, Fouchette?"
+
+"It is"--she hesitated and changed the form of speech--"is it a--a
+prison?"
+
+"Why, no! Holy Mother, no!--not a prison, child! You thought it----"
+
+"Yes, madame," faltered Fouchette.
+
+"You poor child! Not so bad as that; yet----"
+
+"I see,--a house of correction?"
+
+"No, not that. At least, not--ah! if Sister Angelique had heard you
+call 'Le Bon Pasteur' a house of correction it would have been worth
+three days of bread and water!"
+
+"'Le Bon Pasteur?'" repeated Fouchette.
+
+"Yes, my child. Didn't you really know----"
+
+"No, madame."
+
+Sister Agnes pondered.
+
+"Then why should you remain here?" pursued the curious child. "Can't
+you go away if you want to?"
+
+"But I do not wish to go now,--not now."
+
+"But if you had wished it at any time."
+
+Sister Agnes was silent.
+
+"Then what is this place, madame?"
+
+"A retreat for the poor,--an orphan asylum,--where little girls who
+have neither father nor mother, and no home, are sent. And where they
+are brought up to be good and industrious young women."
+
+"D-don't they ever get out again?" asked Fouchette, somewhat
+doubtfully.
+
+"Oh, yes. They are set free at twenty-one years of age if they wish to
+go, and even sooner if their friends come for them. If they don't wish
+to go, they can remain and become members of the order, if they are
+suitable. I was brought here at ten years of age by my aunt and left
+temporarily, but my uncle died and she was too poor, or else did not
+want me, so I was compelled to remain. When I became twenty-one I owed
+the institution so much from failure to do my tasks and fines, and
+what my aunt had promised to pay and didn't pay, that I had to stay a
+long time and work it out, and by that time I had become so accustomed
+to living here that I was afraid to leave the institution and begged
+them to let me become one of the community.
+
+"Sometimes girls are bad and so lazy they won't work, and then they
+are punished. And when they prove incorrigible they are put in the
+other building, which is a house of correction. But if a girl is good
+and obedient and industrious she has no trouble, and may save up money
+against the day when she is set at liberty, besides receives the good
+recommendation of the Superieure, on which she may find honest
+employment."
+
+While the good Sister Agnes spoke truly, she dared not tell this child
+the whole truth.
+
+She dared not say that Le Bon Pasteur,--The Good Shepherd,--although
+ostensibly a charitable institution, under religious auspices and
+subsidized by the State, for the protection and education of orphan
+girls during their minority, was practically a great factory which did
+not come under the legal restrictions governing free labor in France,
+and where several hundred girls and young women, whose only offence
+against society had been to lose their natural protectors, were
+subjected to all the rigors of the most benighted penal institutions.
+
+She dared not warn this poor little novice that her commitment to The
+Good Shepherd was equivalent to a sentence of nine years at hard
+labor; that good conduct and industry would not earn a day from that
+term, but that bad conduct, neglect, or inability to perform allotted
+tasks would result not only in severe punishments but an extension of
+imprisonment indefinitely, at the pleasure of those who reaped the
+financial reward from the product of the sweat of the orphans.
+
+She dared not notify this frail waif that these tasks of the needle
+were measured by the ability of the most expert, and that the majority
+of girls were obliged to work overtime in order to accomplish them;
+that to many this was an impossibility, and to some death.
+
+She dared not add to her recital of the money that might be earned and
+saved up against the day of liberty that comparatively few were able
+to perform the extra work necessary; that fines and charges of all
+kinds were resorted to in order to reduce such earnings to minimum;
+and that at the close of her nine years of hard labor for Le Bon
+Pasteur the most she could expect was to be thrust into the street in
+the clothes she wore, without a cent, without a friend, without a
+shelter.
+
+She dared not more than hint at the terrible alternatives placed
+before these young women from their long isolation from the world,--to
+remain here prisoners for life, or to cast themselves into the
+seething hell of Paris.
+
+More than all, she dared not add that all of this was done in a
+so-called republic, in the name of Civilization, to the glory of
+modern Religion, in love of the Redeemer.
+
+Fouchette would learn all of this quite soon enough through her own
+observation and experience. Why needlessly embitter her present?
+
+And this was well. Besides, the religieuse was ashamed to admit these
+things, as she would have been afraid to deny them, being divided
+between the vows of her order and her own private conscience.
+
+Sister Agnes was a plain, honest woman of little sentiment, but this
+little had been curiously awakened in her breast by the coincidence of
+the time and place which had recalled minutely the circumstances of
+her own entrance to the institution.
+
+She had unconsciously adopted Fouchette from that moment. She mentally
+resolved that she would keep an eye on this child. If it could be so
+managed, Fouchette should come into her section. And, since the child
+was ignorant and ambitious, she should receive whatever advantages of
+instruction were to be had.
+
+Quick to respond to this sympathy, Fouchette, on her part, mentally
+resolved to deserve it. She would be good and obedient, so that the
+sweet lady would love her and continue to kiss her. How could girls be
+wicked if all the women of the community of Le Bon Pasteur were like
+Sister Agnes?
+
+And it would have been quite unnatural and unchildlike, owing to the
+marked improvement in her condition, if Fouchette had not gone to
+sleep forgetting her earlier disappointment.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Five years in such a place are as one year,--the same monotonous daily
+grind in oblivion of the great world outside,--and need not be dwelt
+upon here beyond a brief reference to its results upon Fouchette's
+character, when we must hurry the reader on to more eventful scenes.
+
+In this life of seclusion there were three saving features in
+Fouchette's case. First, its worst conditions were very much better
+than those under which she had formerly lived; second, she had been
+torn from no family or friendly ties which might have weighed upon her
+fancy; third, but not least, there was the love of Sister Agnes.
+
+The petite chiffonniere's ideas of life had been cast in a lowly and
+humble mould, so that from the beginning these new surroundings seemed
+highly satisfactory, if not in many respects absolutely joyous. For
+instance, the beds were prison beds, but they were clean and the
+dormitories fairly well ventilated,--luxury to one who was accustomed
+to sleep in a noisome cellar on filthy and envermined straw. The food
+was coarse and frugal, but it was regular and almost prodigal to one
+habituated to disputing her breakfast with vagrant dogs. The clothes
+were coarse and cheap and often shabby, but to the child of rags they
+were equivalent to royal gowns. The discipline was severe, but it was
+unadulterated kindness by the side of the brutality of the Podvin.
+
+The society of respectable young girls of her own age, and constant
+contact with those who were older and of superior birth and breeding,
+opened up a new world to Fouchette. That these companions were more
+or less partakers of similar misfortunes engendered ready sympathies,
+though the feeling of caste was as powerful among these orphans of the
+State as in the Boulevard St. Germain. Tacitly acknowledging the lowly
+origin of the rag-heap, Fouchette was content to fag, to go and come,
+fetch and carry, and to patiently endure the multitude of petty
+tyrannies put upon her. She accepted this position from the start as a
+matter of course.
+
+But it was chiefly in the daily intercourse with the cheerful,
+ruddy-faced, and rather worldly as well as womanly Sister Agnes that
+Fouchette found life worth living. It was Sister Agnes who patiently
+instructed her in the mysteries of reading and writing and spelling
+and the simple rudiments of language and figures. Sister Agnes
+smoothed her young protegee's pathway through a sea of new
+difficulties. Sister Agnes had secret struggles of her own, and had
+worn away considerable stone before the image of the Virgin in the
+course of her seclusion; though precisely what the nature of her
+private troubles was must have been known to nobody else. Sister Agnes
+was not a favorite with the Superieure, apparently, since every time
+she was called before that dreaded female functionary she seemed much
+agitated and held longer conferences with the image of the Virgin in
+the little bare chapel. Whatever her mental and moral disturbances,
+however, Sister Agnes never faltered in her attention to Fouchette.
+
+For the most part these were surreptitious, though to the recipient
+there did not appear to be any reason for this concealment. As one
+year followed another Fouchette saw more clearly, and it caused her
+to redouble her exertions to please the good woman who risked the ill
+will of her superiors to shower kindnesses upon the otherwise
+friendless.
+
+Five years to a girl of twelve brings considerable change physically
+as well as otherwise. The change in Fouchette was really wonderful.
+She remained still rather stunted and undersized at seventeen, though
+face and figure had developed to her advantage. The hardness of the
+first had not wholly disappeared, but it was much modified, while the
+bones no longer showed through her dress. Her blonde hair had become
+abundant, and, being of peculiar fineness and sheen, lent an
+attractiveness to features that only a slightly tigerish fulness of
+cheeks prevented from being almost classical. This feline expression
+of jaws became more marked when she smiled, when a rather large mouth
+displayed two rows of formidable teeth. The pussy-cat and monkey-faces
+are too common among the French to be called peculiar.
+
+Her hands and feet were small, her frail body and limbs straight and
+supple as those of a young dancer. While she excelled at lively games
+in the great playground under the trees, her complexion was extremely
+delicate, even to paleness. Being naturally a clever imitator and
+always desirous of the good opinion of Sister Agnes, Fouchette had
+acquired graceful and lady-like manners that would have been
+creditable to any fashionable pension of Paris. Continuous happiness
+had left her light-hearted even to shallowness.
+
+Fouchette latterly was not popular. She had been first a fag and
+drudge, then had been withdrawn from the work-room to serve in the
+kitchen; from scullery-maid she had been promoted to the chambers of
+Sister Angelique, who was the stern right arm of the Superieure; and,
+finally, was transferred to the holy of holies of the Superieure
+herself.
+
+All through her tractability and adaptability. She was quick to see
+what was wanted, and lent herself energetically to the task of
+performance. The good sisters encouraged her. Especially in bringing
+to them any stray ideas she had picked up among her companions. Sister
+Angelique, severe to fanaticism in all the forms of religion, early
+impressed upon the child the importance and imperative duty of the
+truth. It was not only a service to the community, but a service to
+the Church and to God for her to keep her superiors posted as to what
+was going on among the inmates of the institution.
+
+It was a very trivial thing at first, then more trivial things,--mere
+gossip of children. Then her information resulted in the cell and
+paddle for the unfortunate and began to be talked about on the
+playground and in the work-room. When she heard what had happened,
+Fouchette was conscience-stricken and ran to Sister Agnes for
+consolation. The latter was so confused and contradictory in her
+definition of right and wrong, as to how far one might go for Christ's
+sake, that Fouchette was left in doubt. And when Sister Angelique
+asked her for the name of the girl who committed an offence in the
+dormitory, Fouchette hesitated and wanted to consult Sister Agnes.
+
+The result was that Sister Agnes was called before the Superieure, and
+was compelled to instruct Fouchette that whatever was required of her
+by those in authority was right and should be done. It is a doctrine
+as universal as the Christian religion.
+
+So Fouchette told, and the tale brought to the offender five days'
+diet of bread and water in a cell.
+
+As a tale-bearer who was not afraid to tell the truth Fouchette had in
+the course of time ingratiated herself into the favor of Sister
+Angelique, and finally, as has been shown by her transfer to the
+governing regions, became the factotum of the Superieure. These
+services carried privileges.
+
+They also brought unpopularity. On the playground Fouchette began to
+be avoided. In the work-room voices suddenly became hushed as she
+passed. In the dormitory she began to experience coldness and hostile
+demonstrations.
+
+Yet up to the present she had been suspected only. When the growing
+suspicion became a certainty she was assaulted in the dormitory in the
+presence of a matron. The biggest and stoutest girl of the section
+pulled her from her bed in the dark and began to beat her. There was
+no outcry at first,--only a silent struggle on the floor.
+
+But the stout young woman had counted too much on her physical
+strength and upon the supposed weakness of her frail antagonist. For
+Fouchette was like a cat in another respect,--she fought best on her
+back, where she was all hands and feet and teeth. Before the fat
+matron could find them between the beds the big girl was yelling for
+mercy and the whole section of a hundred girls was in an uproar.
+
+"Help! help!" screamed the girl. "She's murdering me!"
+
+"Who? Where?"
+
+"Silence!"
+
+"Quick! Help! She's killing me! Fouchette! It's Mademoiselle
+Fouchette!"
+
+The matron was thus guided to Fouchette's bed, where she found the
+latter tearing the big girl's ear with her teeth, and with her hands
+clawing the big girl's face.
+
+To this moment Fouchette had not uttered a word. Then she let flow a
+torrent of language such as had never before been heard within the
+sacred precincts of Le Bon Pasteur. She could no more be stopped than
+an avalanche.
+
+The girls of the dormitory closed their ears in their fright at this
+flood of profanity.
+
+"Stop! stop! stop!" cried the matron, now overcome with horror. "You
+belong in the Reformatory! You shall go to the Reformatory! You shall
+have the bath and the paddle, you vile vixen!"
+
+And Fouchette's vocabulary having been exhausted for the time being,
+she ceased.
+
+Meanwhile, a light was brought, and attendants came running in from
+the other parts of the building.
+
+Notwithstanding the confused explanation, and the fact that the
+aggressor's bed was at some distance from the spot where the two were
+discovered, which sustained the charge of Fouchette that the latter
+had been first attacked, the terrible condition of the big girl was
+such that Fouchette was sent to a cell and held in close confinement
+till the next evening.
+
+She was then taken to Sister Angelique, where she was examined as to
+her version of the occurrence. The victim of her nails and teeth also
+had a hearing.
+
+Between the two, and considering all the circumstances, Sister
+Angelique came to the proper conclusion, and so reported the case to
+the Superieure.
+
+The latter had Fouchette brought before her. She was a very flabby and
+masculine woman, of great brains and keen penetration, and invariably
+had an oleaginous Jesuit priest at her elbow on important occasions to
+strengthen her religious standing and to give her decisions the force
+and effect of ecclesiastical law.
+
+"Father Sebastien," said the Superieure, "this is a grievous case.
+What are we to do with these girls that fight like tigers,--that set
+the whole blessed institution of Le Bon Pasteur by the ears?"
+
+The Jesuit rubbed his hands, eying the slender figure before them
+curiously.
+
+"A sad case,--a very sad case," he muttered; "and yet----"
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette has been of good service to us, and----"
+
+"And has invited this attack by her friendliness for the institution.
+No doubt,--no doubt at all," said the priest.
+
+"But it is necessary to punish somebody," persisted the Superieure,
+"else we shall lose control of these hot-heads."
+
+"How about the other one? Mademoiselle----"
+
+"Mademoiselle Angot----"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She's pretty well punished as it is. She looks as if she had been
+through a threshing-machine. How such a chit could----"
+
+Father Sebastien laughed, in his low, gurgling way, and rubbed his
+hands some more, still eying Fouchette.
+
+"She's been a good girl for five years, you say?"
+
+"Yes, Father; we could not complain."
+
+"Five years is a very long time to--to--for a girl like her to be
+good. Is it not so?"
+
+"Truly."
+
+"And yet they say her language was dreadfully--er--ah--improper."
+
+"If you were pulled out of bed in the night and beaten because you
+spoke the truth to the Superieure," broke in Fouchette at this point,
+"you'd probably use bad language too!"
+
+"Chut! child," said the Superieure, smiling in spite of herself.
+
+"Oh! me?"
+
+"La, la! Father." The Superieure now laughed.
+
+"Quite possibly," he added,--"quite possibly. But in a demoiselle like
+you----"
+
+"I'm afraid to send her back to the dormitory. Are you afraid to go
+back there, Fouchette?"
+
+"No, madame," replied Fouchette.
+
+"I think they'll leave her alone after this," said the priest.
+
+"They'd better," said Fouchette.
+
+"Oho!"
+
+"But you must not quarrel, my dear,--remember that. And if they--well,
+you come to me or to Sister----"
+
+"Sister Agnes, yes----"
+
+"No, no; Sister Angelique," interrupted the Superieure, tartly.
+"Sister Agnes has nothing to do with you hereafter."
+
+"Wh-at? But Sister Agnes----"
+
+"Now don't stand there and argue. I repeat that Sister Agnes is to
+have nothing to do with you hereafter. Sister Agnes has gone----"
+
+"Gone!"
+
+It was the worst blow--the only blow she had received in these five
+years. Her swollen lips quivered.
+
+"I say Sister Agnes has gone. You will never see her again. And it's a
+good riddance! I never could bear that woman!"
+
+"Oh, madame! madame!"
+
+Fouchette sank to her knees appealingly.
+
+"Get up!"
+
+"Oh, madame!"
+
+"Get up! Not another word!"
+
+"But, madame!"
+
+"There, my child," put in the priest. "You hear?"
+
+"But Sister Agnes was my only friend here. Where has she gone? Tell me
+why she has gone. Oh, mon Dieu! Gone! and left me here without a word!
+Oh! oh! madame!"
+
+"She's gone because I sent her,--because it is her sworn duty to
+obey,--to go where she is sent. Where and why is none of her business,
+much less yours. Now let us hear no more from you on that point, or
+you will forfeit the leniency I was about to extend to you. Go!"
+
+"But, madame," supplicated Fouchette, "hear me! Sister Agnes----"
+
+The Superieure was now furious. She rang a little bell, waving Father
+Sebastien aside. Two sisters appeared,--her personal attendants, well
+known to those who had suffered punishment.
+
+"Give this girl the douche!"
+
+"Madame!" screamed Fouchette.
+
+"Give her the douche--for fighting in the dormitory. In the refectory.
+Assemble everybody! And if she resists let her have the paddle. If
+that doesn't bring her to her senses, give her five days on bread and
+water. I'll take that rebellious spirit out of her or----"
+
+The two women hustled the trembling Fouchette away from the Presence.
+
+Fouchette knew the disgrace of the douche. She had seen grown young
+women stripped stark naked before five hundred girls and have a bucket
+of ice-cold water thrown over them. One of them had been ill and was
+unable to do her work. She had died from the effects.
+
+Fouchette understood the terrible significance of the paddle. A girl
+was stripped and strung up by the wrists to a door and was beaten with
+a heavy leather strap soaked in brine until the blood ran down her
+thighs.
+
+Fouchette comprehended the character of the five days on bread and
+water, wherein the victim was forced to remain in her own filth for
+five days with nothing to eat but a half-loaf of stale bread and a
+small pitcher of water per twenty-four hours.
+
+Yet, dreadful as was this immediate prospect, and as cruel as was the
+injustice meted out to her, Fouchette thought only of Sister Agnes.
+She would have gone to punishment like a Stoic of old could somebody
+have assured her that what she had just heard was false and that
+Sister Agnes was yet in the institution. Everything else and all
+together seemed dwarfed by the side of this one great overwhelming
+calamity.
+
+"How could you have so angered Madame?" said one of her
+conductors,--both of whom were aware that she was to be unjustly
+punished.
+
+"Be good, now, Fouchette," whispered the other; "besides, it is
+nothing,--a little water,--bah!"
+
+They were leading her along a dark corridor, the same through which
+she had been taken five years before. It rushed over her now,--dear
+Sister Agnes!
+
+"I only wanted to know about Sister Agnes," protested Fouchette.
+
+Her conductors stopped short.
+
+"S-sh! Mademoiselle did not know that----"
+
+"That what?"
+
+"Better tell her, sister," encouraged the other woman.
+
+"That Sister Agnes was--was suspected of being a creature of the
+Secret Police?"
+
+"N-no, madame," faltered the girl,--"I don't understand. And if----"
+
+"And we are for the restoration----"
+
+"The restoration----"
+
+"Of the throne of France."
+
+"Is it Inspector Loup?" asked Fouchette, suddenly recalling that
+personage.
+
+"Inspector Loup,--it is he who is responsible for the withdrawal of
+Sister Agnes, mademoiselle."
+
+"Paris,--I will go to Paris!" said Fouchette, brightening up all at
+once.
+
+To the two who heard her it was as if Fouchette had said, "I will go
+to the moon."
+
+She slipped from between them and darted down the corridor. Before
+they had recovered from their astonishment she was out of the building
+and out of sight.
+
+Nothing could have been more absurd.
+
+But one girl had succeeded in scaling the high walls that surrounded
+the establishment of Le Bon Pasteur, and she had been pursued by
+savage dogs kept for such exigencies and brought back in mere shreds
+of clothing, with her flesh terribly lacerated. Even once outside, if
+the feat were possible and the dogs avoided, how was a bareheaded girl
+without a sou to get to Paris, three hundred kilometres? And, that
+surmounted, what would become of her in Paris?
+
+It was absurd. It was impossible.
+
+Meanwhile, Fouchette evaded the now lighted buildings in the rear and
+was skirting the high walls towards the north with the fleetness of a
+young deer.
+
+The grounds of Le Bon Pasteur embraced about ten acres, a well-wooded
+section of an ancient park, the buildings, old and new, being on the
+side next to the town. By day one might easily see from wall to wall,
+the lowest branches of the trees being well clear of the ground, the
+latter being trampled grassless, hard, and smooth by thousands of
+youthful feet.
+
+It was now growing too dark to see more than a few yards. This did
+not prevent Fouchette from making good speed. She knew every inch of
+the park. And as she ran her thoughts kept on well ahead.
+
+She had started with the definite idea of leaving the place, but
+without the slightest idea of how that was to be accomplished. Like a
+frightened rabbit running an enclosure, she sought in vain for some
+unheard-of opening,--some breach in the wall, some projections by
+which she might scale the frowning barrier.
+
+Now and then she paused to listen intently. There were no pursuers,
+apparently. Her heart sank rather than rose at the thought; for it
+implied that the chances of her escape were not considered worth an
+energetic effort,--that she must inevitably return of her own accord.
+
+Fouchette was mistaken. It was only that the pursuers were not so sure
+of their route and were not so fleet of foot. They had called in
+re-enforcements and were approaching in extended order beneath the
+trees, with the moral certainty of rounding her up.
+
+As soon as Fouchette realized this she felt that she was lost. There
+was no place to hide from such a search,--then they could let loose
+the dogs!
+
+With a fresh energy born of desperation she sprang at the
+chestnut-tree in front of her and began to shin up the rough trunk,
+boy fashion. Like most generalizations, the statement that a woman
+cannot climb a tree is not an axiomatic truth. It depends wholly upon
+the woman and the occasion. Fouchette had often amused her playmates
+by going up trees, and was considered a valuable addition to any party
+of chestnut hunters. So in this instance the woman and the occasion
+met. She was securely perched in the foliage when the scouting party
+went by. One sister walked directly beneath the tree.
+
+"We ought to have brought the dogs," she muttered.
+
+Fouchette was breathless.
+
+Immediate danger past, she began to think of what she should do next.
+She could not remain up there forever; and if she came down she would
+be just where she was before,--would probably be run down by the dogs.
+
+Presently she saw a light glimmering through the trees. Cautiously
+pushing the leaves aside, she saw it more distinctly. It was bobbing
+up and down. It was a lantern. It was coming towards her. Being a
+lantern, it must be carried by somebody, and that this somebody was in
+search of her she had no doubt. All the world was out after her.
+
+The lantern came closer. And then she saw the barbed iron wall
+immediately below her, between her and the lantern. It was outside,
+then; and the tree she was in seemed to overhang the wall.
+
+A desperate hope arose within her,--scarcely a hope yet,--rather a
+vague fancy. They could not have spread the alarm outside so
+quickly,--the lantern and its bearer could have no reference to her
+escape.
+
+It was now almost immediately beneath her, and she saw that it was
+borne by a stalwart young man. It was a chance,--a mere chance,--but
+she at once resolved to risk it.
+
+"S-sh!"
+
+The bearer of the lantern stopped, raised it high, and peered about in
+every direction.
+
+"S-sh!" repeated Fouchette.
+
+"S-sh yourself!" said the young man, evidently suspecting some trick.
+
+"Not so loud if you please, monsieur."
+
+"Not so--but where the devil are you, anyhow?" He had looked in every
+direction except the right one.
+
+"Here," whispered Fouchette. "Up in the tree."
+
+"Tonnerre! And what are you doing up there in the tree, mademoiselle?"
+he inquired with astonishment, elevating his lantern so as to get a
+glimpse of the owner of the voice.
+
+"Nothing," said Fouchette.
+
+"Well, if this don't--say, mademoiselle."
+
+"Please don't talk so loud, monsieur. They will hear you, and I will
+be lost."
+
+"Indeed! So you're running away, eh?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Because they are going to give me the douche, the paddle, and
+prison."
+
+"The wretches!" whispered the young man through his half-set teeth.
+
+"Then you'll help me, monsieur?" asked Fouchette, in a tone of
+entreaty.
+
+"That I will," said he, promptly, "if I can. If you could swing
+yourself over the wall, now; but, dame! no girl can do that," he added
+half to himself.
+
+"I'll try it," said Fouchette.
+
+"Don't do it, mademoiselle; you'll break your neck."
+
+For answer to this, Fouchette, who had been working her dangerous way
+out on the uncertain branches, holding tenaciously to those above, so
+as to wisely distribute her weight, only said,--
+
+"Look out, now!"
+
+There was no time to parley,--it was her only hope,--and if she fell
+inside the wall----
+
+A splash among the leaves and a violent reversal of branches relieved
+of her weight and--and a ripping sound.
+
+"Oh, mon Dieu!" she gasped.
+
+She had swung clear, but her skirts had caught the iron spikes as she
+came down and now held her firmly, head downward,--a very embarrassing
+predicament.
+
+"Put out the light, monsieur, please!"
+
+He gallantly closed the slide and sprang to her assistance.
+
+"Don't be afraid, mademoiselle. Let go,--I'll catch you. Let go!"
+
+"Oh, but I----"
+
+"Let go!"
+
+"Sacre bleu! I can't, monsieur! I'm stuck like a fish on a gaff! My
+skirts----"
+
+This startling intelligence, while it relieved his immediate anxiety,
+involved the young man in a painful quandary. He dared not call for
+help; he was likely to be arrested in any case; he could not go away
+and leave the girl dangling there. She was at least three feet beyond
+his extreme reach.
+
+"Let's see," he said, hastily grabbing his lantern to make an
+examination.
+
+"Oh, put out that light!" exclaimed the girl.
+
+"But, mademoiselle, I can't see----"
+
+"Mon Dieu! monsieur, I don't wish you to see! No! I should--put down
+the lantern!"
+
+Having complied with this request, he stood under her in despair.
+
+"Can't you tear the--the--what-you-may-call-it loose?"
+
+"No; it's my skirt,--my dress,--I'm slipping out of it. Look out,
+monsieur, for--I'm--coming--oh!"
+
+And come she did, head first, minus the dress skirt, plump into the
+startled young man's arms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+"Me voila!" said Fouchette, gaining her feet and lightly shaking her
+ruffled remains together, as if she were a young pullet that had
+calmly fluttered down from the roost.
+
+"Well, you're a bird!" he ejaculated, the more embarrassed of the two.
+
+"Mon Dieu! monsieur, but for you I'd soon have been a dead bird! I
+thank you ever so much."
+
+She reached up at him and succeeded in pecking a little kiss on his
+chin. It was her first attempt at the masculine mouth and she could
+scarcely be censured if she missed it.
+
+"It certainly was a lucky chance that I came this way at the moment,"
+he said.
+
+"It was, indeed," she assented.
+
+He was surveying her now by the light of his lantern; and he smiled at
+her slight figure in the short petticoat. Her blind confidence in him
+and her general assurance amused him.
+
+"Where were you thinking of going, mademoiselle?"
+
+"To Paris."
+
+"Paris!"
+
+The young man almost dropped his lantern. Paris seemed out of reach to
+him.
+
+"And why not, monsieur?"
+
+"Er--well, mademoiselle, climbing a tree and throwing one's self head
+over heels over a wall--er--and----"
+
+"And leaving ones skirt hanging on the spikes----"
+
+"Yes,--is not the customary way for young ladies to start for Paris.
+But I suppose you know what you are about."
+
+"If I only had my skirt."
+
+Fouchette glanced up at the offending member of her attire which she
+had cast from her.
+
+"Never mind that,--I'll return and get it. Come with me, mademoiselle.
+I live near by, and my mother and sisters will protect you for the
+time being. Come! Where's your hat?"
+
+"I didn't have time----"
+
+"You didn't stop to pack your bundle, eh?"
+
+"Not exactly, monsieur."
+
+They walked along silently for a few yards, following the wall.
+
+"You have relatives in Paris, mademoiselle?" he finally asked.
+
+"No, monsieur."
+
+"Friends, then?"
+
+"Well, yes."
+
+"It is good. Paris is no place for a young girl alone. Besides, it is
+just now a scene of riot and bloodshed. It is in a state bordering on
+revolution. All France is roused. Royalists and Bonapartists have
+combined against the life of the republic. Paris is swarming with
+troops. There will be barricades and fighting in the streets,
+mademoiselle."
+
+Fouchette recalled the fragments of conversations
+overheard,--conversations between the Superieure and Father Sebastien
+and certain visitors. Beyond this casual information she knew
+absolutely nothing of what was going on in the outer world. He
+misconstrued her silence.
+
+"Whom do you know in Paris, mademoiselle?--somebody powerful enough to
+protect you?"
+
+"Oh, yes, monsieur," she promptly answered. "I know one man,--one who
+sent me here,--who is powerful----"
+
+"May I ask----"
+
+"The Chief of the Secret Police," she said, lowering her tone to a
+confidential scale,--"Inspector Loup."
+
+"Oh, pardon, mademoiselle!" quickly responded the young man. "Pardon!
+I meant it for your welfare, not to inquire into your business. Oh,
+no; do not think me capable of that!"
+
+He appeared to be somewhat frightened at what he had done, but became
+reassured when she passed it with easy good nature.
+
+"It is important, then, mademoiselle, that you reach Paris at once?"
+
+"It is very important, monsieur."
+
+"The royalist scoundrels are very active," he said. "They must be
+headed off--exposed!"
+
+He spoke enthusiastically, seizing Fouchette's hand warmly. That
+demoiselle, who was floundering around in a position she did not
+understand, walked along resolved to keep her peace. He assured her
+that she might fully rely upon him and his in this emergency. Let her
+put him to the test.
+
+The enigmatical situation was more confounding to Fouchette when she
+was being overwhelmed with the subservient attentions of the young
+man's family; but the less she comprehended the more she held her
+tongue. They were of the class moderately well-to-do and steeped in
+politics up to the neck.
+
+Fouchette knew next to nothing about politics. Only that France was a
+republic and that many were dissatisfied with that form of government;
+that some wanted the empire, and others the restoration of the kings,
+and still others anything but existing things. Having never been
+called upon to form an opinion, Fouchette had no opinion on the
+subject. She did not care a snap what kind of a government ruled,--it
+could make no difference to her.
+
+Coming in contact with all of this enthusiasm, she now knew that Le
+Bon Pasteur was royalist for some reason; and she shrewdly guessed,
+without the assistance of this family conviction, that all Jesuits,
+whatever they might otherwise be, were also royalists. And, as
+Inspector Loup was a part of the existing government, he must be a
+republican,--which was not so shrewd as it was logical; therefore that
+if Sister Agnes was suspected of being friendly to Inspector Loup, the
+good sister was a republican and naturally the political enemy of the
+managers of Le Bon Pasteur. Whatever Sister Agnes was it must be
+right.
+
+But in holding her tongue Fouchette was most clever of all,--whereas,
+usually, the less people know about government the more persistently
+they talk politics.
+
+The young man went back to the wall with a fish-pole and rescued the
+recalcitrant skirt, much to her delight. His mother mended the rents
+in it and his sisters fitted her out with a smart hat.
+
+It was soon developed that Fouchette had no money. This brought about
+a family consultation.
+
+"I must go to Paris," said Fouchette, determinedly, "if I have to
+walk!"
+
+"Nonsense!" said the young man.
+
+"Nonsense!" chimed in mother and sisters.
+
+"I'll fix you all right," finally declared the young man, "on a single
+condition,--that you carry a letter from me to Inspector Loup and
+deliver it into his own hands, mademoiselle. Is it a bargain?"
+
+"Oh, yes, monsieur,--very sure!" cried the girl, almost overcome by
+this last good fortune. "You are very good,--it would be a pleasure,
+monsieur, I assure you."
+
+"And if you were to tell him the part I have taken to-night in your
+case it would be of great service,--if you would be so good,
+mademoiselle. Not that it is anything, but----"
+
+"You may be assured of that, too," said Fouchette, who, however, did
+not understand what possible interest lay in this direction.
+
+They were all so effusive and apparently grateful that she was made to
+believe herself a very important personage.
+
+As the letter was brought out immediately, she saw that it was already
+prepared, and wondered why it was not sent by post.
+
+Another family consultation, and it was decided that Fouchette might
+lose the letter by some accident; so, on the suggestion of the mother,
+it was carefully sewn in the bosom of their emissary's dress.
+
+It was also suggested that, since an effort for Fouchette's recapture
+might include the careful scrutiny of the trains for Paris the next
+day, she should be accompanied at once to a suburban town where she
+could take the midnight express.
+
+All of these details were not settled without considerable discussion,
+in which Fouchette came to the private conclusion that they were even
+more anxious for her to get to Paris than she was herself, if such a
+thing were possible.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fouchette arrived in Paris and alighted at the Gare de l'Est at a very
+early hour in the morning. Her idea had been to go direct to the
+Prefecture and demand the whereabouts of Sister Agnes. Incidentally
+she would deliver the mysterious letter intrusted to her.
+
+But during her journey Fouchette had enjoyed ample time for
+reflection. She was not absolutely certain of her reception at the
+hands of Inspector Loup; could not satisfy her own mind that he would
+receive her at all. Besides, would he really know anything about
+Sister Agnes?
+
+Fouchette's self-confidence had been oozing away in the same ratio as
+she was nearing her journey's end. When she had finally arrived she
+was almost frightened at the notion of meeting Inspector Loup. He had
+threatened her with prison. He might regard her now as an escaped
+convict. On the whole, Fouchette was really sorry she had run away.
+Back again in Paris, where she had suffered so much, she realized
+again that there were worse places for a girl than Le Bon Pasteur.
+Anyhow, it was early,--there was plenty of time,--she would consider.
+
+She took the tramway of the Boulevards Strausbourg and Sebastopol,
+climbing to the imperial, where a seat was to be had for three sous.
+
+What crowds of people!
+
+She was surprised to see the great human flood pouring down the
+boulevards and side streets at such an early hour in the morning. But
+her volatile nature rose to the touch of excitement. She at once
+forgot everything else but the street. Fouchette was a true
+Parisienne.
+
+"Paris!" she murmured; "dear Paris!"
+
+As if Paris had blessed her childhood with pleasure, instead of having
+starved and beaten her and degraded her to the level of beasts!
+
+"Where on earth are all of these people going?" she asked herself.
+
+There were now and then cries of "Vive l'armee!" "Vive la republique!"
+and "Vive la France!" while the excitement seemed to grow as they
+reached the Porte St. Denis.
+
+"What is it, monsieur?" she finally asked the man at her side.
+
+"It is the 25th of October," said he.
+
+"But, monsieur, what is the matter?"
+
+He looked over his shoulder at the young girl rather resentfully,
+though his doubts as to her sincerity vanished in a smile.
+
+"It is the rentree of the Chambers," he answered.
+
+"Oh," she said, "is that it?"
+
+But she knew no more now than she had known before. Presently her
+curiosity again got the better of her timidity.
+
+"Where are they going, monsieur?"
+
+"They don't know, mademoiselle. Palais Bourbon, Place de la
+Concorde,--anywhere it happens to be lively enough to suit. But where
+have you been, mademoiselle, to not know,--in the country?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"And where are you going?"
+
+"Place de la Concorde."
+
+"Don't do it, little one,--don't you do it! It is not a place for a
+mite like you on such a day. Take my advice,--go anywhere else."
+
+"I'm going to the Place de la Concorde, monsieur," she responded,
+quite stiffly.
+
+When she reached the great plaza, however, she found it practically
+deserted. The usual throngs of carriages were passing to and fro.
+Immense black crowds blocked the Rue Royale at the Madeleine and in
+the opposite direction in the vicinity of the Palais Bourbon across
+the river. These crowds appeared to be held at bay by the cordons of
+police agents, who kept the Place de la Concorde clear and pedestrians
+moving lively in the intersecting streets.
+
+Fouchette hopped nimbly off the steps of the omnibus she had taken at
+le Chatelet, to the amusement of a gang of hilarious students from the
+Latin Quarter, who recognized in her the "tenderfoot."
+
+The Parisienne always leaves the omnibus steps with her back to the
+horses. This keeps American visitors standing around looking for a
+mishap which never happens; for the Parisienne is an expert
+equilibrist and can perform this feat while the vehicle is at full
+speed, not only with safety but with an airy grace that is often
+charming.
+
+But Fouchette did not mind the laughter; she had found a good place
+from which to view whatever was to be seen. She did not have to wait
+long.
+
+"A bas le sabre!" shouted a man.
+
+"A bas les traitres!" yelled the students in unison.
+
+One of the latter leaped at the man and felled him with a blow.
+
+The frantic crowd of young men attempted to jump upon this victim of
+public opinion, but as others rushed at the same time to his rescue,
+all came together in a tumultuous, struggling heap.
+
+The angry combatants surged this way and that,--the score soon became
+an hundred, the hundred became a thousand. It was a mystery whence
+these turbulent elements sprang, so quickly did the mob gather
+strength.
+
+The original offender got away in the confusion. But the struggle went
+on, accompanied by shouts, curses, and groans. One platoon of police
+agents charged down upon the fighters, then another platoon.
+
+Friends struck friends in sheer excess of fury. The momentarily
+swelling roar of the combat reverberated in the Rue Royale and echoed
+and re-echoed from the garden of the Tuileries.
+
+The police agents struggled in vain. They were unable to penetrate
+beyond the outer rows of the mob. And these turned and savagely
+assaulted the agents.
+
+Then the massive grilles of the Tuileries swung upon their hinges and
+a squadron of cuirassiers slowly trotted into the Place de la
+Concorde. They swept gracefully into line. A harsh, rasping sound of
+steel, a rattle of breastplates as the sabres twinkled in the
+sunshine, and the column moved down upon the snarling horde of human
+tigers.
+
+Brave when it was a single unarmed man, the mob broke and ran like
+frightened sheep at the sight of the advancing cavalry.
+
+In the mean time myriads of omnibuses, vans, carriages, and vehicles
+of all descriptions, having been blocked by a similar mob in the
+narrow Rue Royale and at the Pont de la Concorde in the other
+direction, now became tangled in an apparently inextricable mass in
+the middle square.
+
+The individual members of the crowd broke for this cover, while the
+agents dashed among them to make arrests. Men scrambled under
+omnibuses and wagons, leaped through carriages, dodged between wheels,
+climbed over horses, crept on their hands and knees beneath vans.
+
+Fouchette ran like a rabbit, but between the rush of police and
+scattering of the mob she was sorely hustled. She finally sprang into
+an open voiture in the jam, and wisely remained there in spite of the
+driver's furious gesticulations.
+
+"This way!" cried a stalwart young student to his fleeing companions.
+
+The agents were hot upon them.
+
+Fouchette saw that they were covered with dirt, and one was hatless.
+And this one glared at her as he dodged beneath the horse.
+
+The next vehicle was pulled up short, as if to close the narrow
+passage, whereat the hatless man shook his fist at the driver and
+cursed him.
+
+"Vive la liberte!" retorted the driver.
+
+"So! We'll give you liberty, you cur!" and the hatless man called to
+his nearest companion, "Over with him!"
+
+The two seized the light vehicle and overturned it as if it were an
+empty basket. The driver pitched forward, sprawling, to the asphalt.
+Seeing which the wary driver of the voiture in which Fouchette was
+seated turned and called to her behind his hand,--
+
+"Keep your seat, mademoiselle! It's all right!"
+
+He was terrified lest his carriage should follow the fate of his
+neighbor's. But the young men merely compelled him to whip up and keep
+the lines closed, and with this moving barricade they trotted along
+secure from present assault. Fouchette could have touched the nearest
+student. She was so frightened that the coachman's admonition was
+quite unnecessary. She could not have stirred.
+
+"Jean!" said the hatless man to the other, who was so close, "you saw
+Lerouge there?"
+
+"See him! I was near enough to punch him!"
+
+"Did you----"
+
+"Ah!" There was a quaver in his voice.
+
+"I understand, my friend."
+
+"But I can't understand Lerouge," said the young man called Jean.
+"Don't be afraid, mademoiselle," he added, speaking to Fouchette
+reassuringly. "Our friends the agents----"
+
+"Oh, there they come, monsieur!" she cried.
+
+"Pardieu!" exclaimed the hatless. "We're caught!"
+
+A big van loaded with straw blocked the way. Behind it skulked a whole
+platoon of blue uniforms. The fugitives hesitated for a second or
+two.
+
+"Over with it!" shouted the hatless young man, at the same moment
+appropriating a deserted headpiece.
+
+"Down with the agents!"
+
+A dozen stalwart young men seized the big wheels. The top-heavy load
+wavered an instant, then went over with a simultaneous swish and a
+yell.
+
+The latter came from the police agents, now half buried in the straw.
+
+A second squadron of cavalry, Garde de Paris, drawn up near by,
+witnessed this incident and smiled. These little pleasantries amuse
+all good Parisians.
+
+Safety now lay in separation. Jean kept on towards the Rue Royale; his
+friends broke off, scattering towards the Rue de Rivoli.
+
+"Que diable!" he muttered.
+
+He stopped and looked hastily about him.
+
+"Well, devil take her anyhow,--she's gone. And I'm here."
+
+He saw himself, with many others out of the line of blocked vehicles,
+hemmed in by agents, Gardes de Paris, and cuirassiers to the right and
+left, now driven into the Rue Royale as stray animals into a pound.
+
+Double lines of police agents supported by infantry and cavalry held
+both ends of this short street; here, where it opened into the Place
+de la Concorde and there where it led at the Madeleine into the grand
+boulevards.
+
+The roar of the mob came down upon him from the Madeleine, where the
+rioters had forced the defensive line from time to time only to be
+driven back by the fists and feet of the police agents and with the
+flat of the cavalry sabre.
+
+The authorities knew their ground. The Rue Royale was the key to the
+military position.
+
+But in the attempt to clear the Place de la Concorde the nearest
+fugitives were thrust into the Rue Royale and driven by horse and foot
+towards the Madeleine, where they were mercilessly kicked outside the
+lines to shift for themselves, an unwilling part of a frenzied mob.
+
+"I'm a rat in a trap here," growled the young man, having been
+literally thrown through the lower cordon by two stalwart agents.
+
+The shopkeepers had put up their heavy shutters. The grilles were
+closed. People looked down from window and balcony upon a street
+sealed as tight as wax.
+
+Having witnessed the infantry reserves ambushed behind the Ministry of
+Marine filling their magazines, and being confronted by a fresh emeute
+above, Jean Marot began to feel queer for the first time of a day of
+brawls.
+
+He recalled the historical fact that here in this narrow street a
+thousand people were slain in a panic on the occasion of the
+celebration of the marriage of Marie Antoinette.
+
+A horseman with drawn sabre rode at him and ordered him to move on
+more quickly.
+
+"But where to, Monsieur le Caporal?"
+
+"Anywhere, mon enfant! Out of this, now! Circulate!"
+
+"But----"
+
+"There is no 'but!' What business have you here? You are not a
+Deputy!" The man urged him with his sabre.
+
+"Hold, Monsieur le Caporal! Has, then, a citizen of Paris no longer
+any right to go home without insult from the uniform?"
+
+"Where do you live, monsieur?"
+
+"Just around the corner in the Faubourg St. Honore," replied the young
+man.
+
+"Ah!" growled the cavalryman, doubtfully, "and there is another
+route."
+
+All of this time the soldier's horse, trained by much service of this
+sort during the preceding year, was pushing Jean along of his own
+accord,--now with his breast, now with his impatient nose,--to the
+considerable sacrifice of that young man's dignity. The latter edged
+up to the wall, but the horse followed him, shoving him along gently
+but firmly under a loose rein.
+
+Jean flattened himself against a doorway to escape the pressure. But
+the horse paused also and leaned against him.
+
+"Oh, say, then!"
+
+"Hello! Here they come again!" exclaimed the corporal, reining in his
+horse, with his eyes bent towards the Madeleine.
+
+At this juncture the door was suddenly opened and Jean, who was fast
+having the breath squeezed out of him, fell inside.
+
+The door was as suddenly closed again and barred.
+
+The cavalryman, who had not seen this movement, glanced around on
+either side, behind, then beneath his horse, finally up in the sky,
+and shrugged his shoulders and rode on along the walk.
+
+"Oho, Monsieur Jean!" roared a friendly voice as the young man caught
+his breath; "trying to break into my house, eh? By my saint, young
+man, you were in a mighty tight place! Oh, this dreadful day! No
+business at all, and----"
+
+"Business!" gasped Jean,--"business, man! Never had a more busy day in
+my life!"
+
+"You? Yes! it is such wild young blades as you and that
+serious-looking Lerouge who raise all the row in Paris.--I say,
+monsieur," broke off the garrulous old restaurateur, and, running to
+the window behind the bar, "they're putting the sand!"
+
+Men with barrows from the Ministry of Marine were hastily strewing the
+smooth asphalt with sand. It meant cavalry operations.
+
+"But, Monsieur Jean, where's your double? Where's the other Marot
+to-day?"
+
+Jean's face clouded. He did not reply.
+
+"I never saw two men look so much alike," continued the restaurateur.
+
+"So the medics all say, and that I do all the deviltry and Henri gets
+sent to depot for it." He had called for something to eat, and looked
+up from the distant table in continuation,--
+
+"Lerouge has turned out to be the most rabid Dreyfusarde. We met in
+the fun to-day----"
+
+"Fun!"
+
+"There certainly was fun for a while. George Villeroy, when I last saw
+him, was being chased to the Rue de Rivoli. Hope he gets back this
+evening at Le Petit Rouge."
+
+"Le Petit Rouge! Faugh! Nest of red republicans, royalists----"
+
+"No royalists----"
+
+"Anarchists----"
+
+"Yes, I'll admit that----"
+
+"And bloody bones----"
+
+"Bloody noses to-day, monsieur."
+
+"And this Lerouge and you?"
+
+"Yes, this is George's night to carve," said Jean, changing the
+subject back to surgery.
+
+"Carve?"
+
+"Yes,--certes! Cut into something fresh, if it turns up."
+
+"Turns up?"
+
+"Why, Monsieur Bibbolet, you're as clever as a parrot! Yes, turns up.
+Subject, stiff, cadaver,--see?--Le cafe, garcon!"
+
+"Ah! you medical----"
+
+"You see, George has a new arterial theory to demonstrate. I tell you,
+he can pick up an artery as easily as your cook can pick a chicken. If
+you'd care to let him try----"
+
+"How! Pick up my arteries? Not if I----"
+
+"What's that?"
+
+They again ran to the window.
+
+"It's the cuirassiers, Monsieur Jean! Ah! if it came to blows they'd
+pot 'em like rabbits here! You're out of it just in time."
+
+So closely was the squadron of cuirassiers wedged in the street that
+Jean could have put his hand upon the jack-boots of the nearest
+soldier. There had been a fresh break in the Madeleine guard, and this
+was the reserve. They slowly pricked their resistless way, and one by
+one the exhausted agents slipped between them to the rear. Some of the
+latter dragged prisoners, some supported bruised and bleeding victims.
+Some persons had been trampled or beaten into insensibility, and these
+were being carried towards the Place de la Concorde. Among them were
+women. There are always women in the Paris mob.
+
+And this particular mob was a mere political "manifestation." That was
+all. It was the 25th of October, 1898, and the day on which the French
+Parliament met. So the Parisian patriots lined the route to the Palais
+Bourbon and "manifested" their devotion to liberty French fashion, by
+clubbing everybody who disagreed with them.
+
+"Well!" said Jean, "they have pushed beyond St. Honore. I can get home
+now."
+
+"Not yet, monsieur. Do not go yet. It is still dangerous. A bottle of
+old Barsac with me."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Night had fallen. Jean Marot was cautiously let out of a side door.
+
+The Ministry had also fallen.
+
+Hoarse-lunged venders of the evening papers announced the fact in
+continuous cries. Travel had been resumed in the Rue Royale. Here and
+there the shops began to take in their shutters and resume business.
+Timid shopkeepers came out on the walk and discussed the situation
+with each other.
+
+The ministerial journals sold by wholesale. The angry manifestants
+burned them in the streets. Which rendered the camelots more insistent
+and obnoxious with fresh bundles to be sold and destroyed in the same
+way.
+
+Jean Marot, refreshed by rest and food, lingered a moment at Rue St.
+Honore, uncertain whether to return to his rooms or join a mob of
+patriots howling the Marseillaise in front of the Cafe de Londres.
+
+"Enough," he finally concluded, and turned up towards the Rue Boissy
+d'Anglais.
+
+There were evidences of a fierce struggle in the narrow but
+aristocratic faubourg. Usually a blaze of light at this hour, it was
+closed from street to street and practically deserted. Scared
+milliners and dress-makers and fashionable jewellers peered out from
+upper windows, still afraid to open up. Fragments of broken canes,
+battered hats, and torn vestments told an eloquent story of political
+differences.
+
+"We certainly missed the fun here," thought Jean. "Hello! What's
+this?"
+
+He had tripped on a woman's skirt in the shadow of the wall.
+
+"Peste! Why can't our fair dames and demoiselles let _us_ fight it
+out? There really isn't enough to go round!"
+
+He paused, then returned impulsively and looked at the dark
+bundle,--stirred it with his foot. It was certainly the figure of a
+woman.
+
+"Last round," he muttered; "next, the Seine!"
+
+His budding professional instincts prompted him to search for the
+pulse.
+
+It was still.
+
+And when he took his hand away it was covered with blood.
+
+"Wait!"
+
+He placed his hand over the heart, then uncovered a young but bruised
+and swollen face.
+
+"The cavalry," he murmured. "She's dead; she--well, perhaps it was
+better."
+
+He glanced up and down the street, as if considering whether to go his
+way or to call the police. There was nobody in sight near enough to
+attract by cries. The police were busy elsewhere. Then his face all at
+once lighted up.
+
+"A good idea!" he ejaculated,--"a very good idea!"
+
+He saw two cabs approaching.
+
+Calling the first, he began to carry the good idea into immediate
+execution.
+
+"What is it, monsieur?" inquired the cabman, seeing the body.
+
+"An accident. Quick, cocher!"
+
+With his usual decision Jean thrust the body into the cab and followed
+it.
+
+"Allez!" he commanded.
+
+"But, monsieur,--the--the--where to?"
+
+"Pont de Solferino, to Boulevard St. Germain. An extra franc, my lad!"
+
+Having vaguely started the cabby, Jean had time to think. He knew the
+prejudices most people entertain concerning the dead. Especially the
+prejudices of Paris police agents and cabmen. To give the Rue de
+Medecine would set the man to speculating. To mention Le Petit Rouge
+would be to have him hail the first man in uniform.
+
+As to Jean Marot, medical student, du Quartier Latin, in his fourth
+year, a lifeless body was no more than a bag of sand. It was merely a
+"subject."
+
+"The chief benefit conferred upon society and humanity by a large
+proportion of our population," he would have cynically observed to any
+caviller, "is by dying and becoming useful 'subjects.'"
+
+He considered himself fortunate, however, in having a close cab, out
+of deference to those who might differ with him. They crossed the Pont
+de Solferino, where a momentary halt gave a couple of alert agents a
+chance to scrutinize him a little more sharply than was comfortable,
+and turned down Boulevard St. Germain.
+
+At the Ecole de Medecine Jean stopped the cab, as if struck with a new
+idea.
+
+"Cocher!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur?"
+
+"Drive to 12 Rue Antoine Dubois."
+
+"How then!"
+
+"I said--drive--to--No. 12--Rue Antoine Dubois! You know where that
+is?"
+
+"Oh, yes, monsieur,--only--er--it is right over there opposite
+the----"
+
+The man was so excited he found difficulty in expressing himself.
+
+"Ecole Pratique,--that's right," said Jean.
+
+Hardened sinner that he was, the old Paris coachman crossed himself
+and, as he entered the uncanny neighborhood, felt around for the
+sacred amulet that every good Frenchman wears next to the skin.
+
+"I must get some instruments there before taking this lady home," Jean
+added.
+
+The Rue Antoine Dubois is a short street connecting the Rue et Place
+de l'Ecole de Medecine with the Rue de Monsieur le Prince. One side of
+it is formed by the gloomy wall of the Ecole Pratique, where more
+"subjects" are disposed of annually than in any other dozen similar
+institutions in the world; the other by various medical shops and
+libraries, over which are "clubs," "laboratories," "cliniques," and
+student lodgings. At the Rue de Monsieur le Prince the street ends in
+a great flight of steps. It therefore forms an impasse, or a pocket
+for carriages, and is little used. It was now deserted.
+
+The coachman drew up before a dark court entrance, a sickly light
+shining upon him through the surgical appliances, articulated
+skeletons, skulls, and other professional exhibits of the nearest
+window.
+
+"Let us see; I'll take her up-stairs and make a more careful
+examination."
+
+"You--you're a doctor, monsieur?"
+
+"Yes,--there!" He gave the man a five-franc piece. "No,--never mind
+the change."
+
+"Merci, monsieur!"
+
+"Better wait--till I see how she is, you know."
+
+Jean bore his burden very carefully till out of sight; then threw it
+over his shoulder and felt his way up the half-lighted stairs. He knew
+quite well that the man would not wait; believed that the overpayment
+would induce him to get away as quickly and as far as possible.
+
+"It's a stiff, sure!" growled the nervous cabman, and he drove out of
+the place at a furious rate.
+
+Jean threw his "subject" on the floor and hunted around for a light.
+
+"Le Petit Rouge"--its frequenters were medical students and political
+extremists--was replete with books, bones, and anatomical drawings,
+black-and-white and in colors. Two complete skeletons mounted
+guard,--one in the farther corner, one behind the door. There were
+tables and instrument-cases, and surgical saws and things in racks.
+There were easy-chairs, pipes, etc. A skull, with the top neatly sawed
+off to serve as cover, formed a tobacco receptacle.
+
+But the chef-d'oeuvre was from Jean's ingenious hand. It was the
+bow-backed skeleton behind the door, which had been cleverly arranged
+as and was called "Madame la Concierge." The skeleton had been arrayed
+in a short conventional ballet skirt and scanty lace cap, and held a
+candle in one hand and a bottle marked "Absinthe" in the other. The
+skirt was to indicate her earlier career, the cap and candle gave an
+inkling of her later life, while the bottle told the probable cause of
+her decease. This skeleton was so controlled by wires and cords that
+it could be made to move out in front of the open door and raise the
+candle above the head, as if to see who asked for admission. When the
+room was in semi-darkness Madame la Concierge of Le Petit Rouge was
+charmingly effective, and had been known to throw some people into
+spasms.
+
+Placing his lamp in a favorable position, Jean Marot pulled off his
+coat, removed his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and proceeded to
+extend his subject upon what young Armand Massard facetiously called
+"the dressing-table."
+
+"Good God!" he exclaimed, falling back a step. "Why, it's the
+demoiselle of the Place de la Concorde!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+And so it was.
+
+Fouchette had been thrown from the voiture in the conflict, and had
+been run over by the mob and trampled into the mud of the gutter. So
+covered with the filth of the street was she, so torn and bruised and
+bedraggled, that she would have been unrecognizable even to one who
+had seen her more often than had her present examiner.
+
+There was something in the girl's face, however, that had left an
+impression on the mind of Jean Marot not easily effaced. It was too
+indistinct and unemotional, this impression, to inspire analysis, but
+it was there, so that, under the lamp, Jean had at once recognized the
+young woman of the carriage.
+
+"It's murder, that's what it is," he soliloquized,--"victim of 'Vive
+l'armee.'"
+
+A most careful examination showed there were no bones broken, though
+the young body was literally black and blue.
+
+The face was that of a prize-fighter's after a stubborn battle.
+
+Inspection of the clothing developed no marks of recognition. Her
+pocket lining showed that she had been robbed of anything she may have
+possessed. The coarse character and general appearance of the clothing
+indicated her lowly condition of charity scholar.
+
+Although rigor mortis had not yet set in, the medical student, armed
+with a basin and sponge, proceeded to prepare the body for the
+scalpel.
+
+"This ought to suit George Villeroy," he mused. "And George has
+always said I was no good except on a lark. He has always pined for a
+fresh subject----"
+
+He was attracted by the quality and peculiar color of the hair, and
+washing the stains from the head, examined the latter attentively.
+
+"I never saw but one woman with hair like that, and she--wonder what
+the devil is in Lerouge, anyhow!--I suppose--hold on here! Let us
+see."
+
+He had found a terrible gash in the scalp. Hastily obtaining his
+instruments, he skilfully lifted a bit of crushed skull.
+
+As he did so he fancied there was a slight tremor in the slender body.
+He nervously tested the heart, the nostrils, the pulse, then breathed
+once more.
+
+"Dame! It is imagination. That break would have killed an ox!"
+
+Yet he took another careful look at the wound, cutting away some of
+the fair hair in order to get at the fracture. Then he made another
+experiment.
+
+"Pardieu! she's alive," he whispered, hoarsely. "What's to be done?
+They're right. Jean! Jean! you'll never be a doctor! Never be anything
+but a d----d fool!"
+
+But Jean Marot, if not a doctor, was a young man of action and
+resources. Even as he spoke he grabbed a sheet and a blanket from a
+cot in the corner, snatched a hat belonging to Massard's grisette from
+the wall, bundled the girl's clothes around the body the best he
+could, and ran to the window.
+
+As he had anticipated would be the case, the cabman had disappeared.
+
+He was fully aware of the risk he now ran; but above his sense of
+personal danger rose his sympathy and anxiety for the young girl.
+
+He realized that his first step must be to get her out of this place;
+next to get her under the care of a regular practitioner. French law
+is severe in such a contingency. Without hesitation he again
+shouldered his burden,--this time with infinite gentleness.
+
+At first he had thought of depositing it in the court below until he
+had secured a cab in the Rue et Place de l'Ecole de Medecine; but he
+saw an open voiture passing along the elevated horizon of the Rue de
+Monsieur le Prince and gave a shrill whistle.
+
+The cab stopped.
+
+Jean bounded up the steps as one endowed with superhuman strength.
+Placing his charge within, he mounted by her side.
+
+"Faubourg St. Honore!" he commanded. "And good speed and safe arrival
+is worth ten francs to you, my man!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If Jean had followed his first idea and turned to the left instead of
+to the right he would have met some of his late revolutionary comrades
+returning, in boisterous spirits, to Le Petit Rouge.
+
+"Parbleu!" exclaimed Villeroy, throwing himself into a chair, "but I
+believe every police agent in Paris has trodden on my corns this day!"
+
+"For my part," said young Massard, a thin, pale, indolent young man
+scarcely turned twenty-one, "I don't see much fun in being hustled,
+shoved, kicked, pounded----"
+
+"But, Armand," interrupted the third man, "think of the fun you have
+afforded the other fellow!"
+
+This speaker was known as the double of Jean Marot, only some people
+could not see the slightest resemblance when the two were
+together,--Lerouge being taller, darker, more athletic in appearance,
+and more serious of temper.
+
+"I say, Lerouge, I don't think your crowd of Dreyfusardes got much
+pleasure out of us to-day," put in Villeroy, dryly.
+
+"We got some of it out of the police, it is true," said Lerouge. Henri
+Lerouge was half anarchist, socialist, and an extremist generally, of
+whom French politics presents a formidable contingent.
+
+Armand Massard thoughtfully helped himself to a pipe of tobacco from
+the grim tabatiere on the table. Politics was barred at Le Petit
+Rouge, and Lerouge was known to be rather irritable. On the subject of
+the police these young fellows were unanimous. The agents were
+considered fair game in the Quartier Latin.
+
+"I've had enough of them for this once, George," yawned Massard.
+
+"And they've had enough of us probably," suggested Villeroy.
+
+"It is lively,--too much,--this continued dodging the police----"
+
+"Together with one's creditors----"
+
+A loud double rap startled them.
+
+"Mordieu!" exclaimed that young man, leaping to his feet, "that's one
+now! Don't open!"
+
+Again the peremptory raps, louder than before. There was also a clank
+of steel.
+
+"Police agents or I'm a German!" said Villeroy.
+
+Henri Lerouge, a contemptuous smile on his handsome face, arose to
+admit the callers.
+
+"Wait!" whispered Massard,--"one moment! Madame la Concierge shall
+receive them."
+
+This idea tickled the young men exceedingly. They had little to fear
+from the police, unless it was the chance identification on the Place
+de la Concorde. But these things are rarely pushed.
+
+Madame la Concierge was quickly arranged, her candle lighted. Then the
+other light was turned down.
+
+When the door was slowly opened four police officers, headed by the
+commissary of the quarter, entered.
+
+But they stopped abruptly on the threshold. The hideous skeleton with
+the candle confronted them. A sepulchral voice demanded,--
+
+"Who knocks so loudly at an honest door?"
+
+It is no impeachment of the courage and efficiency of the Paris police
+to say that the men recoiled in terror from this horrible apparition.
+So suddenly, in fact, that the two agents in the rear were
+precipitated headlong down the short flight. The other two vanished
+scarcely less hastily. A fifth man, who had evidently been following
+the agents at a respectful distance, received the full impact of the
+falling bodies, and with one terrified yell sank almost senseless on
+the stair.
+
+This man was the cabman who had brought Jean Marot to Le Petit Rouge.
+
+The veteran commissary, however, flinched only for an instant. Having
+served many years in the Quartier Latin, he was no stranger to the
+pranks and customs of medical students. The next instant he had his
+foot in the doorway, to retain his advantage, and was calling his men
+a choice assortment of Parisian names. To emphasize this he entered
+and gave Madame la Concierge a kick that caused her poor old bones to
+rattle.
+
+"For shame!" cried young Massard, laughingly, turning up the light.
+"To kick an old woman!"
+
+"Now here, gentlemen, students,--you are a nice lot!"
+
+"Thanks! Monsieur le Commissaire," replied Lerouge, with a polite bow.
+
+"You are quite aware, gentlemen," continued the stern official, "that
+you are responsible at this moment for any injury to my men?"
+
+"No, monsieur," retorted Lerouge in his dry fashion; "but, if any
+bones are broken we'll set 'em."
+
+"Free of charge," added Villeroy.
+
+"I want none of your impudence, monsieur! What's your name?"
+
+"George Villeroy, 7 Rue du Pot de Fer, medical student, aged
+twenty-four, single, born at Tours."
+
+Well these young roysterers knew the police formula! Armand Massard
+gave in his record at a nod. The veteran commissary wrote the replies
+down.
+
+"And what is your name, monsieur?"
+
+"Henri Lerouge, Monsieur le Commissaire."
+
+"Ah! I think we have had the pleasure of meeting before this,"
+observed the official. "A hundred francs that this is our man," he
+added under his breath. Then, turning to his men, who had stolen in,
+shamefaced, one by one,--
+
+"Dubat!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur." A keen-eyed agent stepped forward and saluted
+military fashion.
+
+"Do you recognize one of these gentlemen as the man who crossed the
+Pont de Solferino this evening with something----"
+
+"Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire,"--pointing promptly to Henri
+Lerouge,--"that's the man!"
+
+"So. You may step aside, Dubat. Now where is that--oh! Monsieur
+Perriot?"
+
+"Monsieur le Commissaire," responded the unhappy cabman, who had
+scarcely recovered from his mishap in the stairway. He limped
+painfully to the front.
+
+"Now, Perriot, do you----"
+
+"There he is, Monsieur le Commissaire," anticipated the cabman. "I'd
+know him among a thousand."
+
+"Ah! And there we are. I thought so!" said the police official. "Now,
+Monsieur Lerouge," facing the latter with a catlike eye, "where's the
+body?"
+
+The young man looked puzzled, very naturally, while his companions
+were speechless with astonishment.
+
+The veteran police officer took in every detail of this and mentally
+admitted that it was clever, deucedly clever, acting.
+
+"I say, _where is the body_?" he repeated.
+
+"And I say," retorted Lerouge, with a calmness of tone and steadiness
+of eye that almost staggered the old criminal catcher, "that I do not
+understand you, and am very patiently awaiting your explanation."
+
+"Search the place!" curtly commanded the officer.
+
+A clamorous protest arose from all three of the students. But the
+commissary of police waved them aside.
+
+"It means that this man, Henri Lerouge, between six and seven o'clock
+this evening, carried a dead body from the Rue St. Honore----"
+
+"Faubourg St. Honore, Monsieur le Commissaire," interrupted the
+cabman, feebly.
+
+"----Faubourg St. Honore, crossed the Pont de Solferino, where he was
+seen by Agent Dubat, and was brought here in a voiture of place, No.
+37,420, driven by Jacques Perriot. That, arriving in front of this
+building, the said Lerouge paid the cabman and dismissed----"
+
+"Pardon, Monsieur le Commissaire," again put in the coachman,--who
+was evidently trying to do his duty under unfavorable
+circumstances,--"pardon, monsieur, but he told me to wait."
+
+"Oh, he told you to wait, did he? And why didn't you say that at the
+Commissariat, you stupid brute?" The officer was furious. "But he paid
+you, then?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"He paid you five francs and expected you to wait!" sarcastically.
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He said he might want me, monsieur."
+
+"Might want you. And why didn't you wait, you old fool?"
+
+"Here? In the Rue Antoine Dubois, after dark, monsieur? And for
+a--a--'stiff'? Not for a hundred francs!"
+
+The students roared with laughter. As the agents had returned a report
+meanwhile to the effect that there were no signs of any "subject"
+immediately in hand, the commissary was deeply chagrined.
+
+"Now, gentlemen," he began, in a fatherly tone, "it is evident that a
+body has been taken from the street and brought here instead of being
+turned over to the police for the morgue and usual forms of
+identification. That body is possibly unimportant in itself, and would
+probably fall to your admirable institution eventually. But the law
+prescribes the proper course in such cases. We have traced that body
+to this place and to one of your number. Far be it from me to find
+fault with the desire of young gentlemen seeking to perfect their
+knowledge of anatomy for the benefit of humanity; but we must know
+where that body went from here."
+
+The last very emphatically, with a stern gaze at Henri Lerouge.
+
+"And on our part," answered the latter, with ill-subdued passion, "we
+say there is no body here, that none has been brought here to-night,
+that we have been together all day, and that we had but just arrived
+here before this unwarrantable intrusion; in short, that your petits
+mouchards there have lied!"
+
+It was impossible not to believe him. Yet the evidence of the cabman,
+corroborated circumstantially in part by Agent Dubat, seemed equally
+positive and irresistible.
+
+The commissary was nonplussed for a minute. He looked sternly at
+Monsieur Perriot. The latter was nervously fumbling his glazed hat.
+Somebody had lied. The commissary decided that it was the unlucky
+cabman.
+
+"Monsieur Perriot?"
+
+"Y-yes, Monsieur le Commissaire."
+
+"Have you got a five-franc piece about you?"
+
+"Y--n--no--er----"
+
+"Let me see it."
+
+Now, the poor cabman had lost no time fortifying himself with an
+absinthe or two upon leaving his fare in the terrible Rue Antoine
+Dubois. He had changed the piece given him by Jean Marot.
+
+"I haven't got----"
+
+"You said this man gave you a five-franc piece, didn't you? Now, did
+you, or did you not? Answer!"
+
+"Yes, Monsieur le----"
+
+"Where is it? You said you came straight to the Commissariat,--you
+haven't had time to get drunk. Show me the piece! Come!"
+
+"I drove to--I----"
+
+"Come! Out with it!"
+
+"But, Monsieur le Commissaire----"
+
+"You haven't got a five-franc piece. Come, now; say!"
+
+"No, monsieur. I----"
+
+"Lie No. 2."
+
+"But, monsieur, I stopped at the wine-shop of----"
+
+"Then you didn't drive straight to the Commissariat?"
+
+"I went----"
+
+"Did you, or did you not? Yes or no!"
+
+"No, monsieur."
+
+"So! Lie No. 3."
+
+The commissary got up full of wrath, and grasping the unfortunate
+cabby by the shoulder, spun him around with such force as to make the
+man's head swim.
+
+"Dubat!"
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"Take this idiot to the post. I'll enter a complaint against him
+before the Correctionnelle in the morning. He shall forfeit his
+license for this amusement. Gentlemen, pardon me for this unnecessary
+intrusion. Either this fool Perriot has lied or has led us to the
+wrong number. I'll give him time to decide which. Allons!"
+
+Led by the irate official the squad departed, Monsieur Perriot being
+hustled unceremoniously between two agents.
+
+The young men left behind looked at each other for a minute without
+speaking, then broke into a chorus of laughter.
+
+It was such a good one on the police.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Villeroy, "if we only had that stiff here for a fact!"
+
+"This joke on the agents must be got into the newspapers," said
+Lerouge. "It's too good to keep all to ourselves."
+
+"Fact!" cried Massard, who had thrown himself on the cot.
+
+"The joke is on Monsieur Perriot, I think," observed Villeroy.
+
+"Whoever it is on," put in young Massard, "it is a better joke than
+you fellows imagine." And Massard went off into a paroxysm of laughter
+by himself.
+
+"Que diable?"
+
+"Oh! oh! oh!" roared Massard.
+
+He had discovered the missing sheet and blanket and the grisette's
+hat. His companions regarded him attentively. But the young man merely
+went into fresh convulsions of merriment.
+
+Lerouge suddenly raised his hand for silence. There was a low,
+half-timid rap at the door. It created the impression of some woman of
+the street.
+
+"Come in!" cried Villeroy.
+
+"Let her in," said Lerouge.
+
+By which time the door had been opened and a tall, thin gentleman
+entered and immediately closed the door behind him.
+
+"In-Inspector Loup!" ejaculated Lerouge.
+
+"What! more police?" inquired Villeroy, sarcastically. "We are too
+much honored to-night."
+
+"Excuse me, young gentlemen," observed the official, somewhat stiffly,
+but with a polite inclination of his lank body, "but I must be
+permitted to make an examination here--yes, I know; but Monsieur le
+Commissaire is rather--rather--you know--they will wait until I see
+for myself where the error is. Yes, error, I'm sure."
+
+During this introduction the keen little fishy eyes searched the
+table, the floor, the walls, the cot in the corner whereon Massard now
+sat seriously erect, and, incidentally, every person in the room. They
+wound up this lightning tour of inspection by resting with the last
+equivocal sentence upon some object on the floor under the table.
+
+"Pardon me," he added, stepping briskly forward and grasping the lamp.
+
+He brought the light to bear upon the object which had appeared to
+fascinate him, the wondering eyes of the three students becoming
+riveted to the same spot.
+
+It was a wisp of light flaxen hair just tinted with gold.
+
+The inspector replaced the lamp upon the dissecting-table and examined
+the lock of hair. It was still moist, and there were distinct traces
+of blood where it had been cut off from the head.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The world of satisfaction in that ejaculation was not communicated to
+the students, who were speechless with astonishment.
+
+"Yes," said the inspector, as if he were continuing an unimportant
+conversation, "Monsieur le Commissaire is rather--rather--show me the
+rest of the place, please," and without waiting for formal permission
+proceeded, lamp in hand, on his own account.
+
+"So! One sleeps here?"
+
+"Occasionally, monsieur."
+
+He looked under the cot.
+
+"Then you must have the rest of the bed; where is it?"
+
+His quick eye had discovered the inconsistency of the mattress,--as,
+indeed, Massard himself had already done,--and his fertile brain
+jumped at once from cause to effect.
+
+"Probably to wrap the body in. Where's the sink?"
+
+In the little antechamber, redolent with the peculiar and
+indescribable odor of human flesh and its preservatives, was a long
+ice-chest, a big iron sink, an old-fashioned range, pots, pans,
+shelves with bottles, etc.
+
+Massard hurriedly opened the chest, as if half expecting to see a
+human body there.
+
+But Inspector Loup scarcely glanced at this receptacle for "subjects."
+His eyes sought and found the metal basin such as doctors use during
+operations.
+
+The basin was still wet, and minute spots of red appeared upon its
+rim. A sponge lay near. It had recently been soaked. The inspector
+squeezed the sponge over the basin and obtained water stained with
+red.
+
+"Blood," said he.
+
+"Blood!" echoed the alarmed students.
+
+"She's alive," said the inspector, more to himself than to his
+dumfounded auditors,--"alive, probably, else whoever brought her here
+would have kept her here."
+
+He returned abruptly to the other room, and depositing the lamp,
+turned to Lerouge,--
+
+"Were you expecting anybody else here to-night, monsieur?"
+
+"Why, yes; Jean Marot----"
+
+The possibility flashed upon the three young men at once, but it
+seemed too preposterous. The inspector had turned to the window and
+blown a shrill whistle.
+
+"Pardon me, young gentlemen, but I'll not disturb you any longer than
+I can help. What is Jean Marot's address? Good! I will leave you
+company. You will not mind? Dubat will entertain you. It is better
+than resting in the station-house, eh?"
+
+With this pleasantry Inspector Loup hurried away, snatched a cab, and
+was driven rapidly to the address in the Faubourg St. Honore.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jean Marot was the son of a rich silk manufacturer of Lyon, and
+therefore lived in more comfortable quarters than most students, in a
+fashionable neighborhood on the right bank of the Seine. He had
+reached his lodgings scarcely three-quarters of an hour before
+Inspector Loup. But in that time he had stampeded the venerable
+concierge, got his still unconscious burden to bed and fetched a
+surgeon. The concierge had protested against turning the house into a
+hospital for vagrant women; but Jean was of an impetuous nature, and
+wilful besides, and when he was told that the last vacant chamber had
+been taken that day, he boldly carried the girl to his own rooms and
+placed her in his own bed. And when the concierge had reported this
+fact to Madame Goutran, that excellent lady, who had officiated as
+Jean's landlady for the past four years, shrugged her shoulders in
+such an equivocal way that the concierge concluded that her best
+interests lay in assisting the young man as much as possible.
+
+Dr. Cardiac was not only one of the best surgeon-professors of the
+Ecole de Medecine but Jean's father's personal friend. The young man
+felt that he could turn to the great surgeon in this emergency, though
+the latter was an expert not in regular practice.
+
+    [Illustration: HIS STILL UNCONSCIOUS BURDEN]
+
+The appearance of Inspector Loup threw the Goutran establishment into
+a fever of excitement. The wrinkled old concierge who had declined
+to admit the stranger was ready to fall upon her knees before the
+director of the Secret Service. Madame Goutran hastened to explain why
+she had not reported the affair to the police department as the law
+required. She had not had time. It was so short a time ago that the
+case had been brought into her house,--in a few minutes she would have
+sent in the facts,--then, they expected every moment to ascertain the
+name of the young woman, which would be necessary to make the report
+complete.
+
+Madame Goutran hoped that it would not involve her lodger, Monsieur
+Jean Marot, who was an excellent young man, though impulsive. He
+should have had the girl sent to the hospital. It was so absurd to
+bring her there, where she might die, and in any case would involve
+everybody in no end of difficulties, anyhow.
+
+To a flood of such excuses and running observations Inspector Loup
+listened with immobile face, tightly closed lips, and wandering fishy
+eyes, standing in the corridor of the concierge lodge. He had not
+uttered a word, nor had he hurried the good landlady in her
+explanations and excuses. It was Inspector Loup's custom. He assumed
+the attitude of a professional listener. Seldom any one had ever
+resisted the subtle power of that silent interrogation. Even the most
+stubborn and recalcitrant were compelled to yield after a time; and
+those who had sullenly withstood the most searching and brutal
+interrogatories had broken down under the calm, patient,
+philosophical, crushing contemplation. Questions too often merely
+serve to put people on their guard,--to furnish a cue to what should
+be withheld.
+
+"And your lodger, madame?" he inquired, after Madame Goutran had run
+down, "can I see him?"
+
+"Certainly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Pardon! I have detained you too
+long."
+
+"Not at all, madame. One does not think of time in the presence of a
+charming conversationalist."
+
+"Oh, thank you, monsieur! This way, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."
+
+Inspector Loup gained the apartment of Jean Marot shortly after the
+united efforts of Dr. Cardiac and his amateur assistants had succeeded
+in producing decided signs of returning consciousness. The patient was
+breathing irregularly.
+
+The police official entered the chamber, and, after a silent
+recognition of those present, looked long and steadily at the slight
+figure on the bed.
+
+He then retired, beckoning Jean to follow him. Once in the petit
+salon, the inspector motioned the young man to a chair and looked him
+over for about half a minute. Whereupon Jean made a clean breast of
+what his listener practically already knew, and what he did not know
+had guessed.
+
+"Bring me her clothing," said the inspector, when Jean had finished.
+
+The young man brought the torn and soiled garments which had been
+removed from the girl.
+
+Inspector Loup examined them in a perfunctory way, but apparently
+discovered nothing beyond the fact that they were typical charity
+clothes, which Jean had already decided for himself.
+
+"Be good enough to ask Monsieur le Docteur to step in here a few
+moments at his leisure," he finally said.
+
+As soon as Jean had his back turned the inspector whipped out a knife,
+slit the lining of the bosom of the little dress, and taking therefrom
+the letter addressed to himself, noted at a glance that the seal was
+intact, tore it open, saw its contents and as quickly transferred the
+missive to his pocket.
+
+"Well, doctor," he gravely inquired, "how about your young patient?"
+
+"Uncertain, monsieur, but hopeful."
+
+"She will recover, then?"
+
+"I think so, but it will be some time. She must be removed to a
+hospital."
+
+"Yes, of course,--of course. But you will report to me where she is
+taken from here, Monsieur le Docteur?"
+
+"Oh, yes,--certainly. Though perhaps the girl's friends----"
+
+"She has no friends," said the inspector.
+
+"What! You know her, then?"
+
+"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"A nobody's child, eh?" asked the doctor.
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette is the child of the police," said Inspector
+Loup.
+
+He slowly retired down-stairs, through the court and passage-way,
+reaching the street. Then as he walked away he drew from his pocket
+the letter he had extracted from the little dress.
+
+"So! Sister Agnes is prompt and to the point. These Jesuitical
+associations are hotbeds of treason and intrigue! They are
+inconsistent with civil and religious liberty. We'll see!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+When Fouchette opened her eyes it was to see three strange faces at
+her bedside,--the faces of Dr. Cardiac, Jean Marot, and a professional
+nurse.
+
+But she had regained consciousness long before she could see, her eyes
+being in bandages, and had passively listened to the soft goings and
+comings and low conversations and whispered directions, without saying
+anything herself or betraying her growing curiosity.
+
+These sounds came to her vaguely and brokenly at first, then forced
+themselves on her attention connectedly. Surely she was not at Le Bon
+Pasteur! Then where was she? And finally the recollection of recent
+events rushed upon her, and her poor little head seemed to be on the
+point of bursting.
+
+Things finally appeared quite clear, until her eyes were free and she
+saw for the first time her new surroundings, when she involuntarily
+manifested her surprise.
+
+It certainly was not a hospital, as she had imagined the place. The
+sunny chamber, with its tastefully decorated walls hung with pictures,
+the foils over the door,--through which she saw a still more lovely
+room,--the voluptuous divan and its soft cushions, the heavy Turkish
+rugs, the rich damask hangings of her bed,--no; it certainly was not a
+hospital.
+
+It was the most beautiful room Fouchette had ever seen,--such as her
+fancy had allotted to royal blood,--at least to the nobility. To
+awaken in such a place was like the fairy tales Sister Agnes had read
+to her long ago.
+
+"Well, mademoiselle," said the old surgeon, cheerily, "we're getting
+along,--getting along, eh, Monsieur Marot?"
+
+"Admirably!" said Jean.
+
+Fouchette glanced from one to the other. The doctor she had long
+recognized by voice and touch; but this young man, was he the prince
+of this palace?
+
+The eyes of the pair rested upon each other for the moment
+inquiringly.
+
+Both Fouchette and Jean concluded this examination with a sigh.
+
+Fouchette had recognized in him the young man who marched by her side
+in the Place de la Concorde,--only a rioter. He could not live here.
+
+Jean Marot, who thought he had seen something in this girl besides her
+hair to remind him of the woman he loved, acknowledged himself in
+error. It had been a mere fancy,--he dismissed it.
+
+He turned away and stood looking gloomily into the street. But the
+young man saw nothing. He was thinking of the unfortunate turn of
+political events in France that had arrayed friend against friend,
+brother against brother.
+
+It was social revolution--anarchy!
+
+Now his friend Lerouge and he had quarrelled,--exchanged blows. They
+had wrangled before, but within the bounds of student friendship.
+Blows had now changed this friendship to hatred. Blows from those whom
+we love are hardest to forgive,--they are never forgotten.
+
+Yet it was not this friendship in itself that particularly concerned
+Jean Marot. Through it he had calculated on reaching something more
+vital to his happiness.
+
+Henri Lerouge had introduced him to Mlle. Remy. It was in the Jardin
+du Luxembourg. They had met but for a brief minute. The presentation
+had been coldly formal,--reluctant. Yet in that time, in the midst of
+the usual conventionalities, Jean had looked into a pair of soulful
+blue eyes that had smiled upon him, and Jean was lost.
+
+His hope of meeting her again lay in and through Lerouge,--and now
+they had quarrelled; and about a Jew!
+
+The fine blonde hair and slender figure of this girl--this "child of
+the police"--had reminded Jean of Mlle. Remy. She possessed the same
+kind of hair. It was this mental association that prompted him to
+carry the unknown to his own lodgings as described. This impulse of
+compassion and association was strengthened by his narrow escape from
+being her slayer. In fact, it was the best thing to have done under
+all the circumstances.
+
+Now that the causes and the impulse had disappeared together, he began
+to feel bored. The "child of the police" was in his way,--the police
+might look after her. Jean Marot had troubles of his own.
+
+As for Fouchette, she silently regarded the motionless figure at the
+window, wondering, thinking, on her part, of many things. When it had
+disappeared in the adjoining room she beckoned to the doctor.
+
+"The young man, Monsieur Marot?" she asked, feebly. "Is this his----"
+
+"It is his apartment, mademoiselle," the doctor anticipated.
+
+"Tell me----"
+
+"Monsieur Marot found you in the street near by, after the riot of the
+25th of October, and brought you here,--temporarily, you know."
+
+"Monsieur Marot is very good," she murmured.
+
+"Excellent young man!" said the doctor. "A trifle obstinate, but still
+a very excellent young man, mademoiselle."
+
+The girl was silent for a minute, as if lost in thought.
+
+"Is this his--his bedchamber, doctor?"
+
+"Yes, mademoiselle."
+
+"I must be moved," she said, promptly. "You understand? I must be
+removed at once. Take me to a hospital, please!"
+
+"Oh, don't excite yourself about it, my child. Soon enough--when you
+are able."
+
+"What day of the month is----"
+
+"This? The 5th of November."
+
+"Ten days! Ten days!"
+
+"Yes,--you have had a narrow call, mademoiselle."
+
+"And I owe my life to you, doctor."
+
+"To Monsieur Marot, mademoiselle."
+
+"Ah! but you----"
+
+"If it hadn't been for him I would never have seen you, child."
+
+He spoke very gently and in a subdued voice that reached only her ear.
+Another pause.
+
+"It is all the more important that I should not trouble him,--disturb
+him any longer than necessary. You understand?"
+
+"Very truly, mademoiselle," replied he; "very thoughtful of you,--very
+womanly. It does you credit, Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"What? You, then, know my name?"
+
+"Certainly." The doctor observed her surprise with a genial smile.
+
+"I am very grateful,"--that they should know her for what she was and
+yet have been so good to her moved her deeply,--"I am very grateful,
+monsieur. But how did you know it was me, Fouchette?"
+
+"Well, there is one man in Paris who knows you----"
+
+"Inspector Loup?" she asked, quickly.
+
+"Inspector Loup," said he.
+
+"And he knows where I am,--certainly, for he knows
+everything,--everything!"
+
+"Not quite, possibly, but enough."
+
+"I must see Inspector Loup, doctor; yes, I must see him at once. When
+was he here?"
+
+"Within the hour in which you were brought," said the doctor.
+
+He was not disposed to be communicative on the subject of the Secret
+Service, or about its director, having a healthy contempt for the
+system of official espionage deemed necessary to any sort of French
+government, Royalist, Napoleonic, or Republican. And he wondered what
+mysterious band could unite the interests of this charity child with
+the interests of the government of France.
+
+"Where are my clothes, doctor?" she suddenly inquired, half raising
+herself on her elbow.
+
+"Oh! la, la! Why, you can't go now! It is impossible! The inspector
+can come and see you here, can't he?"
+
+"But where are my clothes? Are they----"
+
+"They're here, all right."
+
+"Let me see them, please."
+
+"Very good; but don't get excited,--nobody will run away with them;
+bless my soul! Nobody has had them except--except the nurse and
+Inspector Loup."
+
+"He?"
+
+"Yes, mademoiselle,--for identification."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+Fouchette was nervous. She had been reminded of the letter by the
+first mention of the inspector's name. Had anybody found the letter?
+Was it there still? Supposing it had been lost! What was this letter,
+anyhow? It must be very important, or the senders would have mailed it
+in the regular way. She felt that she dared not betray its presence by
+pushing the demand for her clothing.
+
+"It is very curious, too," added the doctor, "how that man could
+identify you by means of clothing he had never before seen. He
+probably had information from where you came, with your description."
+
+"Y-yes, monsieur,--I----"
+
+Fouchette had never thought of that. It did not comfort her, as may
+well be imagined.
+
+"I'll speak to the nurse about the clothes----"
+
+"Pardon! but it is unnecessary, doctor. I only wanted to know if they
+were--were safe, you know. No; never mind. I thank you very much. I
+shall need them only when I am removed, which I hope will be soon."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Rue St. Jacques stands an old weather-stained, irregular pile
+of stone, inconspicuous in a narrow, crooked street lined with similar
+houses. The grim walls retreat from the first floor to the roof, in
+the monolithic style of the Egyptian tomb. Beneath the first floor is
+the usual shop,--a rotisserie patronized by the scholars of two
+centuries,--famed of Balzac, de Musset, Dumas, Hugo, and a myriad
+lesser pens.
+
+The other houses of the neighborhood are equally oblivious to modern
+opinion. They consent to lean against each other while jointly turning
+an indifferent face to the world, like a man about whose ugliness
+there is no dispute. No two run consecutively with the walks, and all
+together present a sky-line that paralyzes calculation.
+
+The historic street at this point is a lively market during the
+business day. Its sidewalks being only wide enough for the dogs to
+sun themselves without danger from passing vehicles, it is necessary
+for the passers to take that risk by walking in the roadway. Those
+who do not care to assume any risks go around by way of Rue
+Gay-Lussac,--especially after midnight, when the street enjoys its
+personal reputation. The Pantheon is just around the corner, and the
+ancient Sorbonne, Louis le Grand, and the College of France line the
+same street on the next block, and have stood there for some hundreds
+of years; but, all the same, timid people certainly prefer to reach
+them by a roundabout way rather than by this section of Rue St.
+Jacques.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had accepted a home in the Rue St. Jacques and in this
+particular building because other people did not wish to live there,
+which made rooms cheap.
+
+If you had cared to see what Mlle. Fouchette proudly called "home" you
+might have raised and let fall an old-fashioned iron knocker that sent
+a long reverberating roar down the tunnel-like entrance, to be lost in
+some hidden court beyond. Then a slide would slyly uncover a little
+brass "judas," disclosing a little, black, hard eye. Assuming that
+this eye was satisfied with you, the slide would be closed with a
+snap, bolts unshot, bars swung clear, and the heavy, iron-clamped door
+opened by a rascally-looking man whose blouse, chiefly, distinguished
+him from the race orang-outang.
+
+Once within, you would notice that the door mentioned was ribbed with
+wrought iron and that two lateral bars of heavy metal were used to
+secure it from within. It dates from the Reign of Terror.
+
+Having passed this formidable barrier, you would follow the tunnel to
+a square court paved with worn granite, enter a rear passage, and
+mount a narrow stone stairway, the steps of which are so worn as to
+leave an uncertain footing. If it happens to be in the night or early
+morning, the brass knobs in the centre of the doors will be ornamented
+with milk-bottles. There are four of these doors on every landing, and
+consequently four "appartements" on each floor; but as each wing seems
+to have been built in a different age from the others, and no two
+architects were able to accurately figure on reaching the same level,
+the effect is as uncertain as the stairs.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's "home" consisted of but a single square room
+fronting on the court by two windows with bogus balconies. The
+daylight from these windows showed a fireplace of immense size, and
+out of all proportion to the room, a bed smothered in the usual alcove
+by heavy curtains, a divan improvised from some ancient article of
+furniture, a small round table, and an easy-chair, and two or three
+others not so easy. There was one distinguished exception to the
+general effect of old age and hard usage, and this was a modern
+combination bureau, washstand, and dressing-table with folding mirror
+attachment, which when shut down was as demure and dignified as an
+upright piano.
+
+The effective feature of a place the entire contents of which might
+have been extravagantly valued at twenty-five dollars was the
+exquisite harmony of colors. This effect is common to French
+interiors, where there is also a common tendency to over-decoration.
+The harmony began in the cheap paper on the walls, extended to bed and
+window draperies, and ended in the tissue-paper lamp-shade that at
+night lent a softened, rhythmical tone to the whole. This genial color
+effect was a delicate suggestion of blue, and the result was a
+doll-like daintiness that was altogether charming.
+
+The autographic fan mania had left its mark over the divan in the
+shape of a gigantic fan constructed of little fans and opening out
+towards the ceiling. A few pen-and-ink and pencil sketches and
+studies, apparently the cast-off of many studios, were tacked up here
+and there. The high mantel bore an accumulation of odds and ends
+peculiar to young women of low means and cheap friendships. That was
+all. But a French girl can get the best results from a room, as she
+can from a hat, with the least money.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had reached all of this private magnificence through a
+singular concatenation of circumstances.
+
+_First_, Inspector Loup.
+
+That distinguished penologist had laid his hands upon Mlle. Fouchette
+in no uncertain way.
+
+An order of arrest was at this very moment lying in a certain
+pigeon-hole at the Prefecture. She had seen it. The name of "Mlle.
+Fouchette" appeared in the body thereof in big, fat, round letters,
+and a complete description, age, height, color of hair and eyes, and
+other particulars appeared across the back of this terrible paper,
+which was duly signed and ready for service.
+
+A tap of the bell,--a push of an electric button,--and Mlle. Fouchette
+would be in prison.
+
+There were five distinct counts against her, set forth in ponderous
+and damning legal phraseology and briefed alphabetically with a
+precision that carried conviction:
+
+"A.--Vagrant--no home--supposed to have come from Nantes.
+
+"B.--Consort of thieves--confession of life convict called 'le
+Cochon,' drawer 379, R.M.L. 29.
+
+"C.--Go-between of robbers of the wood of Vincennes and receivers of
+stolen goods. Confession of M. Podvin, wine merchant, now serving
+term of twenty-one years for highway robbery, drawer 1210, R.M.L. 70.
+
+"D.--Fugitive from State institution, where sent by lawful authority.
+See Le Bon Pasteur, Nancy. R.I. 2734.
+
+"E.--Lost or destroyed public document addressed to the Prefecture and
+confided to her care under her false representation of being an
+authorized agent of that department of the government."
+
+The service of this dreadful order of arrest, behind which crouched
+these crimes ready to rise and spring upon her, was suspended by
+Inspector Loup. For which tenderness and mercy Fouchette was merely to
+report to the Secret Service bureau in accordance with a preconcerted
+arrangement.
+
+_Second_, Madeleine.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had scarcely ceased to bless Inspector Loup for his
+forbearance and kind consideration and was crossing the Pont au Change
+towards the right bank when she encountered a familiar face. She was
+somewhat startled at first. Her catalogue of familiar faces was so
+limited that it was a sensation.
+
+It was the face she had seen through the iron gate on the road to
+Charenton long, long ago!
+
+Somewhat fuller, somewhat redder, with suspicious circles under the
+lustrous eyes, yet, unmistakably, the same face. The plump figure
+looked still more robust, and the athletic limbs showed through the
+scant bloomer bicycle suit.
+
+The owner of this face and figure did not recognize in the other the
+petite chiffonniere de Charenton. That would have been too much to
+expect.
+
+"Pardon! but, mademoiselle----"
+
+Fouchette boldly accosted her nevertheless.
+
+"Pardon! You don't remember me? I'm Fouchette!"
+
+"Fouchette?"
+
+"Yes, mademoiselle. You do not remember the poor little ragpicker of
+Charenton? But of course not,--it was long ago, and I have changed."
+
+The other stared at her with her big black eyes.
+
+"I was hungry,--you gave me a nice sandwich; it was kind,--and I do
+not easily forget, mademoiselle,--though I'm only Fouchette,--no!"
+
+"What! Fouchette--the--dame! it is impossible!"
+
+"Still, it is true, mademoiselle," insisted Fouchette, laughing.
+
+"Ah! I see--I know--why, it is Fouchette! 'Only Fouchette'--oh! sacre
+bleu! To think----"
+
+She embraced the girl between each exclamation, then held her out at
+arm's length and looked her over critically, from head to feet and
+back again, then kissed her some more on both cheeks, laughing merrily
+the while, and attracting the amused attention of numerous passers.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette realized, vaguely, that the laugh was not that of the
+pretty garden of years ago; she saw that the flushed cheeks were toned
+down by cosmetics; she noted the vinous smell on the woman's breath.
+
+"Heavens! but how thin and pale you are, petite!" exclaimed the
+bicycliste.
+
+"It is true. I have just come out of the hospital--only a few
+days----"
+
+"Pauvrette! Come! Let us celebrate this happy reunion," said the
+other, grasping Fouchette's arm and striding along the bridge. "You
+shall tell me everything, dear."
+
+"But, Mademoiselle--er----"
+
+"Madeleine,--just Madeleine, Fouchette."
+
+"Mademoiselle Madeleine----"
+
+"I live over here,--au Quartier Latin. It is the only place--the place
+to see life. It is Paris! C'est la vie joyeuse!"
+
+"Ah! then you no longer live at----"
+
+"Let us begin here, Fouchette," interrupted Mlle. Madeleine, gravely,
+"and let us never talk about Charenton,--never! It cannot be a
+pleasant subject to you,--it is painful to me."
+
+"Oh, pardon me, mademoiselle, I----"
+
+"So it is understood, is it not?"
+
+"With all my heart, mademoiselle!" said Fouchette, not sorry to
+conclude such a desirable bargain.
+
+"Very good. We begin here----"
+
+"Now."
+
+"Yes, and as if we had never before seen or heard of each other."
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"Good! Now, what are you doing for a living, Fouchette?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Good! So am I."
+
+They laughed quite a great deal at this remarkable coincidence as they
+went along. And when Mlle. Fouchette protested that she must do
+something,--sewing, or something,--Mlle. Madeleine laughed yet more
+loudly, though Mlle. Fouchette saw nothing humorous in the situation.
+
+"Nobody works in the Quartier Latin," said Madeleine. "C'est la vie
+joyeuse."
+
+"But one must eat, mademoiselle----"
+
+"Very sure! Yes, and drink; but----"
+
+Mlle. Madeleine scrutinized her companion closely,--evidently Mlle.
+Fouchette was in earnest. Such naivete in a ragpicker was absurd,
+preposterous!
+
+"Well, there are the studios," suggested Madeleine.
+
+"The--the studios?"
+
+"Yes,--the painters, you know; only models are a drug in the market
+here----"
+
+"Models?"
+
+"Yes; and, then, unless one has the figure----" she glanced at
+Fouchette doubtfully. "I'm getting too stout for anything but Roman
+mothers, Breton peasants, etc. You're too thin even for an angel or
+ballet dancer."
+
+"I'm sure I'd rather be a danseuse than an angel," said
+Fouchette,--"that is, if I've got any choice in the matter."
+
+"But one hasn't. You've got to pose in whatever character they want.
+Did you ever pose?"
+
+"As a painter's model? Never."
+
+Having ensconced themselves in a popular cafe restaurant on Boulevard
+St. Michel, the pair ordered an appetizing dejeuner, and Madeleine
+proceeded to enlighten Fouchette on the subject of the profession,--the
+character and peculiarities of various artists, their exactions of
+models, the recompense for holding a certain pose for a given time, the
+difficulty and art of resuming exactly the same pose, the studios for
+classes in the nude, the students generally and their pranks and
+games,--especially upon this latter branch of the business.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette listened to all this with breathless interest, as may
+be imagined. For it was the opening up of a new world to her. The
+vivid description of the dancing and fun at the Bal Bullier filled her
+with delight and enthusiasm. She mentally vowed Madeleine as charming
+and condescending as ever. The girl had volunteered, good-naturedly,
+to make the rounds of the studios with her and get her "on the list."
+When Madeleine offered to engineer Fouchette's debut at the Bullier
+the latter cheerfully paid for the repast the other had rather
+lavishly ordered.
+
+The mere chance rencontre had changed Fouchette's entire plan of life.
+She had bravely started for the grand boulevards with the idea of
+securing employment among the myriad dressmaking establishments of
+that neighborhood, and thus putting to practical use her industrial
+knowledge gained at Le Bon Pasteur.
+
+Fortunately for her, Monsieur Marot's generous liberality had placed
+her beyond immediate need. A matron had equipped her with a new though
+simple costume and had given her a sum of money as she left,--merely
+saying that she acted according to instructions; but Fouchette felt
+that it was from her prince.
+
+It was on the advice of Madeleine that Fouchette had secured this
+place in the Rue St. Jacques.
+
+"It will make you independent and respected," said the practical
+grisette. "You've got the money now; you won't have it after a while.
+Take my advice,--fix the place up,--gradually, don't you know? You'll
+soon make friends who will help you if you're smart; and one must have
+a place to receive friends, n'est-ce pas? And the hotels garnis rob
+one shamefully!"
+
+And, while Mlle. Fouchette did not dream of the real significance of
+this advice, she took it. The details were hers. She knew the value of
+a sou about as well as any woman in Paris, and no instructions were
+required on the subject of expenditures. She collected, piece by
+piece, at bottom prices, those articles which had to be purchased;
+made, stitch by stitch, such as required the needle.
+
+To Mlle. Fouchette the simple, cheaply furnished and somewhat tawdry
+little room in the Rue St. Jacques was luxury. She was proud of it.
+She was perfectly contented with it. It was home.
+
+With the confidence of one who has seen the worst and for whom every
+change must be for the better, Fouchette had succeeded where others
+would have been discouraged. This confidence to others often seemed
+reckless indifference, and consequently carried a certain degree of
+conviction.
+
+Among a certain class of wild young men and confirmed Bohemians
+Fouchette had quickly achieved a sort of vogue which attaches to an
+eccentric woman in Paris. She was eccentric in that she danced
+eccentric dances, was the most reckless in the sportive circle, the
+highest kicker at the Bullier, and, most of all, in that she had no
+lovers. Unlike the Mimi Pinsons of the Murger era of the quarter,
+Fouchette was the most notorious of grisettes without being a
+grisette. At the fete of the student painters at the Bullier she had
+been borne on a palanquin clad only in a garland of roses amid
+thousands of vociferous young people of both sexes. The same night she
+had kicked a young man's front teeth out for presuming on liberties
+other girls of her set would have considered trifling.
+
+Fouchette at once became the reigning sensation of "la vie joyeuse."
+Having had little or no pleasure in the world up to her entree here,
+she had plunged into the gayety of the quarter with an abandon that
+within two short months had made the Bohemian tales of Henri Murger
+tame reading.
+
+Her pedal dexterity in a quarrel had won for her the sobriquet of "La
+Savatiere."
+
+The "savate" as practised by the French boxer is the art of using the
+feet the same as the hands, and it is a means of offence not to be
+despised. It is the feline art that utilizes all four limbs in combat.
+Fouchette acquired it in her infancy,--in the fun and frequent
+scrimmages of the quarter she found occasion to practise it. Mlle.
+Fouchette's temper was as eccentric as her dances.
+
+On the wall of Mlle. Fouchette's room hung a rude crayon of that
+damsel by a prominent caricaturist. It was a front view of her face,
+in which the artist had maliciously accentuated, in a few bold
+strokes, the feline fulness of jaws, the half-contracted eyelids, the
+alert eyes, and general catlike expression,--to be seen only when
+Mlle. Fouchette was in anger. It was the subtle touch of the master,
+and was labelled "La Petite Chatte."
+
+"Ah, ce!" she would say to curious visitors,--"it is not me; it is the
+mind of Leandre."
+
+As Mlle. Fouchette stood tiptoeing before a little folding mirror on
+the high mantel, the reflection showed both front and sides of a face
+that betrayed none of these characteristics. In fact, the blonde hair,
+smoothed flat to the skull and draping low over the ears, after the
+fashion set by a popular actress of the day, gave her the demure look
+of a young woman who might shriek at the sight of a man in his
+shirt-sleeves. Which shows that it is exceedingly unsafe to judge by
+appearances,--of a woman, especially. The slender figure showed that
+the physical indications in the delicately rounded arm, the taper
+fingers, and shapely feet were justified by the proportionate
+development of the rest of her anatomy. Nature had been gentle rather
+than generous. Mlle. Fouchette was in demand for angels and ballet
+dancers.
+
+Her face, evidently, did not suit Mlle. Fouchette, since she was at
+this moment in the act of touching it up and making it over with
+colors from an enamelled box,--a trick of the Parisienne of every
+grade.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had scarcely put the finishing touches to her artistic
+job when her door vibrated under a vigorous blow.
+
+She paused, hesitated, flushed with symptoms of a rising temper. One
+does not feel kindly towards persons hurling themselves thus against
+one's private door. But the noise continued, as if somebody beat the
+heavy planking with the fist, and Mlle. Fouchette threw the door open.
+
+Mlle. Madeleine staggered into the room.
+
+"How's this? melon!"
+
+"Oh! so you're here,--you are not there!" gasped the intruder, falling
+into a seat and fixing her black eyes sullenly upon the other.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette closed the door with a snap and confronted her visitor
+with a hardening face.
+
+"I thought it was you, Fouchette!"
+
+"Madeleine, you're drunk!"
+
+"No, no, no, no! I have had such a--a--turn, deary,--pardon me! But
+she had the same figure,--the same hair,--mon Dieu!"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Oh! I don't know, Fouchette,--the woman with him, you know,--with
+Henri, Fouchette!"
+
+The speaker seemed overcome with mingled terror and anger. She stopped
+to collect her thoughts,--to get her breath.
+
+"What a fool you are, Madeleine! I wouldn't go on that way for the
+best man living! No!"
+
+And Fouchette thought of Jean Marot, and mentally included him.
+
+"Oh! Fouchette, dear, you do not know! You cannot know! You never
+loved! You cannot love! You are calm and cold and indifferent,--it is
+your nature. Mine! I am consumed by fire,--it grips my very vitals!
+Ah! Fouchette!"
+
+"Bah! Madeleine, it is absinthe," said Fouchette, only half
+pityingly.
+
+"No, no, no, no!" moaned the other, covering her face with her hands.
+
+"So this Lerouge has disappeared, eh? Well, then, let him go, fool!
+Are there not others?"
+
+"Mon Dieu! Fouchette, how you talk!"
+
+"Who is this lucky woman?"
+
+"I do not know,--I do not know! Pardon me for thinking it, Fouchette,
+but I was half crazy,--I thought but just now that it was--was you!"
+
+"Idiot!"
+
+"Yes, I know; but one does not stop to reason where one loves."
+
+"As if I would throw myself into the arms of any man! You sicken me,
+Madeleine. But I thought this Lerouge, whoever he is,--I never even
+saw him,--had disappeared----"
+
+"From his place in the Rue Monge, yes. Fouchette, why should he run
+away?"
+
+"With a girl he likes better than you? What a question! All men do
+that, you silly goose!"
+
+"He said it was his sister. Bah! I know better, Fouchette. Her name's
+Remy,--yes, Mademoiselle Remy. And a little, skinny, tow-headed thing
+like--oh! no, no, no! Fouchette, pardon me! I didn't mean that! I'm
+half crazy!"
+
+"I believe you," said Fouchette.
+
+"Yes, Monsieur Marot told me----"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had started so perceptibly that the speaker stopped.
+Mlle. Fouchette had carefully guarded her own secrets, but this sudden
+surprise was----
+
+"Well, melon!" she snapped.
+
+"I--why, I didn't know you----"
+
+"What did Monsieur Marot tell you?" demanded the other.
+
+"That her name was Remy."
+
+"Oh!" said Mlle. Fouchette, coldly.
+
+"So you know Monsieur Marot? They say he resembles Lerouge, but I
+don't think so. Anyhow, he's in love with Mademoiselle Remy."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's steel-blue eyes flashed fire.
+
+"You lie!" she screamed, in sudden frenzy. "You lie! you drunken
+gossip!"
+
+Mlle. Madeleine was on her feet in an instant, but Fouchette's right
+foot caught her on the point of the chin, and the stout grisette went
+down like a log.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Madeleine came to her senses to find her antagonist bending over her
+with a wet towel and weeping hysterically.
+
+They immediately embraced and wept together.
+
+Then Mlle. Fouchette rummaged in the deep closet in the wall and
+brought forth a bottle of cognac. Whereupon Madeleine not only
+suddenly dried her tears but began to smile. Half an hour later she
+had forgotten all unpleasantness and went away leaving many
+endearments behind her.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was scarcely less astonished at her own outburst than
+had been her friend Madeleine, when she had time to think of it.
+
+What could Jean Marot be to her, Fouchette? Nothing.
+
+Suppose he did love this Mlle. Remy, what of it? Nothing.
+
+Monsieur Marot was a being afar off, inaccessible, almost
+intangible,--like the millionaire employer to his humble workman,
+covered with sweat and grime, at the bottom of the shop.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette thought of him it was only in that way, and she
+would have no more thought of even so much as wishing for him than she
+would have wished for the moon to play with. She had met him, by
+accident, twice since her departure from his roof, and the first time
+he had a hurried, uneasy air, as if he feared she might presume to
+detain him. The second time he had gone out of his way to stop her and
+talk to her and to inquire what she was doing and how she was getting
+along,--condescendingly, as one might interest himself for the moment
+in a former servant.
+
+In the mean time Jean Marot had held himself aloof from "la vie
+joyeuse" and from the reunions at "Le Petit Rouge." It attracted the
+attention of his associates.
+
+"First Lerouge, now it's Jean," growled Villeroy. "Comes of loafing
+along the quais nights,--it's malaria."
+
+"He's greatly changed," remarked another student.
+
+"It's worry," said another.
+
+"Probably debts," observed young Massard, thinking of his chief
+affliction.
+
+"Bah! that kind of worry never pulls you down like this," retorted a
+companion.
+
+"Now, don't get personal; but debts do worry a fellow,--debts and
+women."
+
+"Put women first; debts follow as a necessary corollary."
+
+"He ought to hunt up Lerouge. What the devil is in that Lerouge,
+anyhow?"
+
+"More women," said Massard.
+
+"And debts, eh?"
+
+"Oh, well," continued Massard, "if she is a pretty woman----"
+
+"She's more than pretty," cut in George Villeroy,--"she's a beauty!"
+
+"Hear! hear! Tres bien!"
+
+But the student turned to the "subject" on the "dressing-table,"
+humming a gay chanson of Musset:
+
+    "'Nous allons chanter a la ronde,
+      Si vous voulez.
+    Que je l'adore, et qu'elle est blonde
+      Comme les bles!'"
+
+"A man never should neglect his lectures for anything, and that's what
+both Lerouge and Jean are doing," remarked a serious young man,
+looking up from his book.
+
+"Yes, and the first thing our comrade Marot will know, he'll be
+recalled by his choleric father. He's taken to absinthe, too----"
+
+"Which is worse."
+
+"_The_ worst----"
+
+"And prowling----"
+
+"And moping off alone."
+
+"What's the lady's name?"
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"What! the wild, untamed----"
+
+"La Savatiere? Nonsense!"
+
+"Here's a lock of her hair in evidence," remarked Massard, going to a
+drawer and taking out a bit of paper. "It is as clear to my mind as it
+was to the police that Monsieur Marot had that girl, or some other
+like her, up here that night."
+
+"Let me see that," said Villeroy.
+
+"I found it on the floor the next day,--the inspector took away quite
+a bunch of it," continued the young man, as the other examined the
+lock.
+
+"There are two women who have hair like that," said
+Villeroy,--"Fouchette and the girl who goes with Lerouge. Now, which
+is it?"
+
+"Her name is Remy,--Mademoiselle Remy," observed Massard; "and, as
+George says, she's a beauty----"
+
+"Which cannot be said of La Savatiere."
+
+"No; and yet----"
+
+"Lerouge keeps his beauty mighty close," interrupted Massard. "I never
+saw her but once, and she reminded me of that little devil, Fouchette,
+who stands in with the police, or she would have been locked up a
+dozen times."
+
+"Very likely," observed Villeroy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was now Mardi Gras, and the whole Ville Lumiere was en fete. The
+left bank of the Seine, the resort of nearly twenty thousand students,
+was especially joyous.
+
+There was one young man, however, who chose to be alone, and he stood
+apart from the world, leaning over the worn parapet of the Pont Neuf,
+gazing idly on the rushing waters of the Seine.
+
+Jean Marot loved the noble span that for more than three hundred years
+had connected the ancient Isle de la Cite with the mainland. A long
+line of kings, queens, emperors, princes, princesses, and noblemen of
+every degree had lived and passed the Pont Neuf. Royal knights, stout
+men-at-arms, myriads of mailed warriors and citizen soldiers,
+countless multitudes of men and women, had come and gone above these
+massive stone arches of three centuries.
+
+Yet the young man thought not of these. His mind was occupied by one
+little, slender, fair-haired woman, and that one unattainable. Had he
+analyzed his new mental condition, he might have marvelled that the
+little winged god could have aimed so straight and let fly so
+unexpectedly. True love, however, does not come of reasoning, but
+rather in spite of it. And, to do Jean's Latin race justice, he never
+thought of doing such a thing, and thus spared his love being reduced
+to a palpable absurdity. The bronze shadow of that royal Latin lover,
+Henri IV., looked down upon the modern Frenchman approvingly.
+
+A sharp shower of confetti and the laughter of young girls roused the
+young man from his revery and brought his thoughts down to date.
+
+"Monsieur has forgotten that Boulevard St. Michel is en fete," said a
+rich contralto voice behind him.
+
+He turned to receive a handful of confetti dashed smartly in his face
+and to look into a pair of bold black eyes.
+
+"Mon Dieu! It is Monsieur Marot!"
+
+"Hello! Madeleine,--you, Fouchette?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur," replied the latter gayly. "And you,--is it a day to
+dream of casting one's self into the Seine?"
+
+Meanwhile, the object of this raillery was busily extracting bits of
+colored paper from his eyebrows and neck,--a wholly useless
+proceeding, for both girls immediately deluged him with a fresh
+avalanche.
+
+Madeleine was in her costume a la bicyclette, her sailor hat tipped
+forward to such a degree that it was necessary for her to elevate her
+stout chin in order to see anything on a level. Mlle. Fouchette
+affected the clinging, fluffy style of costume best suited to her
+figure, while her rare blonde hair a la Merode was her distinguishing
+feature. She dominated the older and stouter girl as if the latter
+were an irresponsible junior.
+
+Jean Marot knew very well the type of grisette indigenous to the
+Quartier Latin.
+
+The day justified all sorts of familiarity, and his black velvet beret
+and flowing black scarf were an invitation to fraternity, good
+fellowship, and confidence.
+
+Both young women were in high spirits and carried in bags of fancy
+netting with tricolor draw-strings their surplus stock of confetti,
+and an enormous quantity of the surplus stock of other manifestants in
+their hair and clothing. As fast as Jean picked out the confetti from
+his neck Mlle. Madeleine playfully squandered other handfuls on him,
+winding up by covering the young man with the entire contents of her
+bag at a single coup.
+
+"Ah! Madeleine!"
+
+"Monsieur will buy us some more," replied that young woman.
+
+"How foolish!" said Mlle. Fouchette, affecting a charming modesty. She
+had a way of cocking her fair head to one side like a bird.
+
+"Never mind, mes enfants," said Jean. "Come along."
+
+The three linked arms and passed off the bridge and up the Rue
+Dauphine and Rue de Monsieur le Prince for Boulevard St. Michel, the
+lively young women distributing confetti in liberal doses and taking
+similar punishment in utmost good humor, Jean not sorry for the time
+being at finding this temporary distraction. He had generously
+replenished the pretty bags from the first baraque, though they were
+quickly emptied again in the narrow Rue de Monsieur le Prince, where a
+hot engagement between students and "filles du quartier" was in
+progress.
+
+Mlle. Madeleine was fairly choking with laughter. She had just caught
+a young man with his mouth open, by a trick of the elbow; and as he
+mutely sputtered confetti her petite blonde companion caught her long
+skirt aside and kicked his hat off. This "coup de pied" was
+administered with such marvellous grace and dexterity that even the
+victim joined in the roar of laughter that followed it. A thin smile
+spread over her pale face as Jean looked at her.
+
+"La Savatiere,--bravo!" cried a youth.
+
+"C'est le lapin du Luxembourg," said another.
+
+"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."
+
+"There, monsieur," remarked Fouchette, slyly, "you see I'm getting
+known in the quarter."
+
+"I don't wonder," said Jean, laughing.
+
+They found seats beneath the awnings at the Taverne du Pantheon. The
+rain of confetti was getting to be a deluge. He asked them what they
+would have.
+
+"Un ballon, garcon," said Mlle. Fouchette, promptly.
+
+This designated a small glass of beer, served in a balloon-shaped
+glass like a large claret glass.
+
+Madeleine also would take "un ballon," Jean contenting himself with
+the usual "bock,"--an ordinary glass of beer.
+
+Each covered the beer with the little saucer, to protect it from the
+occasional gust of confetti that even found its way to the extreme
+rear of the half a hundred sidewalk sitters.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had been studying the young man from the corners of
+her eyes. She saw him greatly changed. His handsome face betrayed
+marks of worry or dissipation,--she decided on the latter. What could
+a young man in his enviable position have to worry about? Was it
+possible that----
+
+"Monsieur," she began at once, with the air of an ingenue, "they say
+you strongly resemble one Lerouge,--that you are often taken one for
+the other. Is it so?"
+
+He glanced at her inquiringly, while Madeleine patted the ground with
+her foot.
+
+"Have you ever seen Henri Lerouge?" he asked.
+
+"No, never," replied Fouchette.
+
+"Does he look like me, Madeleine?"
+
+"Not much, monsieur," responded that damsel. "Have you seen him,--have
+you seen Lerouge lately?"
+
+"No,--no," said he.
+
+"From what I learn," remarked Mlle. Fouchette, with a precision and
+nonchalance that defied suspicion, "Monsieur Lerouge is probably off
+in some sweet solitude unknown to vulgar eye enjoying his honeymoon."
+
+Madeleine shot one furious glance at the speaker; but not daring to
+trust her tongue, she suddenly excused herself and disappeared in the
+throng.
+
+Jean saw that she had been cut to the quick, and her abrupt action
+served for the moment to dull the pain at his own heart. He concealed
+his resentment at this malicious--but, after all, this "child of the
+police" could not know. He shifted the talk to Madeleine.
+
+"You seem to have offended her, mademoiselle."
+
+"Bah! Madeleine is that jealous----"
+
+"What? Lerouge?"
+
+"Of Lerouge. Can't you see?"
+
+"No,--that is, I didn't know that she had anything in common with
+Lerouge."
+
+"Ah, ca! When she flies into a rage at the mention of him and another
+woman? Monsieur is not gifted with surprising penetration."
+
+"But Mademoiselle Madeleine is rather a handsome girl," he observed,
+tentatively. While he mentally resolved not to be robbed of his own
+secret he was not averse to gaining any information this girl might
+possess.
+
+"Perhaps," said she,--"for those who admire the robust style. But you
+should see the other; she's an angel!"
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+It was hard to put this in a tone of indifference, and he felt her
+eyes upon him.
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"I'd like to see her. You know angels are not to be seen every day."
+
+"Monsieur Lerouge can be trusted, I suppose, to render these visions
+as fleeting and rare as possible."
+
+He winced perceptibly.
+
+"But Madeleine has magnificent eyes," he suggested.
+
+"This other has the eyes of heaven, monsieur."
+
+"And as for figure----"
+
+"Chut! monsieur is joking,--the form of a Normandie nurse!
+Mademoiselle Remy is the sculptor's dream!"
+
+Jean Marot laughed. This unstinted praise of the girl who had
+fascinated him,--who had robbed him of his rest,--who had without an
+effort, and unconsciously, taken possession of his soul,--it was
+incense to him. Truly, Mlle. Fouchette had an artistic eye,--a most
+excellent judgment. It extracted the sting----
+
+"Yes," continued Mlle. Fouchette, looking through him as if he were so
+much glass, "a great artist said to me the other day----"
+
+"Pardon! but, mademoiselle, does your new beauty,--the 'sculptor's
+dream,' you know,--does she do the studios of the quarter?"
+
+"No! Why should she?"
+
+He was silent. Would she have another drink?
+
+"Thanks! Un ballon, garcon," repeated Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+They looked at the crowd in silence for a while.
+
+The scene was inspiriting. With the shades of evening the joyous
+struggle waxed more furious. The entire street was now taken up by the
+merrymakers, who made the air resound with their screams and shrieks
+of laughter. The confetti lay three or four inches deep on the walks,
+where street gamins slyly scraped it into private receptacles for
+second use. The haze of dust hung over the broad Boulevard St. Michel
+like a morning fog over a swamp. Mlle. Fouchette watched the scene for
+a few minutes without a word. Both were thinking of something else.
+
+"She'll soon get over it, never fear."
+
+"I suppose so," he said, knowing that she still spoke of Madeleine,
+and somewhat bored at her reappearance in the conversation.
+
+"A woman does not go on loving a man who never cares for her,--who
+loves another."
+
+"'Loves another,'" he repeated, absently.
+
+"But if Madeleine meets them just now,--oh! look out, monsieur! She's
+a tiger!"
+
+He shuddered. He was unable to stand this any longer; he rose
+absent-mindedly and, with scant courtesy to the gossipper,
+incontinently fled.
+
+"Ah! what a handsome fellow he is! Yet he is certainly a fool about
+women. A pig like Madeleine! But, then, all men are fools when it
+comes to a woman."
+
+With this bit of philosophy Mlle. Fouchette buried her dainty nose in
+the last "ballon." She quenched a rising sigh by the operation. For
+some reason she was not quite happy. As she withdrew it her face
+suddenly became all animation.
+
+"Ah!" she muttered, "I'd give my last louis now if that melon,
+Madeleine, could only see that."
+
+Directly in front of her and not ten feet distant a young man and a
+young girl slowly forced a passage through the conflicting currents of
+boisterous people. The man was anywhere between twenty-five and
+thirty, of supple figure, serious face, and sombre eyes that lighted
+up reluctantly at all of this frivolity. It was only when they were
+turned upon the sweet young face of the girl at his side that they
+took on a glow of inexpressible sweetness.
+
+"Truly!" said Mlle. Fouchette to herself, "but she is something on my
+style."
+
+Which is perhaps the highest compliment one woman can pay another. It
+meant that her "style" was quite satisfactory,--the right thing. Yet
+Mlle. Fouchette really needed some fifty pounds of additional flesh to
+get into the same class.
+
+If the rippling laughter, the shining azure of her eyes, the
+ever-changing expression of her mobile mouth, and now and then the
+rapt look bestowed upon her companion were indications, she certainly
+was a happy young woman. Her right hand rested upon his arm, her left
+shielded her face from the too fierce onslaughts of confetti. Neither
+of them took an active part in the fun. That, however, did not deter
+the young men from complimenting her with a continuous shower of
+confetti. The girl laughingly shook it out of her beautiful blonde
+hair.
+
+"Allons donc! She has my hair, too!" thought Mlle. Fouchette. It is
+impossible not to admire ourselves in others.
+
+With the excitement of an unaccustomed pleasure mantling her neck and
+cheeks the girl was certainly a pretty picture. The plain and simple
+costume was of the cut of the provinces rather than that of Paris, but
+it set off the lithe and graceful figure that needed no artificiality
+of the dressmaker to enforce its petite perfection.
+
+"That must be Lerouge," thought Mlle. Fouchette. "He does look
+something like--no; it is imagination. He is not nearly so handsome as
+Monsieur Marot. But she is sweet!"
+
+The couple were forced over against the chairs by the crowd and Mlle.
+Fouchette got a good look at them. The eyes of Mlle. Remy met
+hers,--they sought the face of her companion, and returned and rested
+curiously upon Mlle. Fouchette. The glance of her escort followed in
+the same direction. And even after they had passed he half turned
+again and looked back at the girl sitting alone amid the crowd under
+the awning.
+
+Jean Marot had plunged into the throng to try and shake off the
+unpleasant suggestions of Mlle. Fouchette. While he felt instinctively
+the feminine malice, it was none the less bitter to his taste. It was
+opening a wound afresh and salting it. He felt that the idea suggested
+by "La Savatiere" was intolerable,--impossible. He paced up and down
+alone in the Luxembourg gardens until retreat was sounded. Then he
+re-entered the boulevard by the Place de Medicis, dodged a bevy of
+singing grisettes in male attire, to suddenly find himself face to
+face with the object of his thoughts.
+
+How beautiful, and sweet and pure and innocent she looked! The
+laughing eyes, the profusion of hair with its tint of gold, now
+sparkling with confetti, the two rows of pearls between their rich
+rims of red,--it surely was an angel from the skies and not a woman
+who stood before him! And his knees trembled with the desire to let
+him to the earth at her feet.
+
+The young girl regarded him first in semi-recognition, then with blank
+astonishment,--as well she might. She shrank closer to her protector.
+
+Henri Lerouge had at first looked at his former friend with a dark and
+scowling face; but Jean had seen only the girl, and therefore failed
+to note the expression of satisfaction that swiftly succeeded.
+
+"Pardon! but, monsieur, even Mardi Gras does not excuse a boor." And
+Lerouge somewhat roughly elbowed him to one side.
+
+The insult from Lerouge was nothing. Jean never thought of that. She
+had come, she had ignored him, she had gone,--the woman he loved!
+
+He stood speechless for a moment, then staggered away, his self-love
+bleeding.
+
+Unconsciously he had taken the direction they had gone, slowly groping
+his way rather than walking, next to the iron fence of the Luxembourg
+gardens, past the great School of Mines, along the Boulevard St. Michel
+towards the Observatory. Like a drunken man he stuck close to the walls,
+and thus crossed the obtuse angle into Rue Denfert-Rocherau. Hesitating
+at the tomb-like buildings that mark the entrance to the catacombs at
+the end of that street, he leaned against the great wrought-iron grille
+and tried to collect his thoughts.
+
+He remembered now; this was where he had gone down one day to view the
+rows and stacks of boxes and vaults of mouldering bones. Yes, he even
+recalled the humorous idea of that day that there were more Parisians
+beneath the pavements of Paris than above them, and that they slept
+better o' nights.
+
+The cold wind stirred the branches, and they grated against the fence
+with a dismal, sighing sound.
+
+"Loves another!"
+
+Was it not that which it said?
+
+"Loves another!" in plain and well-measured cadence.
+
+And the word "l-o-v-e-s" was long and sorrowfully drawn out, and
+"another" came sharply decisive.
+
+He wandered on, aimlessly, yet in the general direction of Montrouge.
+Fouchette,--yes, she had told the truth. He--where was he?
+
+The streets up here were practically deserted, the entire population,
+apparently, having gone to the boulevards. Here and there some
+rez-de-chaussee aglow showed the usual gossippers of the concierges.
+Now and then isolated merrymakers were returning, covered with
+confetti, having exhausted themselves and the pleasures of the day
+together.
+
+Rue Halle,--he remembered now, though he scarcely noted it.
+
+All at once his heart gave a bound. His mind came down to vulgar
+earth. It was at the sight of a solitary woman who sped swiftly round
+the corner from the Avenue d'Orleans and came towards him. Her stout
+figure between him and the electric light cast a long shadow down the
+street,--the shadow of a woman in bloomer costume, with a hat perched
+forward at an angle of forty-five degrees.
+
+It was Mlle. Madeleine.
+
+What could she be doing here at this hour,--she, who lived in Rue
+Monge?
+
+Before he could answer this question she was almost upon him. But she
+was so absorbed in her own purposes that she saw him not, merely
+turning to the right up the Rue Halle with the quick and certain step
+of one who knows. Her black brows were set fiercely, and beneath them
+the big dark eyes glittered dangerously. Her full lips were tightly
+compressed; in the firmness of her tread was a world of determination.
+
+Jean had obtained a good view of her face as she crossed the street,
+and he shuddered. For in it he saw reflected the state of his own
+tempestuous soul. He had read therein his own mind distempered by love
+and doubt and torn by jealousy, disappointment, and despair.
+
+He recalled the warning of Mlle. Fouchette, and he trembled for the
+woman he loved. Well he comprehended the French character where love
+and hatred are concerned.
+
+At Rue Bezout the girl turned to the left, crossed over, and ran
+rather than walked towards Avenue Montsouris. Jean ran until he
+reached the corner, then cautiously peeped around it. Had he not done
+so he would have come upon her, for she had stopped within two metres
+and fumbled nervously with a package. He could hear her panting and
+murmuring in her deep voice. She tore the string from the package with
+her teeth and threw the paper wrapper on the ground.
+
+It was a bottle of bluish liquid.
+
+His heart stood still as he saw it; his legs almost failed him. If he
+had seen the intended victim of this diabolical design approaching at
+that moment he felt that he would scarcely have the strength to cry
+out in warning, so overwhelmed was he with the horror of it.
+
+What should he do? Would they come this way, or by Montsouris? He
+might fall upon her suddenly,--overpower her where she stood!
+
+Jean softly peeped once more around the angle of the wall. She was
+trying to extract the cork from the bottle with a pair of tiny
+scissors, but, being half frantic with haste and passion, she had only
+broken one point after the other.
+
+A sweet and silvery laugh behind him sent his heart into his throat.
+It was Lerouge and Mlle. Remy coming leisurely along the Rue Halle. It
+was now or----
+
+But a second glance over his shoulder showed that they had turned down
+the narrow Rue Dareau. Madeleine had made a mistake.
+
+Almost at the same instant a piercing shriek of agony burst upon the
+night. The scream seemed to split his ears, so near was it, so deep
+the pain and terror of it.
+
+And there lay the miserable woman writhing on the walk, tearing out
+great wisps of her dark hair in her intolerable suffering, and filling
+the air with heart-rending cries of distress.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Jean Marot was not, as has been seen, an extraordinary type of his
+countrymen. Sensitive, sympathetic, impulsive, passionate, extreme in
+all things, he embodied in method and temperament the characteristics
+of his race.
+
+His first impulse upon realizing what had befallen the misguided girl
+of Rue Monge was the impulse common to humanity. But as he flew to her
+succor he saw others running from various directions, attracted by her
+cries and moved by the same motive.
+
+To be found there would not only be useless but dangerous,--for the
+girl as well as for himself. Therefore he discreetly took to his
+heels.
+
+Flight at such a moment is confession of guilt. So it followed quite
+naturally that a comprehension of what had happened sent a
+considerable portion of the first-comers after the fleeing man.
+
+"Assassin!"
+
+"Vitrioleur!"
+
+"Stop him!"
+
+These are very inspiring cries with a clamorous French mob to howl
+them. To be caught under such circumstances is to run imminent risk of
+summary punishment. And the vitriol-thrower is not an uncommon feature
+of Parisian criminal life; there would be little hesitation where one
+is caught, as it were, red-handed.
+
+Jean ran these possibilities through his mind as he dashed down a side
+street into the Avenue Montsouris. Fear did not exactly lend him
+wings, but it certainly did not retard his flight. And he had the
+additional advantage that he was not yelling at every jump and lost no
+time in false direction. He doubled by way of Rue Dareau, cut into Rue
+de la Tombe-Issoire over the net-work of railway tracks, and then
+dropped into a walk. But not so soon that he escaped the observation
+of a police agent standing in the shadow in the next narrow turning
+towards the railway station. The officer heard his panting breath long
+before Jean got near him, and rightly conjectured that the student was
+running away from something. To detain him for an explanation was an
+obvious duty.
+
+"Well, now! Monsieur seems to be in a hurry," said he, as he suddenly
+stepped in front of the fugitive.
+
+This official apparition would have startled even a man who was not in
+a hurry, but Jean quickly recovered his self-possession.
+
+"Yes, monsieur; I go for a doctor. A sick----"
+
+"Pardon! but you have just passed the hospital. That won't do, young
+man!"
+
+The agent made a gesture to seize his suspect, but at that moment Jean
+saw two other agents in the distance walking rapidly to join their
+comrade. He upper-cut the man sharply, catching him squarely on the
+point of the chin and sending him to grass with a mangled and bleeding
+tongue.
+
+There appeared to be no help for it, but the young man now had two
+fresh pursuers. At any rate, he was free. It would be to his shame, he
+thought, if he could not distance two men in heavy cowhide boots,
+encumbered with cloaks and sabres. So he started down the Rue de la
+Tombe-Issoire with a lead of some two hundred yards. He saw lights and
+a crowd and heard music in the Place St. Jacques, and knew that he was
+saved.
+
+The Place St. Jacques was en fete. A band-stand occupied the spot long
+sacred to the guillotine, up to its last removal to La Roquette. The
+immediate neighborhood of Place St. Jacques would have preferred the
+guillotine and an occasional execution as a holiday enjoyment, but
+next to witnessing the sanguinary operation of the "national razor," a
+dance was the popular idea of amusement. And the Parisian populace
+must be amused. The government considers that a part of its duty, and
+encourages the "bal du carrefour" by the erection of stands and
+providing music at the general expense. It was the saturnine humor of
+Place St. Jacques to dance where men lost their heads. However, it
+would be difficult to find a street crossing in Paris big enough to
+dance in that had not been through the centuries soaked with human
+blood.
+
+It was a little fresher in Place St. Jacques, that was all.
+
+The band-stand being on the exact place marked in the stone pavement
+for the guillotine, it gave a sort of peculiar piquancy to the
+occasion. While the proprietors of the adjacent wine-shops and "zincs"
+grumbled at the new order of things, the young people were making the
+best of Mardi Gras in hilarious fashion.
+
+Though Place St. Jacques presented a lively scene beneath its
+scattered lights, it was one common enough to Jean Marot, who now only
+saw in the romping crowd and spectators the means of shaking off his
+police pursuers. Among the hundred dancers he made his way to the most
+compact body of lookers-on, where the indications were that something
+unusually interesting was in progress. Here the blown condition of a
+student would not be noticed.
+
+Yells of delight from those in his immediate vicinity awoke his
+curiosity to see what was the particular attraction. At the end of the
+figure this expression grew enthusiastic.
+
+"Bravo! bravo!" came in chorus.
+
+"Tres bien! tres bien!"
+
+"It is well done, that!"
+
+"Yes,--it is the Savatiere!"
+
+Jean was startled for the instant, since it brought vividly back to
+him the beginning of his bitter day.
+
+So it was Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+She made, with another girl of her set, a part of a quadrille, and the
+pair were showing off the agile accomplishments of the semi-professionals
+of the Bullier and Moulin Rouge. These consisted of kicking off the
+nearest hats, doing the split, the guitar act, the pointed arch, and
+similar fantasies. Having forced his way in, Jean was instantly
+recognized by Mlle. Fouchette, who shook the confetti out of her blonde
+hair at every pose. Then, as she executed a pigeon-wing on his corner,
+she whispered,--
+
+"Hold, Monsieur Jean,--wait one moment!"
+
+"Will monsieur be good enough to take my place for the last figure?"
+
+Her partner, a thin, serious-looking young man, had approached Jean
+hat in hand and addressed him with courtly politeness.
+
+Jean protested with equal politeness,--yet the offer served his turn
+admirably,--no! no!--and the mademoiselle, monsieur?
+
+"Come, then!" cried that damsel, as the last figure began, and she
+seized Jean by the arm and half swung him into position.
+
+The polite monsieur immediately disappeared in the crowd.
+
+The French are born dancers. There are young Frenchmen here who would
+be the admiration of the ballet-master. Frenchmen dance for the pure
+love of motion. They prefer an agile partner of the softer sex, but it
+is not essential,--they will dance with each other, or even alone, and
+on the pavements of Paris as well as on the waxed floor of a
+ball-room.
+
+Jean Marot was, like many students of the Quartier Latin, not only a
+lover of Terpsichore, but proficient in the art of using his legs for
+something more agreeable than running. There were difficult steps and
+acrobatic feats introduced by Mlle. Fouchette which he could execute
+quite as easily and gracefully. And thus it happened that the young
+man who three minutes before had been fleeing the police was now swept
+away into the general frivolity of Place St. Jacques. In fact, he had
+already absolutely forgotten that he had come there a fugitive.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had just joyously challenged him to make the "arc aux
+pieds" with her,--which is to pose foot against foot in midair while
+the other dancers pass beneath,--when Jean noticed a keen-eyed police
+agent looking at him attentively.
+
+    [Illustration: SHE SEIZED JEAN BY THE ARM]
+
+"Look out!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, impatiently, and up went his
+foot against the neat little boot, and the other six passed merrily
+beneath.
+
+When he had finished the figure there were three agents, who whispered
+together earnestly; but they made no effort to molest him. His alibi
+stood.
+
+Nevertheless the police agents openly followed the couple as they
+walked down the Rue St. Jacques. He saw there was no attempt at
+concealment.
+
+"How, then, monsieur!" cried the girl, banteringly; "still thinking of
+Madeleine?"
+
+Jean shivered. Poor Madeleine!
+
+"What a fool a girl is to run after a man who doesn't care for her!"
+
+"And when a man runs after a girl who doesn't care for him?" he asked,
+half seriously.
+
+"Oh, then he's worse than a fool woman,--he's a man, monsieur."
+
+They reached her neighborhood.
+
+"Come up, monsieur, will you? It is but a poor hospitality I can
+offer, but an easy-chair and a pipe are the same everywhere, n'est-ce
+pas?"
+
+"Good!" said he. "I'll accept it with all my heart, mademoiselle."
+
+Jean had again noted the police agents, and he mentally concluded to
+let them wait a bit. Besides, he was very tired.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette had arranged her shaded lamp, drawn up the
+easy-chair and settled the young man in it, she flung her hat on the
+bed and bustled about to get some supper. She pulled out a small round
+oil-stove and proceeded to light the burners. He looked at her
+inquiringly.
+
+"It is Poupon," said she.
+
+"Oh! it's Poupon, is it?"
+
+"Yes. It's a darling, isn't she?"
+
+"It--she--is."
+
+"You see, when I want a cup of tea, there!"
+
+She removed the ornamental top with a flourish. Under it was a single
+griddle. Mlle. Fouchette regarded the domestic machine with great
+complacency, her blonde head prettily cocked on one side.
+
+"It certainly is convenient," said Jean, feeling that some comment was
+demanded of him.
+
+"When I cook I put it in the chimney."
+
+"But you have other fire in winter?"
+
+"Fire? Never! Wood is too dear,--and then, really, one goes to the
+cafes every night, and to the studios every day. They roast one at the
+studios, because of the models."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur," she went on. "Now, Poupon is most generally a
+warm-hearted little thing, and then one can go to bed, in a pinch. And
+I can have tea, or coffee, or hot wine. Do you like hot wine,
+monsieur? With a bit of lemon it is very good. And look here," she
+continued rapidly, without giving him time to say anything, "it is
+quite snug and comfortable, is it not?"
+
+She had thrown open a door next to the mantel and proudly exploited a
+cupboard containing various bits of china and glassware. The cupboard
+was in the wall and closed flush with the latter, the door being
+covered with the same paper. There were a few cooking utensils below.
+
+"Yes, to be sure, mademoiselle, it is all very nice indeed," said he,
+"but--but have you got a bit to eat anywhere about the place?"
+
+"Oh, pardon, monsieur! Oh, yes! Have we anything to eat, Poupon?
+Monsieur shall see."
+
+She pinned up her skirt in a business-like manner, grabbed the little
+oil-stove, and placed it in the fireplace.
+
+Jean watched her mechanically without thinking of her. He heard her
+without comprehending clearly what she said. And yet, somehow, he
+seemed to lean upon her as something tangible, something to keep his
+mind from sinking into its recent despondency.
+
+"Tiens! but, mademoiselle," he cried, starting up all at once, "you
+are not going to try to cook on that thing!"
+
+"What? Hear him, then, Poupon, cherie! To be called 'that thing!' Oh!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette affected great indignation on the part of herself and
+domestic friend,--the worst that could be said of which friend was
+that it emitted a bad odor of a Pennsylvania product,--but it did not
+interfere with her act of successfully rolling a promising omelette.
+She had already prettily arranged the table for two, on which were
+temptingly displayed a litre of Bordeaux, a loaf of bread, and a dish
+of olives.
+
+"But----"
+
+"Now, don't say a word, monsieur, or I'll drop something."
+
+"You need not have cooked anything," he protested. "A bit of bread and
+wine would have----"
+
+"Poor Poupon! So monsieur thinks you are pas bon! Perhaps monsieur
+thinks you and I don't eat up here, eh? Non? Monsieur is in love----"
+
+"Mademoiselle!"
+
+"Oh, I talk to Poupon, whom you despise,--and--now, the omelette,
+monsieur. Let me help you."
+
+They had drawn chairs to the table, and the girl poured two glasses of
+wine. She watched him drain his glass and then refilled it, finally
+observing, with a smile,--
+
+"It can't be Madeleine----"
+
+"Oh! to the devil with----" but he checked himself by the sudden
+recollection of the terrible misfortune that had overtaken Madeleine.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette shrugged her shoulders, but she lost no point of his
+confusion.
+
+"Is it necessary, then," he asked, cynically, "that I should be in
+love with some one?" He laughed, but his merriment did not deceive
+her.
+
+"Ah! Anybody can see, monsieur, you love or you hate--one."
+
+"Both, perhaps," he suggested. "For instance, I love your omelette and
+I hate your questions."
+
+"You hate Monsieur Lerouge, therefore you love where he is concerned."
+
+He was silent. It was evident that he did not care to discuss his
+private affairs with Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+The girl was quick to see this and changed the conversation to
+politics. But Jean had no mind for this either. He began to grow
+impatient, when she opened a box on the mantel and showed him an
+assortment of pipes.
+
+"Oho! You keep a petit tabac?"
+
+"One has some friends, monsieur."
+
+"A good many, I should judge,--each of whom leaves a pipe, indicating
+an early and regular return."
+
+"I don't find yours here yet, monsieur," she replied, demurely.
+
+"But you will," said he. "And I'll come up and smoke it occasionally,
+if you'll let me."
+
+"With pleasure, monsieur, even if you had not saved my life----"
+
+"There! Stop that, now. Let us never speak of that, mademoiselle. You
+got me into a scrape and got me out again, so we are quits."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Say no more about it, mademoiselle."
+
+"I may _think_ about it, I suppose," she suggested, with affected
+satire.
+
+"There,--tell me about the pipes."
+
+"Oh, yes. Well, you know how men hate to part with old pipes? And they
+are, therefore, my valuable presents, monsieur."
+
+"Truly! I never thought of that."
+
+"No?"
+
+"And the pictures?"
+
+"Scraps from the studios."
+
+He got up and examined the sketches on the walls. They were from pen,
+pencil, and brush, from as many artists,--some quite good and showing
+more or less budding genius. He paused some time before the head of
+his entertainer.
+
+"It is very good,--admirable!" he said.
+
+"You think so, monsieur?"
+
+"It is worth all the rest together, mademoiselle."
+
+"So much? You are an artist, Monsieur Jean?"
+
+"Amateur,--strictly amateur,--yet I know something of pictures. Now, I
+should say that bit is worth, say, one hundred francs."
+
+"Nonsense! The work of five minutes of--amusement; yes, making fun of
+me one day. Do you suppose he would give me one hundred francs?"
+
+"The highest effects in art are often merest accident, or the result
+of the spirit of the moment,--some call it inspiration."
+
+"But if you didn't know who did it, monsieur----"
+
+"It is not signed."
+
+"N-no; but, monsieur, every one must know his work."
+
+"Yes, and every one knows that some of it is bad."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"And this is----"
+
+"Bad too, monsieur," she laughingly interrupted. "When any one offers
+me fifty francs for that thing, Monsieur Jean, it goes!"
+
+"Then it is mine," said Jean.
+
+"No! You joke, monsieur," she protested, turning away.
+
+"Not at all," said he, tendering her a fresh, crisp billet de banque
+for fifty francs. "Voila! Is that a joke?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette colored slightly and drew back.
+
+"Monsieur likes the picture?"
+
+"Why, certainly. If I didn't----"
+
+"Then it is yours, monsieur, if you will deign to accept it as
+a--present----"
+
+"No, no!"
+
+"As a souvenir, monsieur."
+
+"Nonsense! I will not do it," he declared. "Come, mademoiselle, you
+are trying to back out of your offer of a minute ago. Here! Is it mine
+or is it not? Say!"
+
+"It is yours, monsieur, in any case," she said, in a low voice,
+"though you would have done me a favor not to press me with money.
+Besides, 'La Petite Chatte' is not worth it."
+
+"I differ with you, mademoiselle; I simply get a picture cheap."
+
+Which was true. There was no sentiment in his offer, and she saw it as
+she carefully folded the bank-note and put it away with a sigh. It was
+a great deal of money for her, but still----
+
+There was a great noise at the iron knocker below. This had been
+repeated for the third time.
+
+"My friends below are growing impatient," he thought.
+
+Jean had that inborn hatred of authority so common to many of his
+countrymen. It often begins in baiting the police, and sometimes ends
+in the overthrow of the government.
+
+"Whoever that is," observed the girl, "he will never get in,--never!"
+
+"Good!" said Jean.
+
+"He won't get in," she repeated, listening. "Monsieur Benoit will
+never let anybody in who makes a racket like that."
+
+"Not even the police?"
+
+"No,--he will not hear them."
+
+"Oh! ho! ho! ho!" roared Jean; "not hear that!"
+
+"I mean he would affect not to know that it was the police."
+
+She went to a window and listened at the shutter. Then, returning to
+her guest, who was placidly smoking,--
+
+"It is the police, sure."
+
+"I knew it."
+
+"Now, what do you suppose the agents want at this hour?" It was one
+o'clock by the little bronze timepiece on the mantel.
+
+"Me," said Jean.
+
+"You!" She glanced at him with a smile of incredulity.
+
+"Yes, petite."
+
+He puffed continuous rings towards the ceiling, wondering whether he
+had better explain.
+
+Presently came a tap at the door. The girl hastened to answer it,
+while Jean refilled his pipe thoughtfully. When she came back she was
+more excited. She whispered,--
+
+"Monsieur Benoit, le concierge, he wants to see you,--he must let them
+in!"
+
+"Well, let them in!" exclaimed the young man.
+
+He had thought of Madeleine, chiefly, and the effect of his arrest
+upon her. A hearing must inevitably lead to her exposure, if not to
+his. But it was useless to endeavor to escape. He felt that he was
+trapped. Being in that fix, he may as well face the music.
+
+"But he wants to see you personally," said the girl.
+
+Jean went to the door, where the saturnine Benoit stood with his
+flaring candle. The man cautiously closed the inner vestibule door.
+
+"S-sh! It is a souriciere, monsieur, as I suspected when you came in
+with that little she-devil! The agents were at your heels. Now,
+Monsieur Lerouge, do you wish to escape or do you----"
+
+"I intend to remain right here. There is no reason that I should
+become a fugitive."
+
+"As you please, monsieur," replied the concierge, with an expressive
+shrug. And the clack of his sabots was soon heard on the stone stair.
+
+"Funny," said Jean, re-entering, "but he takes me for Lerouge. There
+is some sort of understanding between them. He would have aided me to
+escape."
+
+"And why not have accepted, monsieur?" asked Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"I would rather be a prisoner as Jean Marot than escape as Henri
+Lerouge," replied the young man.
+
+"Anyhow," muttered the girl, "perhaps the police have made the same
+mistake."
+
+"I'm afraid not," said Jean.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette regarded the young man admiringly from the corner of
+her eye. He was so calm and resolute. He had resumed the easy-chair
+and pipe.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was not able to veil her feelings under this cloak of
+indifference. Her highly nervous organization was sensibly disturbed.
+One might have easily presumed that she was in question instead of
+Jean Marot. She had hastily cleared the little table and replaced the
+lamp, when her unwelcome visitors announced themselves. Mlle.
+Fouchette promptly confronted them at the door.
+
+"Well, gentlemen?"
+
+"Mademoiselle, pardon. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I am after the
+body of one M. Lerouge."
+
+"Then why don't you go and get him?" snapped the girl.
+
+"Pardieu! that is precisely why we are here, mon enfant. He----"
+
+"He is not here."
+
+"Come, now, that will not do, mademoiselle. At least he was here a few
+moments ago.--Where is that dolt Benoit?"
+
+"M. Lerouge is not here, I tell you; never was here in his life!"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+It was M. Benoit, the concierge. His astonishment was undoubtedly
+genuine; possibly as much at her brazen denial as at his own error in
+believing her a police decoy.
+
+"Mademoiselle ought to know," he added, in reply to official inquiry.
+
+"Let us see," exclaimed the man, thrusting the girl aside and entering
+the room. He was followed by two of his men and the concierge. A
+rear-guard had detained a curious assortment of half-dressed people on
+the stairs.
+
+The eyes of the agents fell upon the young man with a pipe
+simultaneously. Monsieur Benoit saw him also, and flashed an indignant
+look at the girl. He had concluded that she had found means to conceal
+her visitor.
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Lerouge," began the sous-brigadier.
+
+"Bah! you fools!" sneered Mlle. Fouchette, "can't you see that it is
+not Monsieur Lerouge?"
+
+"There! no more lies, mademoiselle. Your name, monsieur?"
+
+"Jean Marot."
+
+"Oh! so it is Jean Marot?" said the officer, mockingly, while he
+glanced alternately at Mlle. Fouchette, at M. Benoit, and at his men.
+"Very well,--I'll take you as Jean Marot, then," he angrily added.
+
+"Nevertheless," said Jean, now amused at police expense, "I am not
+Lerouge. There is said to be some resemblance between us, that is
+all."
+
+The face of M. Benoit was that of a positive man suddenly overwhelmed
+with evidence of his own stupidity. Mlle. Fouchette laughed outright.
+The sous-brigadier frowned. One of his men spoke up,--
+
+"Oho! now I see----"
+
+"Dubat, shut up!"
+
+"But, mon brigadier," persisted the man designated, "it is not the man
+we took that night at Le Petit Rouge,--non!"
+
+"Ah! la, la, la!" put in Mlle. Fouchette, growing tired of this. "I
+know M. Lerouge and M. Marot equally well, monsieur, and this is
+Marot. He has been with me all the evening. We danced in the Place St.
+Jacques and came directly here; before that we were at the Cafe du
+Pantheon. He has not left here. And they do look alike, monsieur; so
+it is said."
+
+"That is very true," muttered the concierge,--"and I have made the
+mistake too; though, to be sure, I know M. Lerouge but slightly and
+had never seen this man before, to my knowledge."
+
+Meanwhile, the girl had made a sign to the sous-brigadier that at
+once attracted that consequential man's attention.
+
+"Then, mademoiselle," he concluded, after a moment's thought, "you can
+give us the address of this Monsieur Lerouge?"
+
+"Oh, yes. It is Montrouge, 7 Rue Dareau,--en quatrieme."
+
+M. Benoit gave the girl informer a vicious look, which had as much
+effect upon her as water might have on a duck's back.
+
+Jean did not require a note-book and pencil to fix this street and
+number in his own mind. He turned to the sous-brigadier as the latter
+rose to take his departure,--
+
+"Pardon, monsieur; may I ask what charge is made against Monsieur
+Lerouge that you thus hunt him down in the middle of the night?"
+
+"It is very serious, monsieur," replied the man, respectful enough
+now; "a young woman has been blinded with vitriol."
+
+"Horrible!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I don't believe Lerouge could
+have ever done that! No, never!"
+
+"Nor I," said Jean.
+
+The police officer merely raised his eyebrows slightly and observed,--
+
+"It was in the Rue Dareau, monsieur."
+
+"And the woman? Do they know----"
+
+"One named Madeleine, mademoiselle."
+
+"Madeleine!" cried the girl, with a white face. "Madeleine! Mon Dieu!
+You hear that, Monsieur Jean? It was Madeleine!"
+
+"Courage, mademoiselle; Lerouge never did that," said Jean, calmly.
+"It is a mistake. He could not do that."
+
+"Never! It is impossible!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette wrung her hands and sought his eyes in vain for some
+explanation. She seemed overcome with terror.
+
+"Parbleu!" exclaimed the police officer, in taking his leave.
+"Mademoiselle, there is nothing impossible in Paris."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+The first instinct of Jean Marot had been to kill Henri Lerouge.
+
+Revenge is the natural heritage of his race. Revenge is taught as a
+sacred duty in the common schools of France. Revenge keeps the fires
+aglow under the boilers of French patriotism. Revenge is the first
+thought to follow on the heels of private insult or personal injury.
+
+It had been that of the ignorant human animal called Madeleine. How
+the horrible design of Madeleine had chilled his blood! He was sorry
+for the unhappy girl with a natural sympathy; yet he would have torn
+her to pieces had she successfully carried her scheme of revenge into
+execution.
+
+Jean took to haunting Montrouge day and night, invariably passing down
+Rue Dareau and contemplating No. 7, keeping his eye on the
+porte-cochere and the fourth floor, as if she might be passing in or
+out, or show herself at a lighted window. But he never saw her,--never
+saw Lerouge. He never seemed to expect to see them.
+
+He had ceased to attend classes. What were books and classes to him
+now? He took more absinthe than was good for him.
+
+His father's friend, Dr. Cardiac, visited him, remonstrated with him,
+readily diagnosed his case, then wrote to Monsieur Marot the elder.
+The result of this was a peremptory call home. To this summons Jean as
+promptly replied. He refused to go. An equally prompt response told
+him he had no home,--no father,--and that thenceforth he must shift
+for himself,--that he had received his last franc.
+
+Ten days later he unexpectedly encountered Mlle. Fouchette on
+Boulevard St. Michel. It was Saturday evening, and all the student
+world was abroad. But perhaps of that world none was more miserable
+than Jean Marot.
+
+"Ah! Then it is really you, monsieur?" There was a perceptible
+coldness in her greeting. However, his condition was apparent. The
+sharp blue eyes had taken his measure at a glance. She interrupted his
+polite reply.
+
+"La! la! la! Then you are in trouble. You young men are always in
+trouble. When it isn't one thing it is another."
+
+"It is both this time, I'm afraid," he said, smiling at the heavy
+philosophy from such a light source.
+
+They crossed over and walked along the wall of the ancient College
+d'Harcourt, where there were fewer people. The dark circles under his
+handsome eyes seemed to soften her still further.
+
+"I am sorry for you, monsieur."
+
+"Thank you, mademoiselle."
+
+"And poor Madeleine----"
+
+"You have seen her, then?"
+
+"Oh, of course!"
+
+"Of course," he repeated.
+
+"But, monsieur, you may not know that you were suspected of----"
+
+"Go on," seeing her hesitation. "Of having something to do with it?"
+
+"Precisely."
+
+"I knew that."
+
+To avoid the crowd and curious comment, Jean turned into the
+Luxembourg garden.
+
+"Well," he resumed, "you said I was suspected first by the police,
+then----"
+
+"By me," she said, promptly.
+
+"By you!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"And what, my dear mademoiselle, had I done to merit so distinguished
+an honor?"
+
+"Dear me! monsieur, it was chiefly what you hadn't done; and then the
+circumstantial evidence, you must confess, was strong."
+
+"I realized that, also that in France it is not easy to get out of
+prison, once in it, innocent or guilty."
+
+"So you kept out. Very wisely, monsieur. But you know the papers next
+morning spoke of Madeleine's lover, and talked of the lost clue of the
+Place St. Jacques, where we met."
+
+"It certainly would have been suspicious under some circumstances," he
+admitted. "Now, if I had been her lover, for instance----"
+
+"There! I went to the hospital. And don't you know, she would not
+betray the man who did it, though she suffered horribly. She will lose
+one of her eyes, poor girl!"
+
+"Great heavens! What a misfortune!"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"And she would not betray her assailant?"
+
+"Not a word!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I never believed Madeleine
+could rise to that."
+
+"Nor I," said Jean.
+
+"And the police did worry that Lerouge," continued the girl.
+
+"Oh, they did?"
+
+"Yes; but he easily proved that he was not only not Madeleine's lover,
+but that he was out somewhere with his--his----"
+
+"Mistress, eh?" he said, bitterly. "Why not say it?"
+
+"With his friend," she added, her eyes on the ground.
+
+"Ugh!"
+
+"But you, monsieur,--you have not yet told me your troubles. Your love
+goes badly, I suppose, eh?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"It is the same old thing. I wonder how it is to be loved thus. Very
+nice, no doubt."
+
+"And has no one ever loved you, mademoiselle?" he asked.
+
+"Non!"
+
+"You astonish me! And the world is so full of lovers, too."
+
+"I mean no man."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Very sure, monsieur. Could one be loved like that and not know it?"
+
+"That is what I ask myself every day." He said this to himself rather
+than to his wondering companion.
+
+"Why, monsieur!----"
+
+"But there are other things just now,--to-day," he said, abruptly
+changing the subject; "and the worst thing----"
+
+"The worst thing is money," she interrupted. "I have had 'the worst
+thing.' It happens every now and then. You need not hesitate."
+
+"Worse yet," he continued, smiling in spite of himself at her
+conclusion.
+
+"I can tell it in advance. It is the old story. Your love is not
+reciprocated,--you neglect your classes,--you fail in the exams,--you
+take to absinthe. Ah, ca!"
+
+"Still worse, mon enfant."
+
+"Ah! You play----"
+
+"No. I never play. You are wrong only that once, mademoiselle."
+
+He told her the truth. And she listened with the sage air of one who
+knows all about it and was ready with her decision.
+
+"Monsieur Marot,"--she paused a second,--"you think I'm a bad
+girl----"
+
+"Oh, don't be too sure of that. I----"
+
+"Ah, ca!" impatiently waving his politeness aside; "but I owe you
+much, and I would do you a service if possible."
+
+"I thank you, mademoiselle."
+
+"You think it impossible? Perhaps. I am nothing. I am only a poor
+little woman, monsieur,--alone in the world. But I know this world,--I
+have wrestled with it. I have had hard falls,--I got up again.
+Therefore my experience has been bitter; but still it is experience."
+
+"Sad experience, doubtless."
+
+"Yes; and it ought to have taught me something, even if I were the
+most stupid and vicious, eh?"
+
+"Surely," he said.
+
+"And my counsel ought to have some value in your eyes?"
+
+"Why, yes; certainly, mademoiselle."
+
+"At least it is disinterested----"
+
+"Sure!"
+
+"Go home!"
+
+"But----"
+
+She interrupted him sharply, nervously grasping his passive hand.
+
+"Go home, Monsieur Jean,--at once!"
+
+She trembled, and her voice grew low and softly sweet, and almost
+pleading.
+
+"Go home, Monsieur Jean! Leave all of this behind,--it is ruin!"
+
+"Never! I cannot do that, mademoiselle. Besides, it is too late,--it
+is impossible! I have no home, now. Never!"
+
+"There!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette rose abruptly, shrugging her narrow shoulders with the
+air of having done what she could and washing her hands of the
+consequences. Her smile of half pity, half contempt, for the weakness
+of a strong man clearly indicated that she had expected nothing and
+was not disappointed. As he still remained absorbed in his own
+miserable thoughts, she returned to the attack in a lively manner.
+
+"So that is out of the way," she said. "Now let us see what you are
+going to do. You probably have friends?"
+
+"A few."
+
+"Do not trust to friends, monsieur; it will spare you the humiliation
+of finding them out. What are your resources?"
+
+"I have none," he replied.
+
+"How much money have you?"
+
+"Nothing!"
+
+"Ah, monsieur,"--she now sat down again, visibly softened,--"if you
+will come and dine with me and petite Poupon we can talk it all over
+at leisure, n'est-ce pas? I can make a bien joli pot-au-feu for a
+franc,--which means soup, meat, and vegetables; and I know a petite
+marchande de vins where one can get a litre of Bordeaux for cinquante,
+which, with a salade at two sous and cheese for two more, will round
+out a very good dinner for two. Ah! le voila!"
+
+She wound up her rapid summary of culinary delights with the charming
+eagerness of a child, bringing forth from the folds of her dress a
+small purse, through the netting of which glistened some silver coin,
+and causing it to chink triumphantly.
+
+Jean Marot, suddenly lifted out of himself by this impulsive
+good-nature, was at first embarrassed, then stupefied. He was unable
+to utter a word. He was ashamed of his own weakness; he was
+overwhelmed by the sense of her impetuous good-will and practical
+human sympathy. He silently pressed the thin hand which had
+unconsciously crept into his.
+
+"No, it is nothing," she said, lightly, withdrawing her hand. "I have
+plenty to-day,--you will have it some other day; and then you can give
+me a petit souper, monsieur, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+"Very well. On that condition I will accept your invitation,
+mademoiselle. We will dine with petite Poupon."
+
+He had not the heart to tell her that his "nothing" meant a few
+hundred francs to his credit and a few louis in his pocket at that
+moment,--more than she had ever possessed at any one time in her life.
+
+As it was, she walked along by his side with that feeling of
+camaraderie experienced by those in the same run of luck as to the
+world's goods, and with that buoyancy of spirit which attends a good
+action. The few francs and odd sous in the little purse were abundant
+for to-day,--the morrow could take care of itself.
+
+They turned up the narrow Rue Royer-Collard, where she stopped for the
+litre of Bordeaux, responding gayly to the wayside queries and
+comments. Reaching the Rue St. Jacques, there were the salad and the
+cheese to add to the necessary part of the French meal; and the bit of
+beef and the inevitable onions brought up the rear of purchases.
+
+"I have some potatoes and carrots," she said, reflectively,--"so much
+saved. Let us see. It is not so bad,--quatre-vingt-cinq, dix,
+cinquante,--un franc quarante-cinq."
+
+She made the calculation as they went up the worn stairway after the
+passage of the tunnel.
+
+"Not half bad," said he, compelled to admire her cleverness.
+
+Reaching her chamber, she deposited the entire evening investment on
+the hearth, proceeding to the preliminary features of preparation. She
+threw her hat on the bed, then pulled off the light bolero and sent it
+after the hat, and then she began slipping out of her skirt by
+suddenly letting it fall in a ring about her feet.
+
+"Oh!" said Jean.
+
+"Excuse me, will you? I can't risk my pretty skirt for appearances.
+You won't mind, monsieur? Non!"
+
+"That's right," he said,--"a skirt is only a skirt."
+
+He watched her with a half-amused expression as she flitted nervously
+about, more doll-like than ever she was, in the short yellow silken
+petticoat with its terminating ruffles, or cheap lace balayeuse, her
+blonde hair loosely drooping over her ears and caught up behind in the
+prevailing fashion of the quarter. She kept up a continual chatter as
+she opened drawers, prepared the potatoes, and arranged the little
+table.
+
+Poupon was already singing in the chimney-place. Her conversation, by
+habit, was mostly directed to her little oil-stove, as if it were a
+sentient thing, something to be encouraged by flattery and restrained
+by reproach. It was the camaraderie of loneliness.
+
+But to Jean, who was quick to fall back into his own reveries, her
+voice died away into incomprehensible jargon. Once he glanced at the
+sketch still on the wall and thought of her purring over her work like
+a satisfied cat, then the next instant again forgot her. Now and then
+she bestowed a keen glance on him or a passing word, but left him no
+time to answer or to formulate any distinct idea as to what it was
+about. Suddenly she pounced upon him with,--
+
+"Monsieur Marot?"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You still live----"
+
+"Faubourg St. Honore."
+
+"Mon Dieu! How foolish!"
+
+"Yes,--now," he admitted.
+
+"You must change. What rent do you pay?"
+
+"Fourteen hundred----"
+
+"Dame! And the lease?"
+
+"Two years yet to run," said he.
+
+"Peste! What a bother!"
+
+"But the rent is paid."
+
+"Oh, very well. It can be sold. And the furniture?"
+
+"Mine."
+
+"Good! How much?"
+
+"It cost about three thousand francs."
+
+"It's a fortune, monsieur," she exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. "And
+here I thought you were--puree!"
+
+"Broke?"
+
+"Yes,--that you had nothing."
+
+"It is not much to me, who----"
+
+"No; I understand that. I once read of a rich American who committed
+suicide because he was suddenly reduced to two hundred and fifty
+thousand francs. That was very drole, was it not?"
+
+"To most people, yes; but it would not be funny for one who had been
+accustomed to twice or five times that much every year."
+
+"No,--I forgot," she said, reflectively, "about your affairs,
+monsieur. It is very simple."
+
+"Is it?" He laughed lugubriously.
+
+"You simply accept conditions. You give up your present mode of
+living; you sell your lease and furniture; you take a small place here
+somewhere, get only what is necessary, then find something to do. Why,
+you will be independent,--rich!"
+
+"Only, you omit one thing in the calculation, mademoiselle."
+
+She divined at once what that was.
+
+"One must arrange for the stomach before talking about love. And how,
+then, is a young man to provide for a girl when he can't provide for
+himself? Let the girl alone until you begin to see the way. Don't be
+ridiculous, Monsieur Jean. No woman can love a man who is ridiculous.
+Jamais!"
+
+Love is not exactly a synonyme for Reason. To be in love is in a
+measure to part company with the power of ratiocination. Nevertheless,
+Jean saw in an absent-minded way that Mlle. Fouchette, for whom he had
+never entertained even that casual respect accorded by the Anglo-Saxon
+to womanhood in general, spoke the words of sense and soberness. His
+intolerant nature, that would never have brooked such freedom from a
+friend, allowed everything from one who was too insignificant to
+excite resentment or even reply. In the same fashion Jean was touched
+by the exhibition of human interest and womanly sympathy in this waif
+of civilization. And he was of too gentle a heart not to meet it with
+a show of appreciation. It gave her pleasure and did not hurt him. The
+fact that she was probably abandoned and vicious in no wise lessened
+this consideration,--possibly increased his confidence in her
+disinterested counsel.
+
+In Paris one elbows this species every day,--in the Quartier Latin
+young Frenchmen come in contact with it every night,--and without that
+sense of self-abasement or disgust evoked by similar association in
+the United States. The line of demarcation that separates
+respectability from shame is not rigidly drawn in Paris; in the
+Quartier Latin, where the youth of France and, to a considerable
+extent, of the whole world are prepared for earth and heaven, it
+cannot be said to be drawn at all.
+
+By his misfortunes Jean Marot had unexpectedly fallen within her
+reach. With her natural spirit of domination she had at once
+appropriated the position of mentor and manager. The precocious
+worldliness of her mentality amused while it sometimes astonished him.
+This comparatively ignorant girl of eighteen had no hesitation in
+guiding the man of more mature years, and succeeded through her
+naivete rather than by force of character. The weakest of women can
+dominate the strongest of men.
+
+"Doctors never prescribe for themselves," she said, by way of
+justifying her interest in him. "Is it not so, Monsieur Jean?"
+
+"No; but they call in somebody of their own profession," he replied.
+
+"Not if he had the same disease, surely!" she retorted.
+
+"So you think love a disease?" he laughingly asked.
+
+"Virulent, but not catching," said she, helping him to some soup.
+
+There were no soup-plates and she had dipped it from the pot with a
+teacup and served it in a bowl; but the soup was just as good and was
+rich with vegetable nutrition. He showed his appreciation by a
+vigorous onslaught.
+
+"And if it were a disease and catching?" he remarked presently.
+
+"Then you would not be here," she replied. "You see, I'd run too much
+risk. As it is--have some more wine?--But who understands love better
+than a woman, monsieur?"
+
+"Oh, I surrender, mademoiselle,--that is, provided she has loved and
+loves no longer."
+
+"Been sick and been cured, eh?" she suggested. "But that is more than
+you require of the medical profession."
+
+"True----"
+
+He paused and listened. She turned her head at the same moment. There
+were two distinct raps on the wall. He had heard, vaguely, the sound
+of persons coming and going next door; had distinguished voices in the
+next flat. There was nothing strange about that. But the knock was the
+knock of design and at once arrested his attention.
+
+The young girl started to her feet, her finger on her lips.
+
+"He wants me," she said.
+
+"That is evident, whoever 'he' may be," replied Jean, significantly.
+
+"Oh, it is only Monsieur de Beauchamp. A sitting, perhaps," she added.
+
+She slipped out of the room without deeming it necessary to resume her
+overskirt. The feminine inhabitants of Rue St. Jacques were so
+extremely unconventional,--they not infrequently went down into the
+street for rolls and other articles attired in this charming negligee
+of the bedroom boudoir. And would, perhaps, have extended this
+unconventionality to the neighboring cafes, only the proprietaires
+had to draw a line somewhere, and had unanimously drawn it at hats
+and skirts, or full street dress.
+
+Jean began to think himself entirely deserted, when Mlle. Fouchette
+burst rather than walked into the room conducting her next-door
+neighbor.
+
+Jean saw before him a man scarcely older than himself, rather spare of
+figure and pale of face, in the garb of a provincial and with an air
+of the Jesuit enthusiast rather than the student of art. His long,
+dark hair was thick and bushy and worn trimmed straight around the
+neck after the fashion of Jeanne d'Arc's time. It completely hid his
+ears and fell in sprays over his temples. His face was the typical
+Christ of the old masters, the effect being heightened by the soft,
+fine, virgin beard and moustache of somewhat fairer color, and by the
+melancholy eyes, dark and luminous, with their curled and drooping
+lashes. These eyes gave rather a suggestion of sadness and inward
+suffering, but when animated seemed to glow with the smouldering fire
+of centuries.
+
+"Pardon, Monsieur de Beauchamp," said Jean, upon being introduced to
+him, "but mademoiselle appears to have forgotten me for art."
+
+"Ah! and as if there were no art in making a salad!" exclaimed the
+painter, as he shook hands with the other.
+
+"Oh! la, la, la!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, wresting the dish from Jean's
+grasp; "there would be precious little art in this if you made it!"
+And she proceeded with the salad on her own account, using the two
+bowls that had but recently served them for soup.
+
+Monsieur de Beauchamp and Jean discussed the student "manifestations"
+planned for the next day. The Dreyfusardes--a term by which all who
+differed from the military regime were known--had announced a public
+meeting, and a counter-demonstration had been called to not only
+prevent that meeting but to publicly chastise such as dared to take
+part in it.
+
+No attempt was made to conceal these patriotic intentions from the
+police. The walls blazed with flaming revolutionary posters. The
+portrait of the Duc d'Orleans appeared over specious promises in case
+of Restoration. The Royal Claimant was said to be concealed in Paris.
+At any rate, his agents were busy. They were in league with the
+Bonapartists, the Socialists, the Anti-Semites, against the things
+that were, and called the combination Nationalists. They were really
+Opportunists. The republic overthrown, they agreed to fight out their
+rival claims to power between themselves.
+
+The unfortunate Jew merely served them as a weapon. They were the real
+traitors to their country. With the most fulsome adulation and the Jew
+they courted the army and sought to lead it against the republic.
+
+And the republic,--poor, weak, headless combination of
+inconsistencies,--through a tricky and vacillating Ministry and a
+bitter, factional Parliament, greatly encouraged the idea of any sort
+of a change.
+
+Popular intolerance had, after a farcical civil trial overawed by
+military authority, driven the foremost writer of France into exile,
+as it had Voltaire and Rousseau and many thousands of the best blood
+of the French before him.
+
+The many noble monuments of the Paris carrefours, representing the
+elite of France, the heroes, the apostles of letters and liberty, who
+were murdered, exiled, denied Christian burial or dragged through the
+streets after death by Frenchmen, stand morally united in one grand
+monumental fane commemorative of French intolerance.
+
+Wherever is reared a monument to French personal worth, there also is
+a mute testimonial of collective French infamy.
+
+"Dans la rue!" was now the battle-cry.
+
+All of these student "manifestations" were seized upon by the worst
+elements of Paris. The estimable character of these elements found in
+the Place Maubert and vicinity may be surmised from the fact that a
+few days previous to the event about to be herein recorded twenty men
+of the neighborhood were chosen to maintain its superiority to the
+Halles Centrales against a like number selected by the latter.
+
+The contending factions were drawn up in order of battle in Place
+Maubert, on Boulevard St. Germain, in broad afternoon, each man being
+armed with a knife, and precipitated an engagement that required one
+hundred police reserves to quell.
+
+"If we could only keep that pestiferous gang out of our
+manifestations," said Jean now to Monsieur de Beauchamp,--"they
+disgrace us always!"
+
+"Oh, but they are good fighters; and there is to be fighting pretty
+soon," observed the artist.
+
+"Vive l'armee!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, flourishing a salad-spoon.
+Mlle. Fouchette had a martial spirit.
+
+"Whenever a student is arrested he turns out to be one of the roughs
+of Place Maubert or a hoodlum of Rue Monge, or a cutthroat of Rue
+Mouffetard. It is disgraceful!"
+
+"But it shows the discretion of our police, Monsieur Marot," said the
+artist, with his sweet smile. "You see the police are with us. We must
+not be too particular who fights on our side, my friend. We can't
+afford to quarrel with anybody just now going in our direction. They
+are but means to an end, let us remember, and that end the ancient
+prestige and glory of France."
+
+"A bas les Juifs!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, without looking up.
+
+The godlike face of the painter glowed with the enthusiasm that
+consumed his soul. He now turned his grand eyes upon the girl with
+inexpressible sadness.
+
+"That is a question that does not concern us," said he, "except as
+another means to an end. Innocent or guilty, shall the pleasure or
+pain of one man stand between the millions of our countrymen and the
+welfare and perpetuity of France?"
+
+"Never!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, in her excitement bringing down the
+salad-bowl with a crash that sent the pieces flying about the room.
+
+"Parbleu!" exclaimed Jean, laughing heartily; "there goes my salad!"
+
+"No; the salad is here. There goes my pretty bowl!"
+
+"Very well, then, let us turn out to-morrow, Monsieur Marot, and do
+our duty. Au revoir."
+
+In parting the artist nodded his head in cold recognition of the
+existence of Mlle. Fouchette. The latter turned on her dainty heel
+with a glance at Jean that spoke volumes. But she began arranging the
+little table slowly, absent-mindedly, without a word. He thought she
+was lamenting the loss of the salad-bowl.
+
+"I'll buy you a pretty one," he said.
+
+"A pretty--er--a what?"
+
+"Salad-bowl."
+
+"Oh, dame! I was not thinking of the salad-bowl."
+
+"Something more serious?"
+
+"Yes. Don't go to-morrow, Monsieur Jean!"
+
+Her voice was earnest, but sunk to a whisper. He regarded her with
+astonishment.
+
+"Don't go, Monsieur Jean!" she repeated. "Have nothing to do with
+them! There will be two thousand hired roughs from La Villette, the
+killers from the abattoirs, and----" She stopped short.
+
+"How now, mon enfant? How----"
+
+But she had clapped her small hand over his mouth in a half-vexed,
+half-frightened way, with a definite gesture towards the next room.
+
+"Have a care, monsieur," she whispered in his ear, then laughingly
+resumed her bantering tone. "How do you like my salad? Is it not
+capital?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Jean Marot found Mlle. Fouchette interesting but incomprehensible.
+
+Jean believed himself to be a sincere and true republican,--and he
+was, in fact, quite as logical in this as were many of the so-called
+republicans of the French Parliament, who, like their familiar
+political prototypes in the United States, talked one way and voted
+another. He had participated in the street disturbances as a protest
+against the Ministry and for the pure love of excitement, not against
+the republic.
+
+As to the Dreyfus case, he had been satisfied, with most of his
+countrymen, upon the statement of five successive ministers of war.
+
+After all, in a country where so many have always stood ready to sell
+their national liberty for the gold of the stranger, it came easy to
+believe in one Judas more.
+
+The United States has had but one Benedict Arnold; France counts her
+traitors by the thousands. They spring from every rank and are
+incidental to every age. The word Treachery is the most important word
+in French domestic history.
+
+And when honest men doubted the justice of a council of war, they were
+silenced by the specious reasoning of men like M. de Beauchamp. Had
+Jean been invited to assist in overturning the republic and to put
+Philippe d'Orleans on the throne, he would have revolted. His
+political ideals would have been outraged. Yet every act committed by
+him and by his blind partisans tended directly, and were secretly
+engineered by others, to that end.
+
+Jean Marot in this was but a fair type of tens of thousands of his
+intelligent but headstrong and misguided countrymen.
+
+"In the street!"
+
+Once in the street the following day, Jean forgot his serious
+reflections of the previous night. It was Sunday, the chosen day of
+battle by sea and land,--a day consecrated to violence and bloodshed
+by the Paris mob. The students gathered at the divided rendezvous of
+the Place Pantheon and the Place de l'Odeon. Many of them wore the
+white boutonniere of the Jeunesse Royalistes, the tricolor, the red
+rose of communism, or other badge of particular political belief, and
+all carried canes, some of which were loaded and some of the sword
+variety. Their leaders excitedly harangued them while the heavy squads
+of police agents distributed in the vicinity watched the proceedings
+without interference.
+
+Indeed, the royalists and their allies had abundant reason to believe
+the police force of Paris, officers and men, civil and military, in
+sympathy with their movement against the republic. Not one of the many
+street disturbances of the year past had been the spontaneous outburst
+of popular anger that is the forerunner of revolution. On every
+occasion they had been, as they were in this instance, the publicly
+prearranged breaches of the peace in which the worst elements of the
+Paris world were invited or hired to join. This was well known to the
+government. It would have been easy and perfectly legal and wise to
+have anticipated them by governmental authority. Acting under that
+authority, a score or two of police agents could have dispersed all
+preliminary gatherings. Under the eye of such a police force as we
+have in New York any one of the numerous riots which disgraced the
+streets of Paris during the pendency of the "Affaire" would have been
+impossible.
+
+The police of Paris, however, are French,--which is to say that they
+are incapable of seeing their duty from a strictly impersonal point of
+view, but are lax to the utmost indifference and partiality or brutal
+to the extreme of cruelty and fiendishness.
+
+But perhaps the severest censure of the Paris police agent lies in the
+fact that no just magistrate accepts his unsupported testimony, and
+that at least two-thirds of his riot arrests are nullified at once by
+setting the victims at liberty. As the police agent is the creature of
+the general government and is not responsible to the municipality, he
+can only be brought to book when he makes the mistake of offending
+some high personage. To the complaint of an ordinary citizen he would
+probably reply by drawing his cloak around him and expectorating
+viciously.
+
+"Qu'est-ce que ca me fiche?"
+
+The students assembled at the Place du Pantheon easily avoided the
+shadowy blue barrier drawn up across the Rue Soufflot. They howled a
+good deal in unison, then suddenly disappeared down Rue Cujas, and,
+pouring into Boulevard St. Michel, joined forces at the foot of Rue
+Racine with their comrades from the Place de l'Odeon. Like all student
+manifestations of any sort, the procession made a great noise, sticks
+were brandished, and the air rent with cries of "Vive l'armee! A bas
+les traitres!"
+
+The peaceful shopkeepers came to their doors and regarded the young
+men indulgently. "Ah! la jeunesse n'a q'un temps!"
+
+Some four hundred young men from the great schools were joined at the
+Place St. Michel by numerous hoodlums and roughs from the purlieus of
+Rue St. Severin, Place Maubert, and the equally delectable region of
+Rue de la Hutchette. These patriot soldiers of fortune "emeuted" for
+the low rate of forty sous per day, and were mostly armed with
+bludgeons, wherewith to earn their meagre salary. It mattered little
+whom they served, though it was just now the noble Duc d'Orleans.
+
+The police saw this addition with a knowing eye. They barred the
+entrance to the Pont St. Michel. It was a half-hearted effort, and
+with cries of "Vive la liberte!" "En avant!" the mob of young men
+swept the thin files out of the way and gained the bridge. Not,
+however, without some kicks and blows, broken canes, and bleeding
+faces. A lusty gold-laced brigadier rolled in the dust, desperately
+clinging to two coat-collars, and won the coveted cross by allowing
+himself to be kicked and stamped almost out of human resemblance by
+the infuriated mob of rescuers.
+
+By this time the head of the mob had reached the other end of the
+bridge, where a double barrier of agents was drawn up across the
+street. A gray-haired commissaire of long and distinguished police
+service walked calmly forward alone to meet them. His resolute step,
+his pose, bespoke his dignity and courage. He raised his left hand
+with the air of authority accustomed to being obeyed.
+
+His keen eyes at once sought and found and held the eyes of the
+leaders.
+
+"You must go back,--you cannot cross here,--you must disperse----"
+
+"Sacre!" growled the crowd, moving forward threateningly. "We have a
+right to cross anywhere! We are citizens of Paris and have the rights
+of any other citizen,--the same as you, Monsieur le Commissaire!"
+
+A dozen such protests on the instant. But the wily veteran was ready.
+He knew that when a mob stops to parley the battle is half won.
+
+"Oh, yes, messieurs,--singly, or as other good citizens, you are
+right; but not as----"
+
+A young man reached over his comrades' shoulders and struck the old
+commissaire in the face with his cane.
+
+"For shame!" cried Jean Marot, indignantly. "What foolishness!" And he
+broke the cane across his knee and threw the fragments to the ground.
+
+In the same moment the old commissaire dashed into the crowd and
+single-handed dragged his youthful assailant to the front and clear of
+his companions.
+
+"The guard! the guard! Look out, comrades! here comes the guard!"
+
+The cry ran along the line and through the ranks hushed by the wanton
+blow delivered unnecessarily upon a respected official. A company of
+the Garde Republicaine a pied had filed out across the Boulevard du
+Palais from behind the Prefecture; another company a cheval debouched
+into the quai from the other corner, and now rode slowly down towards
+the bridge.
+
+"Bayonets in front and sabres on the flank!" said Jean to those around
+him. "It were wise to get out of this."
+
+"Good advice, young man,--get out! It won't do, you see. You must
+cross singly, or as other citizens. Never mind your hot-headed young
+friend," added the old man, kindly, as he wiped the blood from his
+face. "We won't be hard on him. Only, you must go back at once!"
+
+He talked to them as if they were little children. But they needed no
+further urging. The rear-guard had already turned tail at the sight of
+the troops and were in full retreat. Before the last man had cleared
+the bridge the only one who had been arrested was set at liberty,
+though he had richly earned six months in jail.
+
+And thus terminated the harebrained attempt to march five hundred
+riotous men through the city directly in front of the Prefecture,
+where lay unlimited reserves, civil and military, under arms. The
+royalists had somewhat overstrained the complaisance of the
+authorities.
+
+Acting at once on the hint of the police official, the crowd broke up
+into small groups. "A la Concorde! A la Concorde! Concorde!" they
+cried.
+
+This revolutionary rendezvous was prearranged to mean Place du
+Carrousel, conditional on police interference. It was to deceive the
+authorities, the main object being to form a junction with the
+anticipated hordes from Montmartre and La Villette.
+
+But a mob broken into scattered groups is no longer a mob, and being
+no longer a mob, there is no longer courage or cohesion of purpose.
+Instead of some four hundred students and about a hundred roughs, not
+more than fifty of the former responded at the foot of the Gambetta
+monument, while the latter class had gathered strength by the way.
+
+This discrepancy, though painfully apparent to Jean Marot and his
+friends, in no wise dampened their ardor. Their chosen speakers lashed
+them into fresh furors of patriotism while they waited. The eloquent
+young man who quoted the words of Gambetta engraved on his monument
+wrung tears from his sympathetic auditors. These words of wisdom and
+patriotism had no pertinence whatever to the work in hand,--which was
+to break up a meeting organized by some distinguished philanthropists,
+scholars, and their friends in the interests of civil liberty and the
+perpetuity of human rights,--but everything serves as fuel to a flame
+well started.
+
+Carried away by the spirit of exaltation, Jean Marot clambered upon
+the monument itself, and ascending the heroic figure of Gambetta amid
+the wild plaudits of the mob, kissed the mute stone lips. His hat had
+fallen to the ground, and now the hysterical crowd tore it into bits
+and scrambled for the pieces, which they pinned on their breasts as
+precious souvenirs of the occasion.
+
+When Jean reached the earth it was to be frantically embraced on every
+side. A great, broad-shouldered, big-bearded man in a cap and the
+blouse of the artisan crowned this exciting ceremony by kissing the
+young student full on the mouth.
+
+A score of hats were tendered, but Jean accepted the cap of the
+stalwart workman, who immediately brandished his club and shouted "En
+avant!" He unwound his soiled red sash as he started, and, making it
+deftly into a sort of turban, constituted himself Jean's special
+body-guard for the day.
+
+The strong force of police posted in the neighborhood of the Louvre
+had regarded this street drama with stoical indifference. When the
+noisy crowd surged into the Rue de Rivoli it passed between the
+mounted videttes of the Garde Republicaine. Farther on, in the Rue St.
+Honore, a squad of dismounted cuirassiers stood listlessly holding the
+bridles of their horses. The afternoon sun flashed electric rays from
+the plates of burnished steel.
+
+"Vive l'armee!" burst from the mob.
+
+A subaltern on the curb touched his glittering casque in military
+salute without stirring a muscle of his armored body.
+
+Now recognized leader, Jean directed the march up the narrow Rue de
+Richelieu, observing to his bearded aide that it was more direct and
+safe, though shouts of "Avenue de l'Opera! l'Opera!" rose from his
+followers. Jean paid no attention to these cries.
+
+"You are right, my boy!" said the man in the blouse, patting Jean on
+the shoulder approvingly. "The broad streets are to the agents and
+military. The cuirassiers can there trample men like flies! Ah! with a
+regiment of cavalry and a battery of three quick-firers one could hold
+Paris at the Place de l'Opera against the world!"
+
+"Yes, my friend," answered Jean, with a smile, "always provided the
+world agreed not to drop thousand-pound melinite shells on one from
+Mont Valerien or Montmartre, or from some other place."
+
+"Yes, yes, yes,--you are right, my boy," admitted the other. "En
+avant!"
+
+This man had the voice of a Stentor. He was also a Hercules of
+strength. Here and there the narrow street seemed blocked with
+vehicles; but when he did not terrorize the drivers into immediate
+flight at the sound of his voice and the sight of his club he would
+calmly lift the encumbrance and set it to one side.
+
+"En avant!" he would then roar.
+
+Where possible, however, all vehicles promptly fled the street save
+the omnibuses. From the imperiale of one of these came the cry,--
+
+"Vive la republique!"
+
+"Vive l'armee!" yelled the mob.
+
+"Vive la republique!" came the response.
+
+A dash was made for the omnibus. While four or five men held the
+horses a dozen or more clambered over the wheels and up the narrow
+steps behind. There were sixteen persons on top, seven of whom were
+women. The latter shrieked. Two fainted away. The assailants sprang
+upon the men and demanded the one who had dared to consider the health
+of the republic without the army. No one could or would point him out.
+On the apparently well established French principle that it is better
+that ten innocent should suffer punishment rather than that one guilty
+person should escape the patriotic young men assaulted everybody. A
+white-haired old man who protested was slapped in the face, another
+man was quieted by a brutal kick in the abdomen that doubled him up,
+a couple of foreigners who could neither understand the language nor
+comprehend what it was all about were roughly handled, a half-grown
+boy was cuffed,--everybody but the driver came in for blows and
+insults; and this driver of the omnibus was in all probability the
+real villain.
+
+"En avant!"
+
+This lesson was administered en route, and without stopping the main
+body of manifestants pressed on into the grand boulevard, to be
+swallowed up in the resistless human current that now flowed down upon
+the Place de l'Opera.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+A formidable proportion of the grand concourse which filled the
+fashionable boulevards from curb to curb this beautiful Sunday
+afternoon was composed of the so-called "boulevardiers," "flaneurs,"
+and "badauds," who invariably appear on occasion offering excitement.
+For the Parisian world loves to be amused, and to have the pulse
+quickened by riot and bloodshed is to very many the highest form of
+amusement. It is better than a bull-fight.
+
+To most of this very large class of Parisians it is immaterial what
+form of government they live under, provided that in some way or
+another it furnish plenty of excitement. No other country in the
+civilized world, unless Spain is to be included under this head,
+produces this peculiar class, the unseen influence of which seems to
+have escaped the brilliant French writers who have recorded the
+turbulent history of France.
+
+The cardinal characteristic of the French individually and as a people
+is love of and admiration for theatrical display. This finds such
+ample illustration in all of their known domestic as well as
+international affairs that even the mere statement seems unnecessary.
+It permeates every social rank, and it enters into the performance of
+the simplest private as well as public duties. In higher governmental
+affairs it was accurately represented by the late President of the
+republic, Felix Faure, who went among his countrymen in a coach and
+four preceded by trumpeters and accompanied by a regiment of
+cuirassiers, and who required of his entourage all of the formalities
+of royalty. The hundreds of thousands who enjoyed his kingly funeral
+would have been equally entertained by a public execution.
+
+In the French nature, as has been said, is implanted a keen zest for
+excitement. The Frenchman is ravenous for the theatrical situation,--a
+perfect gormandizer of the dramatic event. Whatever or whoever lacks
+this gilded framework is neither remembered nor noted. The supply
+invariably follows the demand; without spectators there would be no
+spectacle,--just as there is no sound where there are no ears.
+
+Any Frenchman, therefore, who has any theatrical novelty to offer,
+whether as a political mountebank, or a bogus hero, or a peculiarly
+atrocious crime, is sure of a large audience. For there is a wide
+range of appreciation in that mercurial nature which, according to
+Voltaire, is half monkey and half tiger.
+
+The evident pleasure with which vast Parisian crowds view riots and
+revolution and the various phases of alternate anarchy and absolutism
+may be easily and naturally accepted by the actors in these living
+dramas as tacit if not positive approval. The professional patriot
+does not perform to empty seats, and the few hundred hired assassins
+of the public peace and private liberty would be out of a job but for
+the hundred thousand passive and more or less amused spectators who
+scramble for the best places to witness and make merry over the show.
+
+That this curious crowd is greatly swelled by what in other lands is
+recognized as the gentler or softer sex increases its responsibility.
+The civilization which has produced so many women of the heroic type,
+so many of the nobler masculine brain and hand, has also generated a
+vast brood which poisons the germs of human life and hands down
+bigotry, intolerance, revengefulness, cruelty, and love of turbulence
+and bloodshed from generation to generation.
+
+Of the performers before this audience Jean Marot and his stalwart
+companion found themselves particularly observed from their debut. The
+red turban was conspicuous enough, and gave a theatrical aspect to the
+man who wore it. There was that in his ensemble which recalled the
+great Revolution and the scarcely less sanguinary conflicts of '71. By
+his side and contrasting strangely with the coarse brute features of
+this muscular humanity was the finely chiselled face of the student
+under the rough cap of the workman. A picturesque pair, they were
+greeted on all sides with all sorts of cries and comments:
+
+"That red cap is very appropriate."
+
+"It is the head-dress of the barricades."
+
+"Sure!"
+
+"Of la Villette, hein?"
+
+"The man is mad!"
+
+"Ah! look at that!"
+
+"There goes a good rascal."
+
+"A young man and his father perhaps."
+
+"No!"
+
+"Long live the students!"
+
+"En avant!" roared the man in the red turban.
+
+"Vive l'anarchie!" shouted an individual on the curb whose eyes were
+glazed from absinthe.
+
+The crowd laughed. Some applauded,--not so much the sentiment as the
+drunken wit. The people were being entertained.
+
+"We certainly have the street this day," observed Jean to his
+companion.
+
+"Right you are, my boy!"
+
+Both noted the squadron of cuirassiers drawn up in front of the Opera,
+the police agents massed on either side, and the regiment of the line
+under arms in the Rue 4 Septembre close at hand. In the middle
+distance a squadron of the Garde de Paris came leisurely up the Avenue
+de l'Opera.
+
+"You see, my friend," said Jean, smiling, "the government is looking
+sharply after its strategic position."
+
+"Vive l'armee!"
+
+The man in the red turban swung his baton, and his resounding cry was
+caught up by the manifestants. It was the voice of flattery and
+conciliation extended to the army, through which the royalist party
+hoped to win a throne.
+
+But they were not alone there. From several quarters came sharp
+rejoinders of "Vive la justice!" "Vive la republique!" "Vive la
+France!"
+
+While these cries seemed harmless if not proper, they were judged
+seditious by the police, who made a dash for those who uttered them.
+In another instant the man with the red turban would have saved the
+agents the trouble of arresting the nearest person had not Jean
+grasped the baton. The brute face had taken on a flush of red
+ferocity. His blow restrained, the man spat in the face of his
+intended victim and strode on.
+
+"Not yet, my friend!" exclaimed the student leader. "What! precipitate
+a fight here! Madness! We should be ridden down within three minutes!
+The government will be sure to protect the Opera."
+
+"Yes; you are always right, mon enfant," growled the man.
+
+Meanwhile, the unfortunate Parisian who wanted "justice" got it; being
+dragged off by two police agents, who took turns in kicking and
+cuffing their prisoner on the way to the depot. There he was charged
+with uttering seditious cries calculated to lead to a breach of the
+peace.
+
+Gathering confidence from immunity, however, the manifestants soon
+ceased to observe this respect for public opinion. In Boulevard
+Haussmann they got out from the eye of the military. They began to
+hustle those who happened to get in their way. Those who were not
+sufficiently explicit in their views were compelled to cry "Vive
+l'armee;" whoever refused was promptly knocked on the head.
+
+"Monsieur Front de Boeuf," said Jean Marot to his companion, who had
+narrowly missed spattering the young leader with the brains of a
+misguided Dreyfusarde, "if you will strike less heavily you will
+longer remain with us, and possibly for a time escape the guillotine.
+Let us do no murder, mon ami. Your stick is heavy."
+
+"That's so; but it is a lovely stick all the same," replied the man,
+with a satisfied air, as he wiped the blood from his hands upon his
+blouse.
+
+Then for the first time Jean noticed that this blouse bore many old
+stains of the same sanguinary color. Undoubtedly it was blood. Human?
+Faugh!
+
+Jean saw around him other men of the same type, red-faced and
+strong-limbed, mentally as well as physically saturated with the
+brutality of their calling. He thought of Mlle. Fouchette. It was
+true, then, that these human brutes from the abattoirs were here. That
+other type, the "camelot,"--he of the callous, cadaverous face, thinly
+clad body, cunning eyes, husky lungs,--was more familiar.
+
+But these butchers of La Villette, why were they royalists? What
+special interest had the killers of cattle in the restoration of the
+monarchy? They had emphasized their devotion to the Duc d'Orleans by
+re-electing his parliamentary leader, the Comte de Sabran, by an
+overwhelming vote. From the rich and influential wholesaler to the low
+hind whose twelve hours a day were passed in knocking bullocks on the
+head or in slitting throats with precision the butchers stood three to
+one for the royal regime. Men may be hired for certain services, but
+in such a case as this there must exist some natural sentiment at
+bottom. This sentiment was perhaps only the common French intolerance
+of existing things.
+
+Jean Marot's train of thought had not reached that far, owing to fresh
+differences of opinion between some of his followers and the
+spectators, in which it became necessary for a dozen men to kick one
+helpless fellow-man into insensibility.
+
+They were now nearing the proposed place of meeting, and the hitherto
+scattered cries of "Vive la justice!" "Vive la liberte!" "Vive la
+France!" and "Vive la republique!" had developed into well-defined
+opposition. Personal collisions, blows, objurgations, came thicker and
+faster.
+
+Finally, from the "terrasse" of a fashionable cafe in the Boulevard
+Malesherbes came very decided expressions of dissent. They were
+followed by a general assault on the place. Not less than thirty of
+the usual respectable Sunday afternoon "consommateurs" occupied the
+chairs, and, though not more than half a dozen of these could have
+offended, the mob came down upon them like a living avalanche,
+throwing the entire Sunday party of both sexes promiscuously among the
+debris of tables, chairs, glasses, and drinks.
+
+The women shrieked, the men cursed loudly, and everybody struggled in
+the general wreck. While the male portion were kicked and stamped
+where they lay, the feminine part of the cafe crowd fought tooth and
+nail to escape in any direction.
+
+There were three dissatisfied beings, however, who objected to this
+summary treatment, and who, having regained a footing, courageously
+defended themselves with the nearest weapons at hand. These were empty
+beer-glasses, which, being fraudulently double thick at the bottom,
+were admirably designed for that particular use. But when three
+beer-glasses conflict with twenty loaded canes the former, however
+valiantly wielded, must succumb to the rule of the majority. Among the
+latter, too, was the particularly heavy stick of the patriot from the
+abattoirs of La Villette. He had received a blow from a glass that
+laid his cheek open and had jumped upon his assailant.
+
+"Death!" he roared.
+
+The man sank without a groan amid the broken glass, beer, and blood.
+The savage aimed a terrific blow of the boot at the upturned face,
+but was jostled out of his aim. Again, and with the snarl of a wild
+beast; but a woman had thrown herself across the prostrate figure and
+encircled the still form with her protecting arm. The butcher would
+have planted his iron-shod heel upon her, but at this critical
+juncture another woman--a slender, pale, weak-looking thing whose
+blonde hair fell loosely over her rouged cheeks--flew at him with a
+scream half human, half feline,--such as chills the blood in the
+midnight of the forest. With one hand she tore out great bunches of
+beard by the roots, with the other she left red furrows on his face
+like the paths of a garden-rake. Quick as lightning-flashes, again and
+again, and with each successive stroke of her claws came the low,
+hysterical whine of the wild beast.
+
+It was Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+Her catlike jaws were distended and quivering,--the white teeth
+glistened,--the eyes of steel seemed to emit sparks of fire,--the
+small, lithe body swayed and undulated like that of an angry puma.
+
+"Yes!--so!--death!--yes!--death!--you!--beast!--you devil!"
+
+With each energetic word went a wild sweep of the claws or came a wisp
+of beard.
+
+The man bellowed with pain. The unexpected fury of her onslaught, the
+general melee of close quarters, the instinct of protection,
+contributed to prevent the man from simply braining her with his
+"casse-tete." He was a lion against a hornet, powerless to punish his
+puny assailant. As he finally broke away, she suddenly whirled and
+delivered beneath the arm that shielded his eyes a kick that half
+choked him with his own teeth.
+
+Blinded with blood and howling with pain, the wretch plunged headlong
+through the cafe front amid a crash of falling glass.
+
+In the mean time, while this little curtain-raiser had been getting
+under way, there was still another and more important drama in active
+preparation.
+
+The police, as if to lend such material aid to the royalist cause as
+lay in their power, and to assist in the punishment of those misguided
+Frenchmen who took the words "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite," inscribed
+over the doors of the public hall, in a too literal sense, had
+violently closed those doors against the latter and by cunningly
+arranged barriers driven the unsuspecting Dreyfusardes down upon their
+armed enemies. It was a most admirably arranged plot to destroy the
+public peace, and reflected credit upon the clerico-royalist-military
+council that had planned it.
+
+Before the indignant republicans had begun to realize the character of
+the trap set for them they found themselves hemmed in on three sides
+by the police and attacked by the combination of hostile forces on the
+other side.
+
+The latter had been quietly assembled in the vicinity in anticipation
+of this denouement. They were led by Senators and Deputies wearing the
+official scarf of their high legislative function. This at once
+afforded the latter reasonable immunity from arrest, and served to
+encourage and assure those accustomed to look for some shadow of
+authority to conceal or excuse the evil of their deeds.
+
+The French Senator or Deputy who leads street rioters against a
+peaceable assemblage of his fellow-citizens one day and serenely sits
+in national legislative deliberation the next day is the faithful
+representative of a constituency as far removed from the American type
+of citizenship as the French legislator is from our national
+legislator.
+
+With shouts of "Vive l'armee!" "A bas les vendus!" "Vive France aux
+Francais!" "A bas les Juifs!" the waiting combination, or
+"nationalistes," fell upon their victims with fist, heel, and club.
+This was not as a body, the assailants being cleverly scattered
+everywhere through the crowd, and assaulting individually and
+supporting each other where resistance was encountered. As many were
+mere spectators, they were compelled to declare themselves or come in
+for a share of the drubbing, though this opportunity for escape was
+not always offered or accepted.
+
+The pure love of fighting is strong in the French as in the Irish
+breast, and once roused the Frenchman is not too particular whose head
+comes beneath his baton.
+
+It naturally happened, therefore, that on this occasion the innocent
+curious of all opinions received impartial treatment, often without
+knowing to which side they were indebted for their thumping. Every man
+thus assaulted at once became a rioter and began the work on his own
+particular account. Within a brief period not less than a hundred
+personal combats were going on at the same moment. As far as the eye
+could reach the broad boulevard was a surging sea of scuffling
+humanity, above which rose a cloud of dust and a continuous roar of
+angry voices. To the distant ear this was as one voice,--that of
+terrible imprecation.
+
+Having thus ingeniously united the conflicting currents in one
+tempest, the police precipitated themselves on the whole.
+
+Had any additional element been required to bring things to the
+highest stage of combativeness this would have answered quite well. As
+interference in family affairs almost invariably brings the wrath of
+both parties down on the peacemaker, so now the police began to
+receive their share of the public attention.
+
+The Parisian population have not that docile disposition and
+submissive respect for authority characteristic of our Americans. The
+absence of the night-stick and ready revolver must be supplied by
+overwhelming physical force. Even escaping criminals cannot be shot
+down in France with impunity.
+
+Though deprived of both clubs and sabres and not trusted with
+revolvers, these police agents make good use of hands and feet. Not
+being bound by the rules of the ring, their favorite blow is the blow
+below the belt. It is viciously administered by both foot and knee.
+Next to that is the kick on the shins, which, delivered by a heavy,
+iron-shod cowhide boot, is pretty apt to render the recipient hors de
+combat. Supplemented by a quick fist and directed by a quicker temper,
+the French police agent is no mean antagonist in a general row. In
+brutality and impulsive cruelty he is but the flesh and blood of
+those with whom he has mostly to deal.
+
+The battle now raged with increasing violence, the combatants being
+slowly driven down upon the approaching manifestants from the Quartier
+Latin, Montmartre, and La Villette. It had become everybody's fight,
+the original Dreyfusardes having been largely eliminated by
+nationaliste clubs and police arrests. The ambulances and cellular
+vans, playfully termed "salad-baskets," thoughtfully stationed in the
+side streets, were being rapidly filled, and as fast as filled were
+driven to hospital and prison respectively.
+
+The reverberating roar of human voices beat against the tall
+buildings, rising and falling in frightful diapason, as if it were the
+echo from a thousand savage creatures of the jungle clashing their
+fangs in deadly combat.
+
+Jean Marot and his immediate followers had scarcely turned from the
+scene at the cafe before they were swallowed up in the vortex that now
+met them. Indeed, Jean had not witnessed either the horrible brutality
+of the butcher or his punishment. The cries of "Les agents! a bas les
+agents!" had suddenly carried him elsewhere on the field of battle. He
+found himself, fired by the fever of conflict, in the middle of the
+broad street so closely surrounded by friends and foes that sticks
+were encumbrances. A short arm blow only was now and then effective. A
+dozen police agents were underfoot somewhere, being pitilessly stamped
+and trampled by the frantic mob. The platoon that had charged was
+wiped out as a platoon. Those who were hemmed in fought like demons.
+Men throttled each other and swayed back and forth and yelled
+imprecations and fell in struggling masses and got upon their feet
+again and twisted and squirmed and panted, like so many monsters, half
+serpent and half beast, seeking to bury their fangs in some vital part
+or tear each other limb from limb.
+
+Suddenly Jean saw rise before him a face that drove everything else
+from his mind. It was that of one who saw him at the same instant. And
+when these bloodshot eyes of passion met a fierce yell of wrath burst
+from the two men.
+
+It was Henri Lerouge.
+
+He was hatless and his clothes were in shreds and covered with the
+grime of the street. His hair was matted with coagulated blood,--his
+lips were swollen hideously. A police agent in about the same
+condition held him by the throat.
+
+When Henri Lerouge saw Jean Marot he seemed imbued with the strength
+of a giant and the agility of a cat. He shook off the grip of the
+agent as if it were that of a child and at a bound cleared the
+struggling group that separated him from his former friend.
+
+They grappled without a word and without a blow, and, linked in the
+embrace of mortal hatred, rolled together in the dust.
+
+The cruel human waves broke over them and rolled on and receded, and
+went and came again, and eddied and seethed and roared above them.
+
+These two rose no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+When the police, supported by the Garde de Paris, had finally swept
+the boulevard clear of the mob, they found among the human debris two
+men locked in each other's grasp, insensible. The imprint on two
+throats showed with what desperate ferocity they had clung to each
+other. Indeed, their hands were scarcely yet relaxed from exhaustion.
+Their faces were black and their tongues protruded.
+
+In the nearest pharmacy, where ambulances were being awaited by a
+dozen others, Jean Marot quickly revived under treatment. The case of
+Henri Lerouge, however, was more serious. He had received a severe cut
+in the head early in the row and the young surgeon in charge feared
+internal injuries. Artificial means were required to induce
+respiration. This was restored slowly and laboriously. At the first
+sign of life he murmured,--
+
+"Andree! Sister! Ah! my poor little sister!"
+
+Jean roused himself. The sounds of voices and wheels came to him
+indistinctly. Everything merged in these words,--
+
+"Andree! Sister!"
+
+Then again all was blank.
+
+When he revived he was first of all conscious of a gentle feminine
+touch,--that subtle something which cools the fevered veins and
+softens the pangs of suffering, mind and body.
+
+He felt it rather as if it were a dream, and kept his eyes closed for
+fear the dream would vanish. The hand softly bathed his head, which
+consciously lay in a woman's lap. He remembered but one hand--his
+mother's--that had soothed him thus, and the sweet souvenir provoked a
+deep sigh.
+
+"Ah! mon Dieu!" murmured the voice of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"L'hopital ou depot?" inquired the nearest agent.
+
+"Depot," said the sous-brigadier.
+
+"Oh! no! no!" exclaimed the girl, indignantly. "See, messieurs; he is
+wounded and weak, and----"
+
+"One moment!"
+
+A young surgeon knelt and applied his ear to the heaving breast, while
+the police agents whispered among each other.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette caught the words, "It is La Savatiere," and smiled
+faintly, but was at once recalled to the situation by a pair of open
+eyes through which Jean Marot regarded her intently.
+
+"So! It--it is only Mademoiselle Fouchette. I----"
+
+He saw the cloud that rose upon her face and heard the gentle humility
+of her reply,--
+
+"Yes, monsieur, it is only Fouchette. How do you find yourself,
+Monsieur Jean?"
+
+She put a flask of brandy to his lips and saw him swallow a mouthful
+mechanically. Suddenly he raised himself to a sitting posture and
+looked anxiously about.
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"Who? Where is who, monsieur?"
+
+"Lerouge. Why, he was here but now. Where is he?"
+
+"Lerouge! That wretch!" cried the girl, with passion. "I could
+strangle him!"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no!" he interposed. "It is a mistake. His sister,
+Fouchette----"
+
+His glance was more than she could bear. She would have drawn him back
+to her as a mother protects a sick child, only a rough hand
+interposed.
+
+"See! he raves, messieurs."
+
+"Let him rave some more," said the sous-brigadier. "This is our
+affair. So it was Monsieur Lerouge, was it? Very good! Henri Lerouge,
+medical student, Quartier Latin, anarchist, turbulent fellow,
+rascal,--well cracked this time!"
+
+Jean looked from the girl to the man and laid himself back in her arms
+without a word.
+
+"Make a note," continued the police official,--"bad characters, both.
+This man goes to depot!"
+
+"For shame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"And hear this!" added the sous-brigadier in an angry voice,--"if this
+grisette of Rue St. Jacques gives you any of her guff run her in!"
+
+"But--no, monsieur, that you will not! My business is here,--my
+authority above your authority,--and here I will remain!"
+
+"Show it!" demanded the official.
+
+She regarded him wrathfully.
+
+"Very well, mademoiselle," said he, choking back his anger. "I know my
+duty and will not be interfered with by----"
+
+"Gare a vous!" she interrupted, threateningly.
+
+"Don't!" whispered Jean. "It is nothing. But tell me quickly,--has
+Lerouge gone to prison?"
+
+"Hotel Dieu," she replied.
+
+"Good! Go to his place, 7 Rue Dareau, you know,--tell
+her,--Mademoiselle Remy,--his sister, Fouchette----"
+
+She bent lower over his head, hiding her face from his sight.
+
+"Ah! what a fool I have been, Fouchette! Tell her gently--that he is
+injured--slightly, mind--and where he is. That's a good girl,
+Fouchette,--good girl that you are!"
+
+He could not see her face for the hair that fell over the bowed
+head,--the living picture of the repentant Magdalen. But he felt her
+warm breath upon his cheek, and, was it a tear that splashed hotly on
+his neck?
+
+But she merely pressed his hand for a reply and, disengaging her
+dress, darted from the place.
+
+Threading her way rapidly among the arriving and departing vans and
+ambulances, the scattered remnants of the mob and the swarms of
+shifting police agents, Mlle. Fouchette finally reached a street open
+to traffic.
+
+It was only at rare intervals that she indulged herself in a cab. This
+was one of the times. Hailing the first-comer, she jumped in and
+called out to the fat cabby, "Place Monge."
+
+He drove thoughtfully as far as the next corner and then inquired over
+his shoulder where Place Monge was. She stood up behind him and fairly
+screamed in his ear,--
+
+"Square Monge, espece de melon! Quartier Latin!"
+
+The bony horse started up at the sound of her voice as from the lash.
+Evidently, Mlle. Fouchette was not in good temper. She had no relish
+for the work of good-will cut out for her. She was disgusted at the
+weakness of man. If she had been driver at that moment she would have
+run down a few of them en route. Still, her cocher did his best.
+
+At Place du Parvis Notre Dame she called out to him to stop. Getting
+out, she bade him wait near by, and started down along the quai in
+front of the Prefecture de Police. The man seemed suspicious and kept
+a sharp eye on his fare. Just as he was about to follow the girl he
+saw her start back, as if she had changed her mind.
+
+She began to walk very rapidly towards him, looking neither to the
+right nor to the left. A man in a soft hat who had just left the
+Prefecture crossed the street in the opposite direction and, curiously
+enough, though there was an empty desert of space in the vicinity, the
+two jostled each other almost rudely and exchanged angry words.
+
+After which the girl retook her place in the fiacre and said "Allons!"
+in a subdued tone that strongly contrasted with her former acerbity.
+
+"Sure!" said the cabby to himself,--"she's drunk." And he looked
+forward to the near future rather gloomily.
+
+His suspicion seemed more than justified when she again said Place
+Monge instead of Square Monge, the former being nearly half a mile
+farther. He almost collapsed when she finally got down and not only
+handed him the legal fare without dispute but double the usual
+pourboire.
+
+"Toujours de meme ces femmes-la!" he growled, philosophically. Which
+meant that women were pretty much alike,--you never could tell what
+one of them would do.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, quite indifferent at any time to the private judgment
+of the cab-driving world, now silently and swiftly pursued the uneven
+tenor of her thoughts, not yet manifest. She hurried along the sombre
+walls of the giant caserne de la garde on the Rue Ortolan, plunged
+across the crowded Rue Mouffetard, and entered the picturesque little
+wine-shop on the corner.
+
+It was a low, grim, two-story affair in time-worn stone, the door and
+windows heavily grilled in the elaborate and artistic wrought-iron
+work of the middle ages. A heavy oaken door supplemented the big
+barred gate and added to the ancient prison-like appearance of the
+place. Against the grilles of the Rue Mouffetard hung specimens of the
+filthy illustrated Paris papers, either the pictures or text of which
+would debar them from any respectable English-speaking community. Over
+the door opening into the Rue du Pot de Fer and below a lamp of that
+exquisite iron-work which is now one of the lost arts was displayed a
+small bush, intimating that, in spite of the strong improbability,
+good wine was to be had inside.
+
+While a casual glance showed that the rooms above could not be high
+enough of ceiling for an ordinary individual to stand upright, the
+flowers in the little square recessed and grilled windows showed that
+this upper portion was inhabited. It was connected with the wine-shop
+below by a narrow and very much worn stone staircase, which ascended
+"a tire-bouchon," or corkscrew fashion, like the steep steps of a
+light-house.
+
+As to the general reputation of the neighborhood, Mlle. Fouchette knew
+it to be "assez mauvaise,"--tolerably bad,--though it was not this
+knowledge that induced her to complete her journey on foot.
+
+Her entrance caused a subdued but perceptible flutter among the
+occupants of the resort. These were, at the moment, four
+respectable-looking men in blouses, an old gentleman in the last stage
+of genteel rustiness, and a couple of camelots in the second stage of
+drunkenness,--that of undying friendship. The four, who appeared to be
+worthy tradesmen of the neighborhood, occupied a far table in the
+small and time-begrimed room, where they played at cards for small
+stakes; the rusty old gentleman sat alone with a half-emptied
+beer-glass and an evening newspaper before him; the street-hawkers
+were standing at the zinc, which in Paris represents our American bar,
+discussing the events of the day in the hoarse-lunged, insolent tone
+of their class.
+
+Presiding over the establishment was--yes, it was Madame Podvin.
+Somewhat stouter, redder of face, more piggy of eye, with more decided
+whiskers, but still Madame Podvin.
+
+She busied herself behind the zinc washing glasses, occasionally
+glancing at the men in the corner, smiling upon the inebriated
+camelots, and now and then casting a suspicious eye upon the quiet old
+gentleman behind his beer.
+
+Madame Podvin had retired from the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers upon the
+retirement of Monsieur Podvin from public life by the State, and had
+found this congenial city resort vacant by reason of death,--the
+proprietor having been stabbed by one of his friendly customers over
+the question of pay for a drink of four sous.
+
+Upon the entrance of Mlle. Fouchette Madame Podvin tapped the zinc
+sharply with the glass as if to knock something out of it, then
+greeted the new-comer effusively.
+
+The four men hastily gathered up their stakes and began talking about
+the weather; the subdued camelots sipped their absinthe in silence;
+the old gentleman fell to reading his paper with renewed interest.
+
+"Bonjour, madame," said Mlle. Fouchette, smilingly ignoring the
+private signal, though inwardly vexed.
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette! Ah! how charming of you!" exclaimed Madame
+Podvin, hastily wiping her hands and coming around the open end of the
+bar to embrace her visitor.
+
+Beneath the most elaborate politeness the Parisian conceals the
+bitterest hatred. French politeness is mostly superficial at best,--it
+often scarcely hides a cynicism that stings without words, a satire
+that bites to the verge of insult. The more Frenchwomen dislike each
+other the more formal and overpowering their compliments--if they do
+not come to blows.
+
+"Thank you very much, madame," Mlle. Fouchette replied, as Madame
+Podvin kissed her cheeks. "Ah! you are always so gay and delightful,
+madame!"
+
+"And how lovely you have grown to be!" exclaimed the Podvin, with a
+good show of enthusiasm, holding the girl off at arm's length for
+inspection. "It seems impossible that you should have come out of a
+rag-heap! And your sweet disposition----"
+
+Madame Podvin elevated her hands in sheer despair of being able to
+describe it.
+
+"It must go well with you, madame, you are always so amiable and
+cheerful," retorted Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"But you are more lovely every day you grow older," said Madame
+Podvin.
+
+"Ah! Madame does not grow older!"
+
+"Fouchette, cherie, I'm sure you must belong to a good family, you are
+so naturally winning and well-bred. The clothes you had on when I
+found you----"
+
+"Madame?"
+
+"I gave them away--for twenty--yes, it was twenty francs--they were
+not worth as many sous--to a gentleman----"
+
+Madame Podvin stopped at the sight of Mlle. Fouchette's face; but,
+uncertain whether the subject pained, interested, or irritated the
+latter, she continued,----
+
+"It was shortly after you left. He was very curious,--one of these
+government spies, you know, Fouchette----"
+
+"Madame, I would see Mademoiselle Madeleine," interrupted the other.
+
+Madame Podvin frowned.
+
+"Not sick, I hope," added Fouchette.
+
+"Oh! no; only----"
+
+"Drinking?"
+
+"Like a fish!"
+
+"Poor Madeleine!"
+
+"She's a beast!" cried Madame Podvin.
+
+Madame Podvin sold vile liquor but despised the fools who drank it,
+and in this she was not singular.
+
+"Is she----" Mlle. Fouchette raised her eyes heavenward inquiringly.
+
+"No,--she's in the street. Ever since she got out of the hospital she
+has been going from bad to worse every day. And she owes me two weeks'
+lodging. If she doesn't pay up soon I'll----"
+
+Whatever the Podvin intended to do with Madeleine she left it unsaid,
+for the latter stood in the doorway.
+
+Great, indeed, was the change which had come over this unfortunate
+girl. Stout to repulsiveness, shabby of attire, fiery of face,
+unsteady of pose, with one bright beautiful eye burning with the
+supernatural fire of absinthe, the other sealed in internal darkness.
+
+"Oh! Madeleine----" began Mlle. Fouchette, painfully impressed and
+hesitating.
+
+"What! No! Fouchette? Mon ange!"
+
+The drunken woman staggered forward to embrace her friend.
+
+"Why, Madeleine----"
+
+"Hold! And first tell me your bad news. You know you always bring me
+bad news, deary. You hunt me up when you have bad news. Come, now!"
+
+"La, la, la, la!" trilled Mlle. Fouchette, passing her arm around the
+other's thick waist to gain time.
+
+"Come! mon ange,--we'll have a drink anyhow. Mere! some absinthe,--we
+have thirst."
+
+"No, no; not now, Madeleine."
+
+"Not a drop here!" said Madame Podvin, seeing that Mlle. Fouchette was
+not disposed to pay.
+
+"Not now," interposed the latter,--"a little later. I want a word or
+two with you, Madeleine, first. Just two minutes!"
+
+The one brilliant orb regarded the girl intently, as if it would dive
+into her soul; but the habitual good-nature yielded.
+
+"Very well. Come then, cherie,--a l'imperiale!"
+
+And, indeed, the narrow, spiral stair more closely resembled that
+which leads to the imperiale of the Paris omnibus than anything found
+in the modern house.
+
+The space above was divided in four, the first part being the small
+antechamber, dimly lighted from the roof, which they now entered.
+Through a door to the right they were in a room one-third of which was
+already occupied by an iron camp-bed. The rest of the furniture
+consisted of a little iron washstand, a chair, and some sort of a box
+covered with very much soiled chintz that was once pretty. Above this
+latter article of furniture was a small shelf, on which were
+coquettishly arranged a folding mirror and other cheap articles of
+toilet. A few fans of the cheap Japanesque variety were pinned here
+and there in painful regularity. A cheap holiday skirt and other
+feminine belongings hung on the wall over the cot. In the small,
+square, recessed window opening on Rue Mouffetard were pots of
+flowering plants that gave an air of refinement and comfort to a place
+otherwise cheerless and miserable.
+
+And over all of this poverty and wretchedness hung a blackened ceiling
+so low that the feather of Mlle. Fouchette swept it,--so low and dark
+and heavy and lugubrious that it seemed to threaten momentarily to
+crush out what little human life and happiness remained there.
+
+Madeleine silently motioned her visitor to the chair and threw
+herself on the creaking bed. She waited, suspiciously.
+
+"The riots, you know, Madeleine," began Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Dame! There is always rioting. One hears, but one doesn't mind."
+
+"Unless one has friends, Madeleine----"
+
+The maimed and half-drunken woman tried to straighten up.
+
+"Well? Out with it, Fouchette. If one has friends in the row----"
+
+"Why, then we feel an interest in our friends, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+"It is about Lerouge!"
+
+"Yes, Madeleine, I want----"
+
+"Is he hurt?"
+
+"Yes,--badly,--and is at the Hotel Dieu. I want his address. He has
+moved from 7 Rue Dareau since the police--since----"
+
+"You want his address for the police," said the girl.
+
+"Oh! no! no! not for that, dear!"
+
+"Not for that; then what for? Tell me why you want it."
+
+This was exactly what Mlle. Fouchette evidently did not desire to do.
+Madeleine saw it, and added firmly,--
+
+"Tell me first, then--well, then I'll see."
+
+"I will, then," rejoined the other, savagely.
+
+"Speak!"
+
+"I wish to notify his sister."
+
+Madeleine looked at the speaker fixedly, as if still waiting for her
+to begin; stupidly, for her poor muddled brain refused to comprehend.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette continued,--
+
+"I say I wish to go to his place," she said, with great deliberation,
+"and notify his sister that her brother is injured and is lying at
+Hotel Dieu. I promised. It is important. Believing you knew the
+address I have come to you. You will help me, for his sister's
+sake,--for his sake, Madeleine? You know his sister lives with
+him----"
+
+"You--you said his sister----"
+
+But the voice choked. The words came huskily, like a death-rattle in
+her throat.
+
+"Yes, sister," began again Mlle. Fouchette. But she was almost afraid
+now. The aspect of her listener's face was enough to touch even a
+harder heart than possessed this not too tender bearer of ill news.
+
+However, Madeleine would have heard nothing more. She gazed vacantly
+at the opposite wall, a knee between her hands, and swaying slightly
+to and fro. Her face, bloated with drink, had become almost pale, and
+was the picture of long-settled grief. It was as if she were in fresh
+mourning for the long ago.
+
+Presently a solitary tear from the unseen and unseeing eye stole out
+of its dark retreat and rolled slowly and reluctantly down upon the
+cheek and stopped and dried there.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette saw it as the weather observer sees the moisture on
+the glass and speculated on the character of the coming storm.
+
+She was disappointed. For instead of an explosion Madeleine suddenly
+rose and began fumbling among the garments on the wall without a word.
+She selected the best from her humble wardrobe and laid the pieces
+out one by one on the bed, then began rapidly to divest herself of
+what she wore.
+
+When interrogated by the wondering Fouchette she never replied.
+Indeed, she no longer appeared to notice that her visitor was there.
+She bathed her face, and washed her hands, and scrubbed her white
+teeth, and carefully rearranged her hair. All of this with a calmness
+and precision of a perfectly sober woman,--as she now undoubtedly was.
+She then resumed her hat.
+
+"How!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, noting this quiet preparation with
+growing astonishment,--"not going out?"
+
+"Yes," replied the girl.
+
+"But, dear, you have not yet given me the address."
+
+"It is unnecessary."
+
+"But, Madeleine!"
+
+"It is unnecessary, Fouchette. I will go and see his--his sister and
+lead her to him."
+
+"But, deary!"
+
+"And I will go alone," she added, looking at the other for the first
+time.
+
+Unmindful of the wheedling voice of remonstrance, without another
+word, and leaving her door wide open and Mlle. Fouchette to follow or
+not at her pleasure, the miserable girl gained the street and swiftly
+sped away through the falling shadows of the night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Jean Marot occupied a cell in a "panier a salade" en route for the
+depot, not so much the worse for his recent exciting experience as at
+first seemed probable he might be.
+
+There were eight other occupants of the prison-van besides himself,
+one of whom was a soldier guard. Five narrow cells ranged along either
+side of a central aisle. Each had a solitary small, closely shuttered
+breathing-hole opening outside. The guard occupied a seat in the aisle
+near the rear door, from which he could survey the door of every cell.
+By this arrangement prisoners were kept separate from each other, were
+not subjected to a gaping crowd, and ten persons could be safely
+escorted by a single guard.
+
+From the half-suppressed murmurs and objurgations that followed every
+severe jolt of the wagon, Jean rightly judged that most of the
+prisoners were more or less injured. And as the driver drove
+furiously, having the fight of way and being pressed with business
+this particular Sunday afternoon, there were still louder and more
+exhaustive remarks from those who narrowly escaped being run over by
+the cellular van.
+
+Jean Marot, however, was too much engrossed with his own miserable
+reflections to pay any more than mechanical attention to all of this.
+Physically resuscitated and momentarily inflating his glad lungs anew,
+he still felt that terrible vice-like grip upon his throat,--the
+compression of the fingers of steel that seemed to squeeze the last
+drop of blood from his heart.
+
+But it was mental suffocation now. For they were the fingers of her
+brother,--the flesh and sinew of the woman he loved! And it was this
+love that was being cruelly crushed and strangled.
+
+It was more terrible than the late physical struggle. The latter had
+invoked the energy, the courage, and the superhuman strength and
+endurance to meet it,--had roused the fire of conscious manhood. Now
+the sick soul revolted at its own folly. The props of self-respect had
+been knocked away, and he lay prone, humiliated, deprived of the
+initial courage to rise and hope.
+
+The chief cause of this self-degradation lay in the fact that he had
+grievously wronged the only one in the world he had found worth
+loving,--the one sweet being for whom he would have willingly
+sacrificed life. The fact that this wrong was by and in thought alone
+did not lessen the horrible injustice of it.
+
+The more Jean thought of these things the more sick at heart he was,
+the more hopeless his love became, the more desperately dark the
+future appeared. There seemed to be nothing left but misery and death.
+
+This train of bitterness was interrupted by a violent wrangle between
+the occupants of neighboring cells. A prisoner across the way had
+shouted "Vive l'armee!" Another responded by the gay chanson,--
+
+    "Entre nous, l'armee du salut,
+    Elle n'a jamais eu d'autre but
+    Que d'amasser d' la bonne galette."
+
+It came from his next-door neighbor, and was the familiar voice of the
+saturnine George Villeroy.
+
+"Shut your mouth, rascal!" yelled the guard, rapping the cell door
+with his sword bayonet.
+
+A few minutes later the van was stopped, the rear door opened, and one
+by one the prisoners, bloody, torn, and bedraggled, were handed out
+and hustled not very gently by two police agents through a heavily
+grilled doorway into a room already crowded with victims of law and
+order. All of these were yet to be called before the commissaire and
+interrogated in turn, and by him either held or discharged. A good
+many were both hatless and coatless, and altogether they certainly
+bore a riotous and suspicious look.
+
+In the crowd near the desk where they were led to be registered Jean
+met his old friend Villeroy.
+
+"Oho!" exclaimed the latter, laughingly.
+
+"Oh, yes; it is I, my friend."
+
+"Pinched this time, hein?"
+
+"So it seems."
+
+"And in what company?"
+
+"Yours, I suppose," retorted Jean.
+
+"Good company!" said Villeroy. "Kill any--any agents?"
+
+"No,--no!" said Jean, who did not relish this subject.
+
+"See Lerouge?"
+
+"N--that is----"
+
+"The miserable!"
+
+"Oh, as for that----"
+
+"Well, he's done for, anyhow."
+
+"Wha-at?"
+
+"His goose is cooked!"
+
+"How is that? Not----"
+
+"Dead."
+
+"Dead!"
+
+"As a mackerel!"
+
+Jean paled perceptibly and almost staggered against his friend.
+
+"Impossible!" he murmured. "It can't be! How----"
+
+"Oh, easy enough," interrupted the other, lightly. "Some ruffian
+choked him to death, they say. Liable to occur, is it not? Sorry, of
+course, but----"
+
+Fortunately for Jean's self-control, they were rudely separated by two
+angry opponents who wanted to fight it out then and there. He would
+have betrayed himself in another moment. And, wrought up to the
+present tension, it seemed as if he must go mad and shriek his guilt
+to all the world.
+
+He sought an obscure corner and sat down on the floor with his back to
+the wall, his chin upon his knees.
+
+In his own soul he was condemned already. He only awaited the
+guillotine.
+
+When he was aroused the room was almost cleared. A couple of agents
+roughly hustled him before the busy commissaire. It was the old
+official the student had struck that morning. The red welt across his
+face gave it a sinister appearance. He glanced at the arraigned, then
+read from the blotter,--
+
+"Jean Marot, student,--um, um, um!--charged with--with--let's
+see--with uttering seditious cries calculated to lead to a breach of
+the peace. What have you got to say for yourself, young man?"
+
+The prisoner had nothing to say for himself,--at least, nothing better
+than that,--so he was speechless.
+
+"Ah! evidently never been here before," said the old commissaire. "Go!
+and never come here again. Discharged. Call the next."
+
+"Monsieur le Commissaire," began a police agent who had here risen to
+his feet with an air of remonstrance,--"monsieur----"
+
+"Call the next!" said the commissaire, waving the agent down
+peremptorily.
+
+And thus Jean Marot, before he had recovered from his surprise, or
+could even realize what had happened, was again hustled through the
+corridor, this time to be unceremoniously thrust into the street--a
+free man.
+
+"Hold, Monsieur Jean!" said the lively voice of Mlle. Fouchette. "What
+a precious long time you have been!"
+
+"It might have been longer," he remarked, vaguely accepting her
+presence as not unnatural, and suffering himself to be led down the
+block.
+
+"Oh, here it is," said she, going straight to a cab in waiting. "Now,
+don't stop to ask questions or I'll be wicked. Get in! Dinner is----"
+
+"Dinner is, is it?" he repeated, almost hysterically.
+
+He felt exhausted physically and mentally, indifferent as to what now
+befell him, prepared to accept anything. Nothing could be worse. He
+felt as if everything was crumbling beneath his feet. There was nobody
+to lean against, nobody to sympathize with him, nobody to care one way
+or the other, or----
+
+Only this girl at his side.
+
+He looked at her wonderingly, now that he came to think of her. The
+thin, insignificant figure, the pale face, the drooping blonde hair
+lying demurely on the cheeks, the bright steel-blue eyes, the pussycat
+purr----
+
+"How absurd you are, Monsieur Jean, with that awful face! One would
+think it was because of the prospect of my dinner!"
+
+"I am thinking of you," he said.
+
+"Oh, thanks, monsieur! And so savagely--I have fear!"
+
+She laughed gleefully, and affected to move away from him, only, at
+that instant, the hind wheel of the voiture struck a stray bowlder,
+and the shock threw her bodily back against him.
+
+Both laughed now.
+
+"It is provoking," she said.
+
+"It is the fatality," said he.
+
+And he put his arm about her slender form and held her there without
+protest.
+
+"I was thinking of you, mon enfant," he continued, "and of what a
+dear, good little thing you are. Mademoiselle, you are an angel!"
+
+"Ah! no, monsieur!" she answered, in a voice that trembled a
+little,--"do not believe it! I'm a devil!"
+
+It is easy for a man in deep trouble to accept the first sympathetic
+woman as something angelic. And now, in his gratitude, it was perhaps
+natural that Jean should unhesitatingly supply Mlle. Fouchette with
+wings. He had humbled himself in the dust, from which point of view
+all virtues look beautiful and all good actions partake of heaven. His
+response to her self-depreciation was a human one. He drew her closer
+and kissed her lips.
+
+In this he deceived neither himself nor the girl. She knew quite as
+well as he where his heart was. It was a kiss of gratitude and of
+good-will, and was received as such without affectation. In his
+masculine egotism, however, he quite overlooked any possible good or
+ill to her in the matter,--his consideration began and ended in the
+gratification of her conduct towards him. And he would have been cold
+indeed not to feel the friendly glow which answers so eloquently the
+touch of womanly gentleness and sympathy.
+
+As for Mlle. Fouchette, it must be admitted that this platonic caress
+created in her maidenly bosom a nervous thrill of pleasure not quite
+consistent in a young woman known to give the "savate" to young
+gentlemen who approached such familiarity, and who plumed herself on
+her invulnerability to the masculine wiles that beset her sex. And
+what might have been deemed still more foreign to her nature, she
+never said a word from that moment until the voiture drew up in front
+of her place of residence in the venerable but not venerated Rue St.
+Jacques.
+
+"Voila!" she then exclaimed, though it had not the tone of entire
+satisfaction.
+
+"Hold on, little one, I will pay----"
+
+But he discovered that those who had cared for him had also
+benevolently relieved him of his valuables. He had not a sou.
+
+"The wretches!" cried the girl.
+
+"They might have left me my keys, at least," he muttered.
+
+"And your watch, monsieur?" she asked, apprehensively.
+
+"Gone, of course!"
+
+"Oh, the miserable cowards!"
+
+He was less moved than she at the loss. It seemed trifling by the side
+of his other misfortunes.
+
+But the coachman was interested. He carefully noted the number of the
+house again, and when she passed up his fare looked into her face with
+a knowing leer.
+
+"If monsieur wishes to go back to the Prefecture," he said to her,
+tentatively.
+
+"Oh, no!" said Jean.
+
+The girl, however, understood the significance of this inquiry, and
+coldly demanded the man's number.
+
+"If Mademoiselle Fouchette should need you again," she added, putting
+the slip in her pocket, "she will know where to find you."
+
+And to the manifest astonishment of the cabman, who could not divine
+what a woman of Rue St. Jacques would want with a man without money,
+or at least valuables, she slipped her arm through Jean's and entered
+the house.
+
+The shaded lamp turned low threw a dim light over a little table
+simply but neatly set for two in Mlle. Fouchette's chamber. A cold cut
+of beef, some delicate slices of boiled tongue, an open box of
+sardines, a plate heaped with cold red cabbage, a lemon, olives,
+etc.,--all fresh from the rotisserie and charcuterie below,--were
+flanked by a metre of bread and a litre of Bordeaux. The spread looked
+quite appetizing and formidable.
+
+Absorbed as he was in himself, Jean could not but note the certainty
+implied in all of this preparation. Mlle. Fouchette could not have
+known that he would be at liberty, yet she had arranged things exactly
+as if she had possessed this foreknowledge. If they had not made a
+mistake and let him off so easily----
+
+"You were, then, sure I would come?"
+
+"Very sure," said she, without turning from the small mirror where she
+readjusted her hair.
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean," she began, in a nervous, business-like way,
+suiting the action to the word, "I'm the doctor. You are to do just as
+I tell you. First you take this good American whiskey, then you lie
+down--here--there--that way,--voila!"
+
+"But----"
+
+"No!" putting her delicate hand over his mouth gently,--"you are not
+to talk, you know."
+
+He stretched himself at full length on the low couch without another
+protest. She brought a towel and basin and, removing the collar which
+had been twisted into a dirty rope, bathed his face and neck. She saw
+the red imprint of fingers on his throat with mingled hatred and
+commiseration; but she said nothing, only pressing the wet towel to
+the spot tenderly. In the place of the collar she put a piece of soft
+flannel saturated with cologne, and passed a silk scarf around the
+neck to hold it there. With comb and brush she softly smoothed out his
+hair, half toying with the locks about the temples, and perching her
+little head this way and that, as if to more accurately study the
+effect.
+
+"Ah! now that looks better. Monsieur is beginning to look civilized."
+
+She carefully pinned the ends of the scarf down over the shirt-front
+to hide the blood that was there.
+
+All of this with a hundred exclamations and little comments and
+questions that required no answers, and broken sentences of pity, of
+raillery, of pleasure, that had no beginning and no ending as
+grammatical constructions.
+
+Purr, purr, purr.
+
+Finally she rubbed his shoes till they shone, and flecked the dust
+from his clothes,--to complete which operation it was necessary for
+him to get up.
+
+A slight noise on the landing caused him to start nervously.
+
+He was still thinking of one thing,--of a man lying cold and stiff at
+the Hotel Dieu.
+
+Both carefully avoided the subject uppermost in either mind,--Henri
+Lerouge and his sister.
+
+First, she was astonished that he had not questioned her; next, she
+sought to escape questioning altogether. She was secretive by nature.
+And now, like a contrite and wretched woman conscious of her share of
+responsibility for a great wrong, she could only humble herself before
+him and await his will.
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "we will eat. Come! You must be
+hungry,--come! A table, monsieur!"
+
+"Au contraire, I feel as if I could never eat again," he said,
+desperately.
+
+"What nonsense! Come, monsieur,--sit down here and eat something! You
+will feel better at once."
+
+"Oh, you do not know! you cannot know!" he groaned, reseating himself
+and taking his head between his hands. "It is too horrible! horrible!"
+
+"Why, monsieur! What is it? Are you, then, hurt within? Say! Do you
+suffer? How foolish I have been! I should have brought a doctor!"
+
+She was kneeling in front of him in her genuine alarm. "Where is it,
+Monsieur Jean? Where is the pain? Tell me! Tell me, then, monsieur!"
+
+"No! no! it is not that, my child! It is here! here! here!" He struck
+his breast at every word, and bowed his head with abject grief.
+
+She was silent, thinking only of his hapless love. There was no word
+for that!
+
+"Ah! if it were only that! If it had been me instead of him!"
+
+"Monsieur! My poor Monsieur Jean! You must not give way thus!"
+
+"I am not fit to sit at the table with you, mademoiselle! My hands are
+red with blood! Do not touch them! Understand? Red!"
+
+"But you are crazy, monsieur!"
+
+"No! I am--I am simply a _murderer_! Do you hear? A MURDERER!"
+
+He whispered it with awful solemnity. Mlle. Fouchette, now thoroughly
+frightened, recoiled from him. He was mad!
+
+"That's right!" he cried. "That's right, mademoiselle! I'm not fit to
+touch you! No wonder you shrink from me! For I have blood on my
+hands,--his blood,--understand?--my friend's! Lerouge dead! dead! And
+by me!"
+
+"What's that?" she demanded. "Lerouge dead? Nonsense! It is not so!
+Who told you that? I say it is not true!"
+
+He seized her almost fiercely,--
+
+"Not dead? Her brother not dead? Say it again! Give me some hope!" he
+pleaded, pitifully.
+
+"I tell you again it is not so! I saw one who knows but a few minutes
+before I met you!"
+
+He sank on his knees at her feet and kissed her hands, now trembling
+with excitement.
+
+"Again!" he exclaimed.
+
+"It is as true as God!" said she. "And he is doing well!"
+
+He took her in his arms passionately, pouring out the thankfulness of
+his soul in kisses and loving caresses, sobbing like a child. They
+mingled their tears,--the blessed tears of joy and sympathy!
+
+For a long time they rested thus, immobile, with thoughts too deep for
+expression,--in a sacred silence broken only by sighs. Then when the
+calm was complete she softly disengaged herself in saying, "And _she_
+is there, Jean," as if completing the sentence long before begun. But
+it required an effort.
+
+He answered by a pressure of the hand. That was all.
+
+"And now, then, monsieur," she observed, abruptly and with playful
+satire, "I'm going to eat. I'm sorry you are not hungry, but----"
+
+"Eat? Little one," he joyously cried, "I can eat a house and lot!" He
+took her bodily between his hands, he who a moment before had been so
+weak, and tossed her as one plays with a child.
+
+"For shame! There is no house here for you, but I've got a lot to eat!
+There! No more of that, Monsieur Jean, or you shall have no supper!"
+
+As he threatened her again with his exuberant spirits, she wisely but
+laughingly put the table between them. But she looked a world of
+happiness from her eyes.
+
+From the extreme of mental depression Jean Marot was thus suddenly
+transported to the extreme of happiness and hopefulness. Simply
+because the life of the man whom he would have done to death, in his
+insane jealousy of a successful rival, had become precious, priceless,
+as that of the brother of his beloved. The conditions were desperate
+enough as they were. To have slain her brother would not only have
+rendered them hopeless, it would have condemned the survivor to a
+lifetime of remorse, unless, indeed, that life had not been happily
+shortened by the guillotine.
+
+So they laughed, talked, ate, drank, and made merry, these two, taking
+no thought of the morrow until both the supper and the time necessary
+to dispose of it were consumed.
+
+Jean lighted a cigarette that she gave him, and threw himself on the
+couch. Meanwhile, the girl, with the assistance of Poupon, got some
+hot water and washed the dishes, putting them one by one carefully
+back on the shelves in the wall. Finally the empty bottle found its
+place under the couch.
+
+Then she discovered that Jean was sleeping soundly. He had succumbed
+in spite of rattling dishes and her talk, and slept the heavy sleep of
+physical exhaustion. The cigarette had fallen from his fingers half
+finished. His throat was still muffled in her silken scarf, but she
+tried to see if the marks were still there. For fully a minute she
+remained standing over him, buried in thought. The old clock in the
+Henri IV. tower behind the Pantheon chimed eleven. She sighed.
+
+"Very well!" she murmured. "Monsieur is right. He has no money, no
+keys, and he is weary. He shall rest where he is. C'est egal!"
+
+With this philosophical reflection she immediately began preparation
+for retiring on her own account, completing this as if the monsieur
+snoring on the couch had no material existence.
+
+"Voila!" said she, when she had drawn her curtains.
+
+And in two minutes more she was as oblivious to the world as was Jean
+Marot.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+It would not be easy to define the sentiments or state the
+expectations of Mlle. Fouchette. Whatever they were, she would have
+been unable to formulate them herself.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was simply and insensibly conforming to her manner of
+life. She was drifting. She did not know where. She never thought of
+towards what end or to what purpose.
+
+Those who know woman best never assume to reduce her to the logical
+rules which govern the mathematical mind, but are always prepared for
+the little eccentricities which render her at once so charming and
+uncertain. The Frenchwoman perhaps carries this uncertainty to a
+higher state of perfection than her sex of any other nationality.
+
+That Mlle. Fouchette was the possessor of that indefinable something
+people call heart had never been so much as suspected by those with
+whom she had come in intimate contact. It had certainly never
+inconvenienced her up to this time. To have gone to her for sympathy
+would have been deemed absurd. Even in her intense enjoyment of "la
+vie joyeuse" her natural coldness did not endear her to those who
+shared her society for the moment. As a reigning favorite of the
+Bohemian set she would have earned the dislike of her sex; but this
+was greatly accentuated by her repute as an honest girl. The worst of
+these "filles du quartier" observed the proprieties, were sticklers
+for the forms of respectability. And Mlle. Fouchette, who was really
+good, trampled upon everything and everybody that stood in her way.
+
+As to her income from the studios, bah! and again bah!
+
+Then what was Mlle. Fouchette?
+
+That was the universal feminine inquiry.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette appeared to Jean Marot in a vaguely kaleidoscopic way
+as a woman of no account possessing good points. Sometimes she
+appeared to be cold, sly, vicious, and wholly unconscionable; again,
+good-hearted, self-sacrificing, sympathetic. But he did not bother
+about her particularly, though he covertly watched her this morning
+preparing breakfast. It was true, her blonde hair did not look as if
+it had been touched by comb or brush, that she wore pantoufles that
+exposed holes in the heels of her stockings, that her wrapper was
+soiled and gaped horribly between buttons on and off its frontage;
+but, then, what woman is perfect before breakfast?
+
+All this did not seriously detract from the fact that she had gone out
+of her way to look after him the day before. Nor did it explain that
+she had this morning invested herself with these slovenly belongings,
+taken in the demi-litre of milk that ornamented her door-knob, gone
+down into the street for additional "petits pains," added a couple of
+eggs "a la coque" to the usual morning menu, set Poupon to work on the
+cafe-au-lait, and was now putting the finishing touches to her little
+table in anticipation of the appetite of her awaking guest.
+
+"Bonjour, my little housekeeper."
+
+"Ah! bonjour, Monsieur Jean. Have you rested well? What a lazy man!
+You look well this morning, monsieur."
+
+"Oh, yes; and why not, mon enfant?" said he, straightening up somewhat
+stiffly.
+
+"And your poor bones?" she laughingly inquired, referring to the
+improvised couch. "It is not a comfortable bed for one like monsieur."
+
+"It is luxury unspeakable compared to the bed I had anticipated early
+last evening. I never slept better in all my life."
+
+"Good!" said she.
+
+"And I'm hungry."
+
+"Better!" said she. "Here is a clean towel and here is water," showing
+him her modest toilet arrangement, "and here is petite Poupon
+scolding----"
+
+"'Poupon'? 'scolding'?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur. Have you, then, forgotten poor little Poupon? For
+shame!" With mock indignation.
+
+She took the small blue teakettle, which had already begun to "scold,"
+and, stooping over the hearth, made the coffee. She then dropped the
+two eggs in the same teakettle and consulted the clock.
+
+"Hard or soft?" she asked.
+
+"Minute and a half," he replied in the folds of the towel.
+
+She was pouring the coffee back through the strainer in order to get
+the full strength of it, though it already looked as black as tar and
+strong enough to float an iron wedge. At the same time she saw him
+before her glass attentively examining the marks on his throat, now
+even more distinctly red than on the night before. But she knew
+instinctively that his thoughts were not of his own, but of another
+neck.
+
+Breakfast was not the lively repast of the previous evening. In the
+best of circumstances breakfast is a pessimistic meal. The world never
+looks the same as it appeared at yesterday's dinner.
+
+Jean had risen to a falling barometer. The first ebullition of joy at
+having been spared the slaughter of his friend and the brother of the
+girl he loved had passed and the real future stared him in the face.
+He began to entertain doubts as to whether a single glance from a pair
+of blue eyes was a solid foundation for the magnificent edifice he had
+erected thereon. But Jean Marot was intensely egoist and was prone to
+regard that which he wanted as already his.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was facing the same question on her own account,--a
+fact which she concealed from both as far as possible by making
+herself believe it was his affair exclusively. As it is always easier
+to grapple with the difficulties of others than with our own, she soon
+found means to encourage her illusion.
+
+"Mademoiselle?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"You are not at all a woman----"
+
+"What, then, monsieur, if I am not----"
+
+"Wait! I mean not at all like other women," he hastily interposed.
+
+"Par exemple?"
+
+"Because, first, you have not once said 'I told you so,'--not
+reproached me for disregarding your advice."
+
+"No? But that would be unnecessary. You are punished. Next?"
+
+"Well, you let me remain here."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+She opened the steel-blue eyes on him sharply,--so sharply, in fact,
+that Jean Marot either could not just then remember why not or that he
+did not care to say. But she relieved him of that embarrassment very
+quickly.
+
+"If you mean that I should be afraid of you, monsieur, or that I would
+have thought for a moment----"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no! I do not mean that, of course. It was the fear women
+have of others----"
+
+"What do I care for 'others'!" she snapped, scornfully. "Pray,
+Monsieur Jean, are there, then, 'others' who care anything about me?
+No! Ask them. No! I do what I please. And I account to nobody.
+Understand? Nobody!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette brought the small, thin white hand down upon the table
+with a slap that gave sufficient assurance of her sincerity, at the
+same time giving a happy idea of her immeasurable contempt for
+society.
+
+"But, my dear Mademoiselle Fouchette, I, at least, care for
+you,--only----"
+
+"La, la, la! Only you don't care quite enough, Monsieur Jean, to take
+my advice," she interrupted. "Is not that it?"
+
+"If I don't I shall be the loser, I'm afraid," he replied,
+lugubriously.
+
+"And then I should be sorry."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because I am not worthy of it. Now answer me."
+
+"Well, because it pleases me," she responded, with a smile. "You know
+what I said but a moment ago? I do what I please and account to
+nobody."
+
+"Very well. Now, does it please your Supreme Highness to continue to
+shower the blessing of your royal favor upon me?"
+
+"For to-day, perhaps; if you obey my imperious will, monsieur."
+
+He prolonged the comedy by kneeling on one knee and saying humbly, "I
+am your most obedient subject. Command!"
+
+"Bring me my clothes, monsieur."
+
+"Er--wha-at? clothes?" he stammered.
+
+"I said clothes,--on the bed there. Lay them out on the couch,
+please."
+
+He found her simple wardrobe of the previous day on the bed--the
+skirt, the little bolero, the hat with the feather--and laid them out
+on the couch one by one with mock care and ceremony.
+
+"There!"
+
+"Shake them out, monsieur."
+
+"Yes, your Highness."
+
+She was putting away the last breakfast things when she heard an
+exclamation.
+
+"Red!" said he. "And beard, too, as I'm a sinner!"
+
+He had found a tuft of red beard twisted in the fastening of the
+bolero. The expression on his face would have defied words. As for
+Mlle. Fouchette, she was for a moment of the same color of the
+telltale hair. For some reason she did not wish Jean to know of her
+part in the riot. At the same time she was angry with herself for the
+womanly feeling of delicacy that surged into her cheeks.
+
+"Where did you get it?" he asked, quizzically.
+
+"Monsieur! Go away!"
+
+"I didn't know you'd been decorated, mademoiselle,--really,--Legion of
+Honor, too!"
+
+"Bah! I must have given some man a good pull in the crowd," said she.
+"How provoking!"
+
+"For him, doubtless, yes."
+
+"To return to your affairs, Monsieur Jean," she said, grabbing the
+garments and proceeding to put them on with that insouciance begotten
+of studio life. "Have you any money?"
+
+"With me? Not a sou!"
+
+She slipped her hand down her neck and drew forth a small bag held
+there by a string and took from it a coin, which she tendered him.
+
+"Here is a louis,--you may repay it when you can."
+
+"Thank you, my child. But it is not necessary. I can get some money at
+the Credit Lyonnais."
+
+"But, monsieur, you can't walk there! And we will be busy to-day."
+
+"Oh, we will be busy, will we?"
+
+"Yes,--unless you rebel," she replied, significantly.
+
+"At least, your Highness will let me know----"
+
+"First, we must go and find out how Lerouge is----"
+
+"Good!"
+
+"Next, see an agent about your place. You are to sell your lease, you
+know, and furniture----"
+
+"And furniture,--very well. After?"
+
+"And then we must find you a new place,--cheaper, don't you know?"
+
+"A good deal cheaper," he said.
+
+"In this quarter they are cheapest."
+
+"Then let it be in the quarter."
+
+"Voila! Now that's all right." A remark which may have equally applied
+to his affairs or to the putting on of her shoes.
+
+"A very simple appartement will serve," he observed, when she sounded
+him on his idea of cheapness.
+
+"There is a lovely one de garcon next door to me, but it is dear. It
+is a little parlor, bedroom, and kitchen. And this is a quiet house,
+monsieur."
+
+"Good! I like quietude, and----"
+
+"Oh, it is a very quiet place," she assured him.
+
+"This appartement,--dining-room?"
+
+"No! What does a man alone want with a dining-room? Let him eat in the
+parlor."
+
+"Yes, that would be luxury," he admitted.
+
+"One doesn't need the earth in order to eat and sleep."
+
+"N-no; but how much is this luxury of the Rue St. Jacques?" he
+inquired.
+
+"It is four hundred francs, I believe." She heaved a sigh of regret.
+It seemed a large sum of money to Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Four hundred a year? Only four hundred a year! Parbleu! And now what
+can one get for four hundred a year, ma petite Fouchette?"
+
+"S-sh! monsieur,--a good deal!" she exclaimed, smiling at his naivete.
+With all his patronizing airs she instinctively felt that this man who
+treated her as if she were a child was really a provincial who needed
+both mother and business agent.
+
+"I'd like to see it, anyhow," said he.
+
+"At once, monsieur,--so you shall; but it is dear, four hundred
+francs, when you might get the same at Montrouge for two hundred and
+fifty francs. Here,--I have the key,--le voila!"
+
+It was the appartement of three rooms next door to her chamber, which
+seemed to have been cut off from it as something superfluous in the
+Rue St. Jacques.
+
+"Why--and Monsieur de Beauchamp is----"
+
+"Gone."
+
+"Yesterday?"
+
+"Yesterday afternoon,--yes. Quite sudden, was it not?"
+
+She said this as though it was of no importance.
+
+"The huissier?" he suggested, official ejectment being the most common
+cause of student troubles.
+
+She laughed secretively.
+
+"The police?"
+
+Then she laughed openly--her pretty little silvery tinkle--and drew
+his attention to the kitchen.
+
+It was a small dark place with a much-worn tile floor and a charcoal
+range of two pockets faced and covered with blue and white tiles; an
+immense hood above yawning like the flat open jaws of a gigantic
+cobra, which might not only consume all the smoke and smells but
+gobble up the little tile-covered range itself upon gastronomical
+provocation.
+
+"Isn't it just lovely!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, delightedly. "And
+see! here is a stone sink, and there's water and gas."
+
+Water and gas are still deemed luxuries in the more ancient quarters
+of Paris. As for baths, they are for the rich,--even the more modern
+structures are parsimonious of baths. You realize all this when in a
+close omnibus, or smell some well-dressed Parisienne ten feet away.
+When one of the dwellers of Rue St. Jacques takes a bath a battered
+old tub is brought around on a wagon and unloaded in the court with a
+noise and ceremony that arouses the entire neighborhood, which puts
+its head out of the window and wonders who is going to be married.
+
+"And here's a private closet, too," continued Mlle.
+Fouchette,--"everything! But that sweet little stove! I could cook a
+course dinner on that!"
+
+"Oh, you could, eh?" inquired Jean. "Then you shall."
+
+"Surely!" said the girl, as if it were settled from the first.
+"Besides, it is so much more economical for two than one."
+
+"Oh, is it?" he replied, doubtfully.
+
+"Of course, if one lives at expensive restaurants. And in bad weather
+or when one feels grumpy----"
+
+They looked at the large bedroom and small anteroom, or toilet-room
+adjoining, which Mlle. Fouchette declared was good enough for a lord,
+inspected the closets, commented on the excellent condition of the
+polished floors and newly papered walls, and finally decided that it
+really was a good deal for the money.
+
+"It could be made a little paradise," said she, enthusiastically.
+
+"Needing the angels," he suggested.
+
+"Possibly; but one can get along very comfortably without them."
+
+"But I wonder why M. de Beauchamp, installed here so comfortably day
+before yesterday, should be missing to-day. There must be some
+drawback here----"
+
+"Oh, no. The truth is, M. de Beauchamp thought he saw--in fact, M. de
+Beauchamp did see visions. In one of these he was foretold of a
+possible difference of opinion between himself and the government;
+about something that was to have happened yesterday and didn't
+happen----"
+
+"Did not happen. Go on."
+
+"There, Monsieur Jean," she concluded, "that is all. Only, you see, M.
+de Beauchamp's arrangements having been made, he probably thought he
+might as well disappear----"
+
+"And his studio with him."
+
+"Precisely. Look what a nice big closet in the wall!"
+
+"Yes,--funny. But, I say, mon enfant, was this handsome M. de
+Beauchamp really an artist?"
+
+"Bah! how do I know? He made pictures. Certainly, he made pictures."
+
+Jean Marot laughed so heartily at this subtle distinction that he lost
+the mental note of her disinclination to gossip about her late
+neighbor,--a reluctance that is decidedly foreign to the French female
+character.
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean,"--when he had made up his mind,--"if you will let
+me manage the concierge," she went on, "it may save you fifty francs,
+don't you know? Very likely the term has been paid,--he will make you
+pay it again. I know Monsieur Benoit,--he'd rob you like saying a
+prayer."
+
+"It is a novelty to be looked after by a female agent, anyhow," mused
+the young man, when she had disappeared on this mission. "If she picks
+up the fifty francs instead of that surly rascal Benoit I'm satisfied.
+It is a quiet place, sure, and dog cheap. Now, I wonder what her game
+is, for women don't do all of these things for nothing."
+
+Jean was of the great pessimistic school of Frenchmen who never give a
+woman credit for disinterestedness or honesty, but who regard them
+good-naturedly as inferior beings, amusing, weak, selfish creatures,
+placed on earth to gratify masculine vanity and passion,--to be
+admired or pitied, as the case might be, but never trusted, and always
+fair game. The married Frenchman never trusts his wife or daughter
+alone with his best male friend. No young girl alone in the streets of
+Paris is free from insult, day or night; and such a girl in such a
+case would appeal to the honor of Frenchmen in vain.
+
+Jean Marot would have never dreamed that Mlle. Fouchette had saved him
+from imprisonment. Even in his magnanimous moments he would have
+listened to the accusation that this girl had robbed him of his money
+and watch quite as readily as to the statement that she had already
+taken measures to insure the recovery of that personal property. Yet,
+while his estimate of woman was low, it did not prevent him from
+loving one whom he had believed another man's mistress; it did not
+now steel his heart against the sympathy of mutual isolation.
+
+"All goes well!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, skipping into the room.
+
+"All goes well, eh?" he repeated.
+
+"Yes, Monsieur Jean. Think then! it is a bargain. Oh, yes, one hundred
+francs----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"I say one hundred francs saved! The semestre was paid and you get it
+less a term's rent, thus you save one hundred francs. Isn't that nice?
+One can live two months on one hundred francs."
+
+"Oh! oh! oh! not I," he laughingly exclaimed. "But I guess I'd better
+let you manage, little one; you have begun so well."
+
+Her face almost flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled.
+
+"And you shall have fifty of that hundred francs saved. It is only
+fair, petite," he hastily added, seeing the brightness extinguished by
+clouds.
+
+But she turned abruptly towards the window. He mistook this gesture
+and said to himself, "She would like to have it all, I suppose. I'd
+better make a square bargain with her right here." Then aloud,--
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur,"--coldly.
+
+"What is your idea?"
+
+"As to what, Monsieur Jean?"
+
+"Well, say about our domestic affairs, if you will."
+
+"Well, monsieur, very simply this: I will care for the place if you
+wish,--somebody must care for it----"
+
+"Yes, that is evident, and I wish you to help me, if you will."
+
+"Then I'll serve the breakfasts and any other meal you wish to pay
+for. In other words, if you prefer it in terms, I will be your
+housekeeper. I can cook, and I'm a good buyer and----"
+
+"No doubt of that, mon enfant; but I am a poor man now, you know, and
+the pay----"
+
+"Pay! And who has asked you to pay anything? Do you suppose--ah!
+Monsieur Jean, you don't think me that!"
+
+"But one can't be expected to work for nothing," protested the young
+man, humbly.
+
+"Work? It would be pleasure. And then you would be paying for what we
+ate, wouldn't you? I have to make my coffee,--it would be just as easy
+for two. And you would be perfectly free to dine at the restaurant
+when you chose,--we'd be as free as we are now,--and I would not
+intrude----"
+
+"Oh, I never thought of that!" he declared.
+
+"Do not spoil my pleasure by suggesting money!" Her voice was growing
+low and the lips trembled a little, but only for a second or two, when
+she recovered her ordinary tone.
+
+"As a rich man's son living in the Faubourg St. Honore you might have
+suspected that motive, but as a medical student chasse, and deserted
+by his parents and with no prospects to speak of----"
+
+His lugubrious smile checked her.
+
+"Pardon! Monsieur Jean, I did not wish to remind you of your
+misfortunes. Let us put it on purely selfish grounds. I am poor. I am
+alone. I am lonely. I should at least earn my coffee and rolls. I
+would see you every day. My time would be pleasantly occupied. I will
+be a sister,--bonne camarade,--nothing more, nothing less----"
+
+He had taken her hands impulsively, but her eyes were veiled by the
+heavy lashes.
+
+"Voila! It is then understood?" she asked, venturing to look up into
+his face.
+
+"Certes! But your terms are too generous,--and--and, you know the
+object of my heart, mademoiselle."
+
+"Toujours! And I will help you attain that object if possible," she
+said, warmly, pressing his hand.
+
+"You are too good, mademoiselle," he responded. "Next to one woman I
+think you are the best woman I ever knew!"
+
+He took her in his strong arms and kissed her tenderly, though she
+struggled faintly.
+
+"Enough! enough! You must not do that, monsieur! I do not like it.
+Remember how I hate men, spoony men,--they disgust me! As a woman I
+can be nothing to you; as a friend I may be much. Save your caresses,
+monsieur, for the woman you love! You understand?"
+
+"There! no offence, little one. Am I not your brother?" he asked,
+laughing.
+
+She nervously readjusted her blonde hair before the little glass and
+did not reply. But it was evident that she was not very angry, for
+Mlle. Fouchette was explosive and went off at a rude touch.
+
+At the same moment a terrible racket rose from the stairway,--the
+sound of a woman's voice and blows and the howling of a dog. Leaning
+over the banister the young couple saw a woman, short, broad,
+bareheaded, and angry, wielding a broom-handle. The passage was rather
+narrow, so that more than half of the whacks at the dog were spent
+upon the wall and balustrade, though the animal, lashed to the latter,
+yelped at every blow the same.
+
+Now, in Paris a dog is a sort of a privileged animal, not quite
+sacred. Rome was saved by geese, pigeons are venerated in Venice. Dogs
+preserved Paris in the fearful day of the great siege by suffering
+themselves to be turned into soups, steaks, sausage, etc. Since which
+Paris has become the dog paradise, where all good dogs go when they
+die. They not only have the right of way everywhere, but the exclusive
+right of the sunny sidewalks in winter and shady side in summer. A
+Frenchman will beat his wife, or stab his mistress in the back, club
+his horses fiendishly, but he will never raise hand or foot against a
+dog.
+
+From every landing came a burst of remonstrance and indignation.
+Vituperative language peculiar to a neighborhood that has enjoyed the
+intimate society of two thousand years of accumulated human wisdom and
+intellectual greatness, and embellished and decorated by the old
+masters, rose and fell upon the sinful dog-beater, with the effect of
+increasing the blows.
+
+Suddenly three persons sprang to the rescue, two from below and one
+from above. The last was a woman and the owner of the dog.
+
+"Mon Dieu! My dear little Tu-tu!" she screamed.
+
+And with a howl of wrath that drowned the piercing voice of poor
+little Tu-tu she precipitated herself upon the enemy.
+
+The latter turned her weapon upon the new-comer just as the two men
+from below grabbed her. This diversion enabled the infuriated
+dog-owner to plant both hands in the enemy's hair, which came off at
+the first wrench.
+
+"Oh!" cried Jean.
+
+"It is horrible!" said Mlle. Fouchette, with a shudder.
+
+From where they beheld the tragedy they could not see that the hair
+was false.
+
+But the dog-beater was just as angry as if it had been ripped from its
+original and virgin pasture, and she uttered a shriek that was heard
+around the block and grappled her three assailants.
+
+The whole four, a struggling composite mass of legs and arms, went
+rolling down to the next landing surrounded by a special and lurid
+atmosphere of oaths.
+
+There they were arrested by the aroused police agents.
+
+Poor little Tu-tu had stopped howling. He was dead,--crushed under the
+human avalanche.
+
+"Yes," said Jean, "this is a quiet house."
+
+"Dame!" replied Mlle. Fouchette, "it is like death!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+An hour later Jean Marot and Mlle. Fouchette were at the foot of the
+broad stone steps leading to the Hotel Dieu, the famous hospital
+fronting on the plaza of Notre Dame.
+
+"I will wait," he said.
+
+"Yes; I will inquire," she assented. "I was here last night." And
+Mlle. Fouchette ran lightly up the steps and entered the palatial
+court.
+
+Another woman was hastily walking in the opposite direction. She bent
+her head and quickened her steps as if to avoid recognition.
+
+"Why, it is Madeleine!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, throwing herself in the
+way.
+
+A face stamped with the marks of dissipation and haggard with watching
+was raised to meet this greeting. The one big, round, dark orb gleamed
+upon the speaker almost fiercely.
+
+"So you're here again," muttered the one-eyed grisette, in her deep
+voice.
+
+"It seems so. I wish to find out how he is."
+
+"What business is it of yours?"
+
+"Oh, come, now, Madeleine; you're all upset. You look worn out. You
+have been here all night?"
+
+"Ah, ca! it is nothing. Have I not been up all night more than once?"
+
+"And monsieur----"
+
+"They say he is better."
+
+"You have seen him, then?"
+
+"No; they would not allow me. Besides, there is his sister."
+
+"Is she with him now?"
+
+"Not now. They sent her away in the night. She will be back this
+morning."
+
+"Poor girl!"
+
+"But what is all this to you? Why are you here? Does the Ministry----"
+
+"Madeleine!"
+
+But the tigerish look that swept over Mlle. Fouchette's face gave way
+to confusion when the grisette quickly shifted her ground.
+
+"Monsieur Marot, I suppose."
+
+"Yes, Madeleine."
+
+"And so he has thrown her over for you, eh?" the other bitterly asked,
+with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders.
+
+"Oh! no, no, no!" hastily protested Mlle. Fouchette, trembling a
+little in spite of herself. "That would be impossible! He is so sorry,
+Madeleine."
+
+"Sorry! Yes, and the wicked marks on his throat, mon Dieu!"
+
+"Are on Jean's also, Madeleine," said Mlle. Fouchette. "Let us set
+these friends right, Madeleine. Will you? Let them be friends once
+more."
+
+The one dark eye had been searching, searching. For the ears heard a
+voice they had never heard before. It came from the lips of Mlle.
+Fouchette, but was not the familiar voice of Mlle. Fouchette. But the
+search was vain.
+
+"Ah! very well, petite," the searcher finally said, with a sigh.
+"Their quarrel is not mine. I have not set these men on to tear each
+other like wild beasts."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette turned her face away. But the veins on her white neck
+were as plain as print.
+
+They were read by the simple-hearted grisette thus: It could only be
+love or hate; since it is not hate, it is love! Lerouge or Marot?
+
+"Mademoiselle!"
+
+The other turned a defiant face towards the speaker.
+
+"You know that a reconciliation between these men means----"
+
+"That Jean Marot will be thrown into the arms of the woman he loves,"
+was the bold interpolation.
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"That is what I wish."
+
+The dark eye gleamed again, and the breast heaved. It must be Lerouge!
+Jealousy places the desirability of its subject above everything. It
+must be Lerouge.
+
+"Chut! Here she comes," whispered Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+It was Mlle. Remy. She was clad in a simple blue costume, the skirt of
+which cleared the ground by several inches, her light blonde hair
+puffing out in rich coils from beneath the sailor hat. Her sad blue
+eyes lighted at the sight of Madeleine, and her face broke into a
+questioning smile as she extended her small hand.
+
+"Oh, Monsieur Lerouge is much better, mademoiselle," said Madeleine.
+
+"Thank you!--thank you for your good news, my dear," Mlle. Remy warmly
+replied.
+
+She turned towards Mlle. Fouchette a little nervously, and Madeleine
+introduced them.
+
+"It is strange, Mademoiselle Fouchette," observed Mlle. Remy; "could I
+have met you before?"
+
+"I think not, mademoiselle. One meets people on the boulevards----"
+
+"No, I don't mean that,--a long time ago, somewhere,--not in Paris."
+
+Mlle. Remy was trying to think.
+
+"Perhaps you confuse me with somebody else, mademoiselle."
+
+"Scarcely, since I do not remember seeing anybody who resembled you.
+No, it is not that, surely."
+
+"One often fancies----"
+
+"But my brother Henri thought so too, which is very curious. May I ask
+you if your name----"
+
+"Just Fouchette, mademoiselle. I never heard of any other----"
+
+"I am from Nantes," interrupted Mlle. Remy. "Think!"
+
+"And I am only a child of the streets of Paris, mademoiselle," said
+Mlle. Fouchette, humbly.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Mlle. Remy sighed.
+
+"Mademoiselle Fouchette and Monsieur Marot have come to learn the news
+of your brother," said Madeleine, seeing the latter approaching.
+
+Jean Marot had, in fact, followed Mlle. Remy inside of the building,
+but having been overtaken by timidity for the first time in his life,
+had hesitated at a little distance in the rear. He could stand the
+suspense no longer.
+
+"Monsieur Marot, Mademoiselle----"
+
+"Oh, we have met before, monsieur, have we not?" asked Mlle. Remy,
+lightly. "I thank you very much for----"
+
+Jean felt his heart beating against the ribbed walls of its prison as
+if it would burst forth to attest its love for her. He had often
+conjured up this meeting and rehearsed what he would say to her. Now
+his lips were dumb. He could only look and listen.
+
+And this was she whom he loved!
+
+In the mean time Mlle. Remy, who had flushed a little under the
+intense scrutiny she felt but could not understand, grew visibly
+uneasy. She detected a sign from Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+He had unconsciously disclosed the telltale marks upon his neck.
+
+At the sight Mlle. Remy grew pale. There was much about this young man
+that recalled her brother Henri, even these terrible finger-marks. All
+at once she remembered the meeting of Mardi Gras, when her brother
+insulted him and pulled her away.
+
+Why?
+
+It was because this young Marot admired her, and because he and her
+brother were enemies. She saw it now for the first time. Paris was
+full of political enemies. Yet, in awe of her brother's judgment and
+like a well-bred French girl, she dared not raise her eyes to
+his,--with the half-minute of formalities she hurried away. But as she
+turned she gave him one quick glance that combined politeness,
+shyness, fear, curiosity, and pity,--a glance that went straight to
+his heart and increased its tumult.
+
+A pair of sharp, steel-blue eyes regarded him furtively, and, while
+half veiled by the long lashes, lost not a breath or gesture of this
+meeting and parting,--saw Jean standing, hat in hand, partly bowed,
+speechless, with his soul in his handsome face.
+
+The one black eye of the maimed grisette saw only Mlle. Fouchette. If
+that scrutiny could not fathom Mlle. Fouchette's mind, it was perhaps
+because the mind of Mlle. Fouchette was not sufficiently clear.
+
+"Allons!" said the latter young woman, in a tone that scarcely broke
+his revery.
+
+There is often more expression in a simple touch than in a multitude
+of words. The unhappy grisette felt this from the sympathetic hand of
+the young man slipped into hers at parting. At a little distance she
+turned to see Jean and Mlle. Fouchette enter a cab and drive towards
+the right bank.
+
+"Ca!" she murmured, "but if that petite moucharde had a heart it would
+be his!"
+
+During the next half-hour Mlle. Fouchette unconsciously gained greatly
+in Jean's estimation by saying nothing. They went to the Credit
+Lyonnais, in Boulevard des Italiens, to Rue St. Honore, to the "agent
+de location,"--getting money, taking a list of furniture, seeing about
+the sale of his lease. In all of this business Mlle. Fouchette showed
+such a clear head and quick calculation that from first being amused,
+Jean at last leaned upon her implicitly.
+
+The next day was spent in arranging his new quarters, Mlle. Fouchette
+issuing general direction, to the constant discomfiture of the worthy
+Benoit, thus deprived of unknown perquisites.
+
+When this work of installation had been completed, Jean found himself
+with comfortable quarters in the Rue St. Jacques at a saving of
+nearly two thousand four hundred francs.
+
+"There!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"At last!" said Jean.
+
+"Now," Mlle. Fouchette began, with enthusiasm, "I'm going to get
+dinner!"
+
+"Oh, not to-day! Allons donc! We must celebrate by dinner at the
+restaurant."
+
+"But it's a sinful waste of money, when one has such a sweet
+range,--and you must economize, monsieur."
+
+"All right," he replied,--"to-morrow."
+
+It is a popular plan of economy, that which begins to-morrow.
+
+"Yes, to-morrow; to-morrow you shall have your way. To-day I have
+mine. Why, what a parsimonious little wretch you are! And have you not
+been devoting all of your time and working hard for me these five
+days?"
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Jean----"
+
+"We will treat ourselves to a good dinner au boulevard. You have been
+my best friend----"
+
+"Oh, Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"Are my best friend," he added. "I really don't see how I could have
+gotten on without you."
+
+"Ah! Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"You have saved me hundreds of francs,--you are such a good little
+manager!"
+
+Nothing up to that moment had ever given Mlle. Fouchette half the
+pleasure bestowed with this praise. Mlle. Fouchette blushed. Jean saw
+this blush and laughed. It was so funny to see Mlle. Fouchette blush.
+This made Mlle. Fouchette blush still deeper. In fact, it seemed as if
+all the warm blood that had been concealed in Mlle. Fouchette's system
+so long had taken an upward tendency and now disported itself about
+her neck and face.
+
+Jean would have kissed her, only she repulsed him angrily; then,
+seeing his surprise and confusion, she covered her face with her hands
+and laughed hysterically.
+
+"Mademoiselle----"
+
+"Stop, stop, stop! I knew what you were going to say! It was money
+again!"
+
+"Really, mademoiselle----"
+
+"It was! You did! You know you did! And you know how I hate it! Don't
+you dare to offer me money, because I love----" Mlle. Fouchette choked
+here a little,--"because I love to help you, Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"But I was not thinking of offering you money for your kindness, mon
+enfant." Jean took this play for safety as genuine wrath.
+
+"You were going to; you know you were!" she retorted, defiantly.
+
+"Well, I suppose I may offer to repay the louis I borrowed the other
+day?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I'll make you pay your debts, monsieur,--never fear that!"
+
+She began to recover her equilibrium, and smiled confidently in his
+face. But he was now serious.
+
+"There are some debts one can never pay," said he.
+
+"Never! never! never!" she exclaimed. "Monsieur, whatever I might do,
+I owe you still! It will always be so!"
+
+"Uh! Uh! That's barred, petite."
+
+He stopped walking up and down and looked into her earnest eyes
+without grasping her meaning. "She is more feminine than one would
+suppose," he said to himself,--"almost interesting, really!"
+
+"Come!" he cried, suddenly, "this is straying from the subject, which
+is dinner. Come!"
+
+"We'd have to do some marketing, anyhow," she admitted, as if arguing
+with herself. "Perhaps it is better to go out."
+
+"Most assuredly."
+
+"Not at any fashionable place, Monsieur Jean----"
+
+"Oh, no; is there any such place in the quarter?" he laughingly asked.
+
+"Can't we go over on the other side?"
+
+"Yes, my child, certainly."
+
+"I know a place in Montmartre where one may dine en fete for two
+francs and a half, cafe compris." She was getting on her things, and
+for the first time was conscious of the hole in the heel of her
+stocking.
+
+"There is the Cafe de Paris----"
+
+"Oh! it is five francs!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Well, one may dine better on five francs than two and a half."
+
+"It is too dear, Monsieur Jean."
+
+"Then there is the Hotel du Louvre table-d'hote, four francs,--very
+good, too."
+
+"It is too fashionable,--too many Americans."
+
+"Parbleu! one can be an American for one meal, can he not? They say
+Americans live well in their own country. They have meat three times a
+day,--even the poorest laborers."
+
+"And eat meat for breakfast,--it is horrible!"
+
+"Yes,--they are savages."
+
+After discussing the various places and finding that his ideas of a
+good dining-place were somewhat more enlarged than her ideas, Mlle.
+Fouchette finally brought him down to a Bouillon in Boule'
+Miche',--the student appellation for Boulevard St. Michel. She would
+have preferred any other quarter of the city, though not earnestly
+enough to stand out for it.
+
+They settled on the Cafe Weber, opposite the ancient College
+d'Harcourt, a place of the Bouillon order, with innumerable dishes
+graded up from twenty centimes to a franc and an additional charge of
+ten centimes for the use of a napkin.
+
+Wine aside, a better meal for less money can be had in a score of
+places on Broadway. In the matter of wine, the New York to the Paris
+price would be as a dollar to the franc.
+
+In the Quartier Latin these places are patronized almost exclusively
+by the student class. Not less than fifty of the latter were at table
+in the Cafe Weber when Jean Marot and Mlle. Fouchette entered. Here
+and there among them were a few grisettes and as many cocottes of the
+Cafe d'Harcourt, costumes en bicyclette, demure, hungry, and silent.
+Young women in smart caps and white aprons briskly served the tables,
+while in the centre, in a sort of enclosed pulpit, sat the handsome,
+rosy-faced dame du comptoir, with a sharp eye for employes and a
+winning smile and nod for familiar customers.
+
+There was a perceptible sensation upon the entrance of the last
+comers. A momentary hush was succeeded by a general buzz of
+conversation, the subject of which was quite easily understood. The
+stately dame du comptoir immediately opened her little wicket and came
+down from her perch to show the couple to the best seats, a courtesy
+rarely extended by that impersonation of restaurant dignity. The
+hungry women almost stopped eating to see what man was in tow of the
+"Savatiere."
+
+"We are decidedly an event," laughingly observed Jean as they became
+seated where they could command the general crowd at table.
+
+"Yes, monsieur," replied the dame du comptoir, though his remark had
+not been addressed to that lady,--"the fame of the brave Monsieur
+Marot is well known in the quarter. And--and mademoiselle," she added,
+sweetly, "mademoiselle--well, everybody knows mademoiselle."
+
+With this under-cut at Mlle. Fouchette the rosy-cheeked cashier left
+them in charge of the waitress of that particular table.
+
+"You see, Monsieur Jean," said his companion, not at all pleased by
+this reception, "we are both pretty well known here."
+
+"So it seems. Yet I was never in here before, if I remember
+correctly."
+
+"Nor I," said she, "but once or twice."
+
+Notoriety is fame to Frenchmen, and while he did not yet fully
+comprehend it, Jean Marot had reached this sort of fame in a single
+day. His name had been actively and even viciously discussed in the
+newspapers. He was accused of being both royalist and anti-Dreyfusarde
+by the ultra republican press. He was said to be a Bonapartist. The
+Dreyfusarde papers declared that the government had connived at his
+discharge from prison. The nationalist papers lauded him as a patriot.
+One extravagant writer compared him to the celebrated Camille
+Desmoulins who led the great Revolution. A noisy deputation had called
+upon him in the Rue St. Honore to find that he had not been seen there
+since the riot.
+
+Of all of this Jean Marot actually knew less than any other
+well-informed person in Paris. Being wholly absorbed in his domestic
+affairs, he had scarcely more than glanced at a newspaper, and did not
+at this moment know that his name had ever been printed in the Paris
+journals. The few acquaintances he had met had congratulated him for
+something, and some students he did not know had raised their hats to
+him in the streets; and once he had been saluted by a class procession
+with desultory cries of "Vive Marot!" Mere rioting was then too common
+in Paris to excite particular attention individually.
+
+But Jean Marot had been magnified by newspaper controversy into a
+formidable political leader; besides which there were young men here
+who had followed him a few days before in the riots. Therefore he was
+now the cynosure of curious attention.
+
+From admiring glances the crowd of diners quickly passed to
+complimentary language intended for his ears.
+
+"He's a brave young man!" "You should have seen him that day!" "Ah,
+but he's a fighter, is M. Marot!" "Un bon camarade!" "He is a
+patriot!" etc.
+
+These broken expressions were mingled with sly allusions to Mlle.
+Fouchette from the women, who were consumed by envy. They had heard of
+the Savatiere's conquest with disbelief, now they saw it with their
+own eyes. The brazen thing! She was showing him off.
+
+"She's caught on at last."
+
+"Monsieur has more money than taste."
+
+"Is he as rich as they say?"
+
+"The skinny model."
+
+"Model, bah!"
+
+"Model for hair-pin, probably."
+
+"The airs of that kicker!"
+
+"He might have got a prettier mistress without trying hard."
+
+"He'll find her a devil."
+
+"Oh, there's no doubt about it. He has fitted up an elegant
+appartement for her in the Rue St. Jacques."
+
+"Rue St. Jacques. Faugh!"
+
+It should be unnecessary to say that these encomiums were not designed
+for the ears of Mlle. Fouchette, though the said ears must have burned
+with self-consciousness. But it may be well enough to remark that
+despite the spleen the object of it had risen immensely in the
+estimation of the female as well as the male habitues of Cafe Weber.
+
+As the couple occupied a table in the extreme rear, the patrons in
+front found it convenient to go out by way of the Rue Champollion in
+order to see if not to bow to the distinguished guest.
+
+The apparent fact that the new political leader had taken up with one
+of the most notorious women of the Quartier Latin in no way detracted
+from their esteem for him,--rather lent an agreeable piquancy to his
+character. On the other hand, it raised Mlle. Fouchette to a certain
+degree of respectability.
+
+These demonstrations annoyed our young gentleman very much. Nothing
+but this patent fact saved them from a general reception.
+
+"It is provoking!" exclaimed his companion.
+
+"I don't understand it at all," said he.
+
+"I do," replied Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"And, see, little one, I don't like it."
+
+"I knew you wouldn't, and that is why I suggested the right bank of
+the river."
+
+"True,--I always make a mistake when I don't follow your advice. Have
+some more wine,--I call that good."
+
+"It ought to be at two francs a bottle," she retorted.
+
+"My father would call this rank poison, but it goes."
+
+"Poor me! I never tasted any better," laughed the girl, sipping the
+wine with the air of a connaisseuse. "A litre a cinquante is my
+tipple," she said.
+
+"Now, what the devil do all these people mean?" he asked, when a party
+had passed them with a slight demonstration.
+
+"That you are famous, monsieur. I wish we had remained at home."
+
+"So do I, petite," he said.
+
+"Let us take our coffee there, at least," she suggested.
+
+"Good!" he cried,--"by all means!"
+
+They were soon installed in his small salon, where she quickly spread
+a table of dainty china. She had agreed with him in keeping his
+pictures, bric-a-brac, and prettiest dishes.
+
+"Ah! they are so sweet!" she would say. "Now here is a lovely blue cup
+for you. I take the dear little pink one,--it's as delicate as an
+egg-shell,--Sevres, surely! And here's some of my coffee. It is not as
+good, perhaps, as you are used to, but----"
+
+"Oh, I'm used to anything,--except being stared at and mobbed by a lot
+of curious chaps as if I were a calf with six legs, or had run off
+with the President's daughter, or----"
+
+"Or committed murder, eh?" said she. "People always stare at
+murderers, do they not? Still, it isn't really bad, you know,"
+abruptly returning to the coffee, "with a petit verre and cigarette."
+
+"Au contraire," he retorted, gayly.
+
+And over their coffee and cognac and cigarettes, surrounded by his
+tasteful belongings, shut in by the heavy damask hangings, under the
+graceful wreaths of smoke, they formed a very pretty picture. He,
+robust, dark, manly; she, frail, delicate, blonde, and distinctively
+feminine.
+
+The comfort of it all smote them alike. The conversation soon became
+forced, then ceased, leaving each silently immersed in thought.
+
+But Mlle. Fouchette welcomed this interval of silence with a
+satisfaction inexpressible. She, too, was under the spell of the place
+and the occasion. Mlle. Fouchette was not a sentimental woman, as we
+have seen; but she had recently been undergoing a mental struggle that
+taxed all her practical common sense. She found now that she saw
+things more clearly.
+
+The result frightened her.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette felt that she was happy, therefore she was frightened.
+
+She experienced a mysterious glow of gladness--the gladness of mere
+living--in her veins. It permeated her being and filled her heart with
+warm desires.
+
+This feeling had been stealing upon her so gradually and insidiously
+that she had never realized it until this moment,--the moment when it
+had taken full possession of her soul.
+
+"I love him! I love him!" she repeated to herself. "I have struggled
+against it,--I have denied it. I did not want to do it,--it is misery!
+But I can't help it,--I love him! I, Fouchette, the spy, who would
+have betrayed him, who wronged him, who thought love impossible!"
+
+She did not try to deceive herself. She knew that at this moment, when
+her heart was so full of him, he was thinking of another woman,--a
+beautiful and pure being that was worthy of his love,--that he had
+forgotten her very existence. She had not the remotest idea of trying
+to attract that love to herself. She did not even indulge in the
+pardonable girlish dreams in which "If" is the principal character.
+
+He was as impossible to her as the pyramids of Egypt. Therefore she
+was frightened.
+
+"Mon Dieu! but I surely do love him!" She communed with her poor
+little bursting heart. "And it is beautiful to love!" She sighed
+deeply.
+
+"Mademoiselle!"
+
+She started visibly, as if he had read her thoughts as well as heard
+her sigh, and felt the hot blood mantle her neck again,--for the
+second time within her memory.
+
+"Pardon! mademoiselle," he said, gently, "I forgot. I was
+thinking----"
+
+"Of her? Yes,--I know. It is--how you startled me!"
+
+There was a perceptible chord of sympathy in her voice, and he moved
+his chair around to hers and made as if he would take her hand in the
+usual way. But to his surprise she rose and, seating herself on a low
+divan some distance from him, leaned her elbows on her knees and
+rested her downcast face between her hands. She could not bear to have
+him touch her.
+
+"Mon enfant! Mon amie!" he remonstrated, in a grieved tone.
+
+"Bah! it is nothing," she murmured; "and nothing magnified is still
+nothing."
+
+There was that in her voice which touched a heart surcharged with
+tenderness. He came over and stood beside her.
+
+"I was thinking----"
+
+"Of her,--yes,--I understand----"
+
+"And I lose myself in my love," he added.
+
+"Yes; love! Oui da!"
+
+She laughed a little hysterically and shrugged the thin shoulders
+without changing her position.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed, pityingly, "you do not know what love is!"
+
+"Me? No! Why should I?"
+
+She never once looked up at him. She dared not.
+
+"And yet you once said love was everything," he continued, thinking
+only of himself.
+
+"Yes,--everything," she repeated, mechanically. "Did I say that?"
+
+"And you spoke truly, though I did not know it then----"
+
+"No,--I did not know it then," she repeated, absently.
+
+In his self-absorption he did not see the girl in the shadow below him
+trembling and cowering as if every word he uttered were a blow.
+
+"Love to me is life!" he added, with a mental exaltation that lifted
+him among the stars.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette did not follow him there. With a low, half-smothered
+cry she had collapsed and rolled to the floor in a little quivering
+heap.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+As a medical student, as well as habitue of the quarter, Jean Marot
+was not greatly alarmed at an ordinary case of hysterics. He soon had
+Mlle. Fouchette in her proper senses again.
+
+He was possibly not more stupid than any other egoist under similar
+circumstances, and he attributed her sudden collapse to
+over-excitement in arranging his affairs.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette lay extended on his divan in silent enjoyment of his
+manipulations, refusing as long as possible to reopen her eyes. When
+she finally concluded to do so he was smoothing back her dishevelled
+hair and gently bathing her face with his wet handkerchief.
+
+"Don't be alarmed, mon enfant," he said, cheerily, "you are all right.
+But you have worked too hard----"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no!" she interrupted. "And it has been such a pleasure!"
+
+"Yes; but too much pleasure----"
+
+She sighed. Her eyes were wet,--she tried to turn them away.
+
+"Hold on, petite! none of that!"
+
+"Then you must not talk to me in that way,--not now!"
+
+"No? And pray, how, then, mademoiselle?"
+
+"Talk of--tell me of your love, monsieur, mon ami. You were speaking
+of it but now. Tell me of that, please. It is so--love is so
+beautiful, Monsieur Jean! Talk to me of her,--of Mademoiselle Remy. I
+have a woman's curiosity, monsieur, mon frere."
+
+It was the first time she had called him brother. She had risen upon
+her elbow and nervously laid her small hand upon his.
+
+She invited herself to the torture. It had an irresistible fascination
+for her. She gave the executioner the knife and begged him to explore
+and lay bare her bleeding heart.
+
+"But, mon enfant----"
+
+"Oh! it will do me good to hear you," she pleaded.
+
+It does not require much urging to induce a young man in love to talk
+about his passion to a sympathetic listener. And there never was time
+or place more propitious or auditor more tender of spirit.
+
+He began at the beginning, when he first met Mlle. Remy with Lerouge,
+every detail of which was fixed upon his memory. He told how he sought
+her in Rue Monge, how Lerouge interposed, how he quarrelled with his
+friend, how the latter changed his address and kept the girl under
+close confinement to prevent his seeing her,--Jean was certain of
+this.
+
+Monsieur Lerouge had a right to protect his sister, even against his
+late friend; and even if she had been his mistress, Jean now argued,
+Lerouge was justified; but love is something that in the Latin rises
+superior to obstacles, beats down all opposition, is obstinate,
+unreasonable, and uncharitable.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette, going straight to the core of the matter, asked
+him what real ground he had for presuming that his attentions, if
+permitted, would have been agreeable to Mlle. Remy, Jean confessed
+reluctantly that there were no reasons for any conclusion on this
+point.
+
+"But," he wound up, impetuously, "when she knows--if she knew--how I
+worship her she _must_ respond to my affection. A love such as mine
+could not be forever resisted, mademoiselle. I feel it! I know it!"
+
+"Yes, Monsieur Jean, it would be impossible to--to not----"
+
+"You think so, too, chere amie?"
+
+"Very sure," said Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Now you can understand, Fouchette. You are a woman. Put yourself in
+her place,--imagine that you are Mademoiselle Remy at this moment. And
+you look something like her, really,--that is, at least you have the
+exact shade of hair. What beautiful hair you have, Fouchette! Suppose
+you were Mademoiselle Remy, I was going to say, and I were to tell you
+all this and--and how much I loved you,--how I adored you,--and got
+down on my knees to you and begged of you----"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"And asked you for a corner--one small corner in your heart----"
+
+"Ah! mon ami!"
+
+"What would you----"
+
+"Shall I show you, mon frere?"
+
+"Yes--quickly!"
+
+He had, with French gesture, suiting the action to the word, knelt
+beside her and extended his arms, as if it were the woman he loved.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, throwing herself upon his breast
+precipitately and entwining his neck with her arms,--"it would be
+this! It would be this! Ah! mon Dieu! It surely would be this!"
+
+For the moment Jean was so carried away by his imagination that he
+accepted Mlle. Fouchette as Mlle. Remy and pressed her to his heart.
+He mingled his tears and kisses with hers. Her fair hair fell upon his
+face and he covered it with passionate caresses. He poured out the
+endearing words of a heart surcharged with love. It was a very clever
+make-believe on both sides,--very clever and realistic.
+
+As a medical adviser of an hysterical young woman Jean Marot could
+scarcely have been recommended.
+
+And it must be remarked, in the same connection, that Mlle. Fouchette
+remained in this embrace a good deal longer than even a clever
+imitation seemed to demand. However, since the real thing could not
+have lasted forever, there must be a limitation to this rehearsal.
+Both had become silent and thoughtful.
+
+It was Mlle. Fouchette who first moved to disengage, and she did so
+with a sigh so profound as to appear quite real. This was the second,
+and she felt it would be the last time. They would never again hold
+each other thus. Her eyes were red and swollen and her dishevelled
+hair stuck to her tear-stained face. She was not at all pretty at the
+moment, yet Jean would have gone to the wood of St. Cloud sword in
+hand to prove her the best-hearted little woman in the world.
+
+"Voila!" she exclaimed, with affected gayety, "how foolish I am,
+monsieur! But you are so eloquent of your passion that you carry one
+away with you."
+
+"I hope it will have that effect upon Mademoiselle Remy," he said, but
+rather doubtfully.
+
+"So I have given a satisfactory----"
+
+"So real, indeed, Fouchette, that I almost forgot it was only you."
+
+Mademoiselle Fouchette was bending over the basin.
+
+"I think"--splash--"that I'll"--splash--"go on the stage," she
+murmured.
+
+"You'd be a hit, Fouchette."
+
+"If I had a lover--er--equal to the occasion, perhaps."
+
+"Oh! as to that----"
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean, we have not yet settled your affair," she
+interrupted, throwing herself again upon the divan among the cushions.
+
+"No; not quite," said he.
+
+She tried to think connectedly. But everything seemed such a jumble.
+And out of this chaos of thought came the details of the miserable
+part she had played.
+
+Her part!
+
+What if he knew that she was merely the wretched tool of the police?
+What would he say if he came to know that she had once reported his
+movements at the Prefecture? And what would he do if he were aware
+that she knew the true relation of Lerouge and Mlle. Remy and had
+intentionally misled both him and Madeleine?
+
+Fortunately, Mlle. Fouchette had been spared the knowledge of the real
+cause of Madeleine's misfortune,--the jealous grisette whom she had
+set on to worse than murder.
+
+But she was thinking only of Jean Marot now. Love had awakened her
+soul to the enormity of her offence. It also caused her to suffer
+remorse for her general conduct. Before she loved she never cared; she
+had never suffered mentally. Now she was on the rack. She was being
+punished.
+
+Love had furrowed the virgin ground of her heart and turned up
+self-consciousness and conscience, and sowed womanly sweetness, and
+tenderness, and pity, and humility, and the sensitiveness to pain.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, living in the shadow of the world's greatest
+educational institutions, was, perhaps naturally, a heathen. She
+feared neither God nor devil.
+
+Jean Marot was her only tangible idea of God. His contempt would be
+her punishment. To live where he was not would be Hell.
+
+To secure herself against this damnation she was ready to sacrifice
+anything,--everything! She would have willingly offered herself to be
+cuffed and beaten every day of her life by him, and would have
+worshipped him and kissed the hand that struck her.
+
+Perhaps, after all, the purest and holiest love is that which stands
+ready to sacrifice everything to render its object happy; that,
+blotting out self and trampling natural desire underfoot, thinks only
+of the one great aim and end, the happiness of the beloved.
+
+This was the instinct now of the girl who struggled with her emotions,
+who sought a way out that would accomplish that end very much desired
+by her as well as Jean. There was at the same time a faint idea that
+her own material happiness lay in the same direction.
+
+"Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You must make friends with Lerouge."
+
+"But, mon enfant, if----"
+
+"There are no 'buts' and 'ifs.' You must make friends with the brother
+or you can never hope to win his sister. That is clear. Write to
+him,--apologize to him,--anything----"
+
+"I don't just see my way open," he began. "You can't apologize to a
+man who tries to assassinate you on sight."
+
+"You were friends before that day in the Place de la Concorde?"
+
+"We had not come to blows."
+
+"Politics,--is that all?"
+
+"That is all that divides us, and, parbleu! it divides a good many in
+France just now."
+
+"Yes. Monsieur Jean, you must change your politics," she promptly
+responded.
+
+"Wha-at? Never! Why----"
+
+"Not for the woman you love?"
+
+"But, Fouchette, you don't understand, mon enfant. A gentleman can't
+change his politics as he does his coat."
+
+"Men do, monsieur,--men do,--yes, every day."
+
+"But----"
+
+"What does it amount to, anyhow?--politics? Bah! One side is just like
+the other side."
+
+"Oh! oh!"
+
+"Half of them don't know. It's only the difference between celui-ci
+and celui-la. You must quit ci and join la, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette laid this down as if it were merely a choice between
+mutton and lamb chops for dinner. But Jean Marot walked impatiently up
+and down.
+
+"You overlook the possible existence of such a thing as principle,--as
+honor, mademoiselle," he observed, somewhat coldly.
+
+"Rubbish!" said Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Oh! oh! what political morals!" he laughingly exclaimed, with an
+affectation of horror.
+
+"There are no morals in politics."
+
+"Precious little, truly!"
+
+"Principles are a matter of belief,--political principles. You change
+your belief,--the principles go with it; you can't desert 'em,--they
+follow you. It is the rest of them, those who disagree with you, who
+never have any principles. Is it not so, monsieur?"
+
+He laughed the more as he saw that she was serious. And yet there was
+a nipping satire in her words that tickled his fancy.
+
+A gentle knock at the door interrupted this political argument. A
+peculiar, diffident, apologetic knock, like the forerunner of the man
+come to borrow money. There was a red bell-cord hanging outside, too,
+but the rap came from somebody too timid to make a noise.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette started up as if it were the signal for execution. She
+turned pale, and placed her finger on her lips. Then, with a
+significant glance at Jean, she gathered herself together and tiptoed
+to a closet in the wall.
+
+She entered the closet and closed the door softly upon herself.
+
+Jean had regarded her with surprise, then with astonishment. He saw no
+reason for this singular development of timidity. As soon as he had
+recovered sufficiently he opened the door.
+
+A tall, thin man quietly stepped into the room, as quietly shut the
+door behind him, and addressed the young man briskly,--
+
+"Monsieur Marot?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur, at your service."
+
+"So."
+
+"And this is--ah! I remember--this is----"
+
+"Inspector Loup."
+
+The fishy eyes of Monsieur l'Inspecteur had been swimming about in
+their fringed pools, taking in every detail of the chamber. They
+penetrated the remotest corners, plunged at the curtains of the bed,
+and finally rested for a wee little moment upon the two cups and
+saucers, the two empty glasses, the two spoons, which still remained
+on the table. And yet had not Inspector Loup called attention to the
+fact one would never have suspected that he had seen anything.
+
+"Pardon, Monsieur Marot," he said, half behind his hand, "but I am not
+disturbing any quiet little--er----"
+
+"Not yet, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," replied the young man, suggestively.
+"Go on, I beg."
+
+"Ah! not yet? Good! Very well,--then I will try not to do so."
+
+Whereupon Monsieur l'Inspecteur dived down into a deep pocket and
+brought up a package neatly wrapped in pink paper and sealed with a
+red seal.
+
+The package bore the address of "M. Jean Marot."
+
+"May I ask if Monsieur Marot can divine the contents of this parcel?"
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur will pardon me,--I'm not good at guessing."
+
+"Monsieur missed some personal property after his arrest----"
+
+"If that is my property," Jean interrupted, brusquely, "it ought to be
+a gold watch, hunting case, chronometer, Geneva make, with
+eighteen-carat gold chain, dragon-head design for hook; a bunch of
+keys, seven in number, and a door-key, and about one hundred and
+eighty francs in paper, gold, and silver."
+
+"Very good. Excellent memory, monsieur. It ought to serve you well
+enough to keep out of such brawls hereafter. Here,--examine!"
+
+Hastily opening the package, Jean found his watch and chain and
+everything else intact, so far as he could recollect. He expressed his
+delight,--and when his grasp left the thin hand of the police official
+it was to leave a twenty-franc gold piece there.
+
+"Will monsieur kindly sign this receipt?" inquired Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur, whose hand had closed upon the coin with true official
+instinct.
+
+"But how and where did they get the things back?" inquired Jean,
+having complied with this reasonable request.
+
+"I know nothing about that," said the man.
+
+"And how did they know I had lost them? I never complained."
+
+"Then perhaps somebody else did, eh?"
+
+The bright little fishy right eye partially closed to indicate a
+roguish expression.
+
+"Bon soir, monsieur."
+
+And with another wink which meant "You can't fool me, young man," he
+was gone.
+
+"Well, this is luck!" muttered Jean aloud. He examined the watch
+lovingly. It was a present from his father. "But how did they get
+these? how did they know they were mine? and how did they know where I
+lived? Who asked----"
+
+He went back to the closet and told Mlle. Fouchette the coast was
+clear. There was no answer. He tried the door. It was locked. She had
+turned the key on the inside.
+
+"Mademoiselle! Come!"
+
+He waited and listened. Not a sound.
+
+"Mademoiselle! Ah, ca! He is gone long ago!"
+
+Still not a stir. Perhaps she was asleep,--or, maybe,--why, she would
+smother in that place!
+
+He kicked the door impatiently. He got down upon his breast and put
+his ear to the crevice below. If she were prostrated he might hear her
+breathing.
+
+All was silence.
+
+This closet door was the merest sheathing, flush with the wall and
+covered with the same paper, after the fashion of the ancient Parisian
+appartements, and had nothing tangible to the grasp save the key,
+which was now on the inside. Jean tried to jostle this out of place by
+inserting other keys, but unsuccessfully.
+
+"Sacre!" he cried, in despair; "but we'll see!"
+
+And he hastily brought a combination poker and stove-lifter from the
+kitchen, and, inserting the sharp end in the crack near the lock, gave
+the improvised "jimmy" a vigorous wrench. The light wood-work flew in
+splinters.
+
+At the same moment the interior of the closet was thus suddenly
+exposed to the uninterrupted view.
+
+Jean recoiled in astonishment that was almost terror. If he had been
+confronted with the suspended corpse of Mlle. Fouchette he could have
+scarcely been more startled.
+
+For Mlle. Fouchette was not there!
+
+The cold sweat started out of him. He felt among his clothes,--passed
+his hand over the three remaining walls. They appeared solid enough.
+
+"Que diable! but where is she, then?" he muttered.
+
+He was dazed,--rendered incapable of reasoning. He went around vaguely
+examining his rooms, peering behind curtains and even moving bits of
+furniture, as if Mlle. Fouchette were the elusive collar-button and
+might have rolled out of sight somewhere among the furniture.
+
+"Peste! this is astonishing!"
+
+All of this time there was the lock with the key on the inside.
+Without being a spiritualist, Jean felt that nobody but spirits could
+come out of a room leaving the doors locked and the keys on the
+inside. But for that lock, he might have even set it down to optical
+illusion and have persuaded himself that perhaps she had really never
+entered that place at all.
+
+As Jean Marot was not wholly given to illusions or superstitions, he
+logically concluded that there was some other outlet to that closet.
+
+"And why such a thing as that?" he asked himself. What could it be
+for? Was it a trap? Perhaps it was a police souriciere? He remembered
+the warning of Benoit.
+
+Jean hesitated,--quite naturally, since he was up to the tricks of the
+political police. If this were a trap, why, Mlle. Fouchette must have
+known all about it! Yet that would be impossible.
+
+Then he thought of M. de Beauchamp, and his brow cleared. Whatever the
+arrangement, it could have never been designed with regard to the
+present occupant of the appartement,--and M. de Beauchamp had escaped.
+
+He lighted a cigarette and took a turn or two up and down,--a habit of
+his when lost in thought.
+
+"Ah! it is a door of love!" he concluded. "Yes; that is all. Well, we
+shall find out about that pretty soon."
+
+The more he thought of the handsome, godlike artist who had so
+mysteriously fled, why, the more he recalled Mlle. Fouchette's
+confusion on a certain evening when he first called on her, and her
+recent disinclination to discuss his disappearance. He was now certain
+that this mysterious exit emptied into her room. He smiled at his own
+sagacity. His philosophy found the same expression of the cabman of
+Rue Monge,--
+
+"Toujours de meme, ces femmes-la!"
+
+He laughed at the trick she had played him; he would show her how
+quickly he had reached its solution. He went outside and tapped gently
+on her door.
+
+No reply.
+
+He tried the lock, but it was unyielding. Examination by the light of
+a match showed no key on the inside.
+
+"Eh bien! I will go by the same route," he said, returning to his
+room.
+
+He brought a lighted candle to bear on the magical closet. It proved
+to be, as stated, the ordinary blind closet of the ancient Parisian
+houses, the depth of the wall's thickness and about three feet wide;
+the door being flush with the wall and covered with the same paper,
+the opening was unnoticeable to the casual view.
+
+All Parisian doors close with a snap-lock, and a key is indispensable.
+This knowledge is acquired by the foreigner after leaving his key on
+the inside a few times and hunting up a locksmith after midnight.
+
+The back of these closets, which are used for cupboards as well as
+receptacles for clothing, abuts on the adjoining room, quite often, in
+a thin sheathing of lath and plaster, which, being covered with the
+wall-paper, is concealed from the neighboring eyes, but through which
+a listener may be constantly informed as to what is going on next
+door.
+
+A superficial survey of the place having developed no unusual
+characteristics, Jean took down all of his clothing and emptied the
+closet of its contents to the last old shoe.
+
+With the candle to assist him, he then carefully examined the rear
+wall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had her reasons for not wishing to meet Inspector Loup
+anywhere or at any time. These reasons were especially sound,
+considering this particular time and place.
+
+And that the knock on Jean's door was that of Inspector Loup she had
+no more doubt than if she had been confronted by that official in
+person.
+
+Therefore her flight.
+
+The visit of Inspector Loup had the same effect upon Mlle. Fouchette
+that the unexpected appearance of the general of an army might have
+upon a sleepy picket-guard or a man off post. Inspector Loup was to
+her a sort of human monster--a moral devil-fish--that not even the
+cleverest could escape if he chose to reach out for them.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had been seized by the tentacles of Inspector Loup in
+her infancy, as has been seen, and from that moment had become the
+creature of his imperial will,--had, in fact, finally become one of
+the myriad infinitesimal tentacles herself, subservient to the
+master-mind. Whatever scruples she had imbibed from the society of the
+Rendez-Vous pour Cochers had been dissipated by the Jesuit sisters of
+Le Bon Pasteur. In the select circle of the vagabonds of the Porte de
+Charenton and robbers of the wood of Vincennes the police agent was
+execrated, and the secret informer, or spy, was deemed the most
+despicable of human creatures and worthy only of a violent death;
+whereas the good Mother Superieure of Le Bon Pasteur encouraged the
+tale-bearer and rewarded the informer with her favor and the
+assurance of the Divine blessing. Even the good Sister Agnes--now
+already a kind of shadowy memory--had taught the waif that spying out
+and reporting to the constituted authorities was commendable and
+honorable.
+
+And to do Mlle. Fouchette full justice she so profited by these
+religious teachings that she was enabled to impart valuable inside
+information to Inspector Loup's branch of the government concerning
+the royalist plottings at Le Bon Pasteur. The importance of these
+revelations Mlle. Fouchette herself did not understand, but that it
+was of great value to the ministry--as possibly corroborating other
+facts of a similar nature in their possession--was evidenced by the
+transfer of Mlle. Fouchette's name to a special list of secret agents
+at the Ministry, with liberty to make special reports over the head of
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur himself.
+
+From that moment the latter official watched Mlle. Fouchette with a
+vigilant eye; for under the spy system agents were employed to watch
+and report the actions of other agents. This held good from the top of
+the Secret Service down,--reminding one of the vermin of Hudibras
+that--
+
+              "had fleas to bite 'em,
+    And these same fleas had lesser fleas,
+        So on ad infinitum."
+
+In Mlle. Fouchette the government had found one of the lesser fleas,
+but none the less sharp, shrewd, active, and unconscionable.
+
+Up to a quite recent period.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's reports to the Prefecture had latterly betrayed a
+laxity of interest that invited official attention, if they did not
+call down upon her the official censure.
+
+The girl was conscious of this. Half sullen, half defiant, she was
+struggling under the weight of the new views of life recently
+acquired. Like the rest of the intelligent world, whose wisdom chiefly
+consists in unlearning what it has already learned, Mlle. Fouchette
+was somewhat confused at the rapidity with which old ideas went to
+pieces and new ideas crowded upon her mind.
+
+Because--well, because of Jean Marot.
+
+A single look from Inspector Loup before Jean would terrify her,--a
+word would crush her.
+
+She must have time.
+
+And why did Inspector Loup come there in person as errand-boy unless
+for another purpose? She thought of the secret agents who usually
+accompanied Inspector Loup. She knew that at this moment they were
+spread out below like the videttes of an army. They were down in the
+Rue St. Jacques in their usual function of Inspector Loup's eyes that
+saw everything and Inspector Loup's ears that heard everything.
+
+This visit to Jean was a mere pretext that covered something more
+important. Was it concerning Jean? Or, was it her? Perhaps Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur wanted her,--a species of flattery which would have been
+incense to her a month ago, and was now a terror.
+
+It was only a few days since she had earned fifty francs and the
+compliments of Inspector Loup. It was true, Monsieur de Beauchamp had
+got away to Brussels, the centre of the Orleans conspiracy.
+
+He was the first victim of the new ministry, and his flight indicated
+the change of policy as to the well-known and openly tolerated
+machinations of the royalists. Some of the more timid Orleanists in
+Paris and the provinces, recognizing the signal, took the alarm and
+also put the frontier between them and Inspector Loup.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's conscience was clear; she had combined feminine
+philanthropy with duty in Monsieur de Beauchamp's case--he was such a
+handsome and such an agreeable gentleman--and had given him the
+straight tip after having betrayed him. She had not repented this good
+action, but she felt the cold chills again when she thought of
+Inspector Loup. She was only a poor petite moucharde,--a word from
+him--nay, a nod, a significant wink--would deprive her of the sunshine
+that ripens the grapes of France.
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette fled before Inspector Loup's knock she took the
+key of the closet and these swift reflections with her. The snap-lock
+was familiar to her, and the key was the only means of pulling the
+door shut upon herself, and the only means of opening it again when
+she chose to come out.
+
+She leaned against the side of the dark box and listened. The sound of
+Monsieur l'Inspecteur's soft voice did not startle her,--she knew it.
+She would have been surprised if it had been anything else. The watch
+and chain episode reassured her but little,--beyond the assurance that
+Jean was in no immediate danger.
+
+She got over in the farthest corner behind the clothes, thinking to
+have some fun with Jean when he should come to search for her. The
+wall was very thick and there was ample space behind her, but this
+space seemed to give way and let her back farther and farther,
+unexpectedly, as one leans against an opening door.
+
+It was a door. And it let her into the wall, apparently, and so
+suddenly that she lost her balance.
+
+As soon as she had recovered from her astonishment she stood perfectly
+still for a few moments and listened attentively. Fortunately, she had
+made no noise.
+
+"Dear me! but this is very curious," she murmured, feeling the walls
+on all sides.
+
+She was in another closet similar to the one she had just left,--she
+could feel the empty hooks above her head. Her hand struck a key.
+
+All the curiosity of the moucharde came over her. She forgot all about
+Jean,--even Inspector Loup. She turned the key slowly and noiselessly
+and opened the door,--a little at first, then more boldly.
+
+She heard nothing. She saw nothing. Whatever the place it was as black
+as pitch.
+
+She now recalled the mysterious goings and comings of the friends of
+Monsieur de Beauchamp,--the disappearance of half a dozen at a
+time,--the peculiar noises heard from her side of the closet.
+
+"Truly, this is the back shop of Monsieur de Beauchamp," said she, as
+she stumbled upon a box. "If I only had a candle or a match."
+
+She felt the box, which was almost square, and was so heavy she could
+scarcely raise one end of it.
+
+She groped along the wall, where similar boxes were piled up, and
+began to wonder what on earth Monsieur de Beauchamp had stored there
+in his back shop.
+
+A startling suggestion stole into her mind,--perhaps it was----
+
+She hastily sought the door by which she had entered, and in her
+excitement she stumbled against it.
+
+The door closed with a snap.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was not afraid of being alone in the dark, yet she
+trembled nervously from head to foot.
+
+She knew that the key was on the inside!
+
+Then she remembered that other door only a few feet away with its key
+on the inside and with Jean Marot on the outside. And she trembled
+more than ever.
+
+What would Jean think of her?
+
+Of course, she knew he would be likely to force the closet door; but
+when he had found her missing,--what then? Would he be angry? Would he
+not suspect some trick? Would he persevere till he found her?
+
+It was all about Jean,--of herself she scarcely thought, only so far
+as the effect might come through him. All at once she felt rather than
+heard the dull sound of the breaking door beyond.
+
+"Ah! he has broken the door. He will come! He has discovered it!"
+
+She beat the walls with her small fists,--kicked the unresponsive
+stone with her thin little shoes,--her blows gave out no sound. If she
+only had something to knock with----
+
+She fumbled blindly in the darkness among the boxes. Perhaps--yes,
+here was one open, and--
+
+"Voila!"
+
+She laid her hand on a heavy, cylindrical substance like a piece of
+iron gas-pipe, only--funny, but it was packed in something like
+sawdust.
+
+She tapped smartly on the wall with it--once, twice, thrice--at
+regular intervals, then listened.
+
+The two similar raps from the other side showed that she was both
+heard and understood.
+
+"He has found it. Ah! here he is!"
+
+And with her last exclamation Jean appeared, candle in hand, peering
+into the room and at Mlle. Fouchette in the dazed way more
+characteristic of the somnambulist than of one awake and in the full
+possession of his senses.
+
+"Mon Dieu! mon enfant, what have we here?" he ejaculated as soon as he
+recovered breath. "What is it? Are you all right? How foolish you are,
+little one!"
+
+"All right, mon ami."
+
+And she briefly and rapidly recited her adventures, at the end
+triumphantly exhibiting the bit of iron pipe with which she had opened
+communication.
+
+His face suddenly froze with horror!
+
+"Give it to me!"
+
+He snatched it from her hand excitedly and held it an instant apart
+from his candle.
+
+"A thousand thunders!" he gasped, at the same time handling the thing
+gingerly and looking for a place to lay it down.
+
+"But----"
+
+"It is a dynamite bomb!" he said, hoarsely.
+
+"Mon Dieu!"
+
+She turned as white as a sheet and staggered backward only to come in
+contact with one of the boxes on the floor. She recoiled from this as
+if she had been threatened by a snake. Mlle. Fouchette was quite
+feminine. A mouse now would have scared her into convulsions.
+
+"Where did you get this, petite?" he asked. "It is death,--a horrible
+death!"
+
+She pointed to the boxes, unable to speak.
+
+"Dynamite bombs! cartridges! powder and ball!" he declared, as he
+casually examined the nearest. "It is a real arsenal!"
+
+"Come, Jean! Let us go!" said the girl, seizing him. "It is dangerous!
+Your candle! think! Come!"
+
+She dragged him towards the open door. "Ah! to think I beat upon the
+wall with that--that----"
+
+She shivered like a leaf.
+
+"You are right," said he. "The candle is dangerous. I will get my
+bicycle-lamp and we will investigate this mystery."
+
+"It is no longer a mystery," she replied,--"not to me. It is the hand
+of the Duke."
+
+"It is very singular," he muttered. "Very curious."
+
+"It is a fairy romance," said she, as they passed back through the
+narrow opening to Jean's appartement.
+
+"There is no fairy story about that dynamite,--that, at least, is both
+practical and modern."
+
+"Oh! I mean this secret passage and all that----"
+
+"Yes; but don't you know, mon enfant, that I first thought it led
+to--to your----"
+
+"For shame! Monsieur Jean!"
+
+"I don't know," said he, shaking his head smilingly. "Monsieur de
+Beauchamp was a very handsome man."
+
+"Yes, besides being an ardent servant of the Duc d'Orleans and an
+artist collector of pictures and bric-a-brac----"
+
+"Especially 'bric-a-brac,'" said Jean, with sarcasm.
+
+"Anyhow, mon ami, you now know----"
+
+"That I was unjust to you, yes; pardon me! You could know very little
+of Beauchamp, since he was able to collect all of this bric-a-brac
+under your nose."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette reddened, thinking, nervously, of what Inspector Loup
+would say on that head. Jean saw this color and changed the
+conversation.
+
+"Come, now, let us go and explore Monsieur de Beauchamp's articles of
+vertu."
+
+With the bicycle bull's-eye light in hand he led the way back through
+the secret passage, followed closely by the young girl.
+
+"Monsieur de Beauchamp wasn't the mighty Caesar in one thing," said
+Jean, as he squeezed through the narrow opening in the wall.
+
+"How is that?"
+
+"He had only lean men about him,--true conspirators."
+
+"Yes,--it was necessary."
+
+They found the dark room where all of the munitions of war and
+compound assassination were stored. Entering, they inadvertently
+closed the door behind them.
+
+"Dame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette. "The key, monsieur! the key!"
+
+"Que diable!"
+
+"How provoking!"
+
+"But we have the dynamite----"
+
+"Ah, ca!"
+
+But somehow Mlle. Fouchette was not as badly frightened at the
+situation as one might have the right to expect. She even laughed
+gayly at their mutual imprisonment.
+
+"Dynamite!" muttered Jean,--"a throne founded upon dynamite would
+crumble quickly----"
+
+"Yes, and by dynamite," said she.
+
+"Monsieur de Beauchamp was----"
+
+"Is a royalist leader----"
+
+"An assassin!"
+
+"A tool of the Duc d'Orleans."
+
+"The Duke would never stoop to wholesale murder! Never!"
+
+"It is the way of kings, n'est-ce pas? to shelter themselves from
+responsibility behind their tools?"
+
+"Stop! there must be guns for this ammunition. It must be----"
+
+Before the idea had fairly germinated in his brain Jean discovered a
+door that in the candle-light had easily escaped their observation. It
+was at the opposite side of the room from which they had entered. It
+was a narrow door and the key was in the lock.
+
+"Another way out," suggested the girl.
+
+"Surely, petite, since that closet entrance was never meant for a
+porte-cochere."
+
+The door opened upon a narrow and dark passage paved with worn tiles.
+At the end of this passage another door barred the way. An examination
+showed at once that this last had not been used for a long time. To
+the left, however, a mere slit in the stone was seen to involve a
+steep stair of very much worn steps. Opposite the entrance to this
+stairway was a shallow niche in the wall, in which were the remains of
+burned candles.
+
+"Cat stairs," said Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"And the cats have used it a good deal of late, I should judge," he
+observed, carefully examining the entrance in the glare of the lamp.
+
+"Leads to the roof, probably," she muttered.
+
+"Probably. Let us mount."
+
+"Oh, yes, let us follow the trail."
+
+The instinct of the woman and the spy was now strong within her.
+
+The "cat stairs" were closed at the top by a heavy oaken trap securely
+fastened within by two iron hooks.
+
+"It is astonishing!" he said.
+
+"What?"
+
+"These fastenings, keys, bolts, bars, are all on this side."
+
+"Which shows merely that they are to be used only from this direction,
+does it not?"
+
+"Yes, that is plain; but we are now in another building, evidently,--a
+building that must open on some other street than the Rue St.
+Jacques."
+
+In the mean time Jean had finally unfastened and forced the trap. In
+another moment he had drawn her through the opening and they stood
+under a cloudless sky.
+
+"Ah!" she murmured.
+
+"We are free, at least, mon enfant."
+
+She was not thinking of that. The silence, the glorious vault of
+stars, the----
+
+"S-sh!"
+
+"It's the bell of Sainte Genevieve," he whispered, crossing himself
+involuntarily.
+
+"Cover the light, Monsieur Jean. These roofs have scores of eyes----"
+
+"And a couple of prowlers might be the target for a score of bullets,
+eh? True enough!"
+
+"Midnight!"
+
+She had been counting the strokes of the clock, the sound of which
+came, muffled and sullen, from the old square belfry beyond the
+Pantheon.
+
+The roofs of this old quarter presented a curious conglomeration of
+the architectural monstrosities of seven centuries. It was a fantastic
+tumult of irregular shapes that only took the semblance of human
+design upon being considered in detail. As a whole they seemed the
+result of a great upheaval of nature--the work of some powerful
+demon--rather than that of human architectural conception. These
+confused and frightful shapes stretched from street to street,--stiff
+steeps of tile and moss-covered slate, massive chimneys and blackened
+chimney-pots, great dormer-windows and rows of mere slits and holes of
+glass betraying the existence of humanity within, walls and copings of
+rusty stone running this way and that and stopping abruptly,
+mysterious squares of even blackness representing courts and
+breathing-spaces,--up hill and down dale, under the canopy of stars,
+as far as the eye could reach!
+
+And here, close at hand, and towering aloft in the entrancing
+grandeur of celestial beauty, rose the dome of the Pantheon,--so
+close, indeed, and so grandly great and beautiful in contrast with all
+the rest, that it seemed the stupendous creation of the angels.
+
+"You are cold, petite?" he whispered.
+
+She had shivered and drawn a little closer to him.
+
+"No," replied the girl, glancing around her, "but it is frightful."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Oh, these sombre roofs."
+
+"Bah! petite," he responded lightly, "ghosts don't promenade the roofs
+of Paris."
+
+"They'd break their ghostly necks if they did."
+
+"Come! and let us be careful not to break ours. Allons!"
+
+They stole softly along the adjoining wall that ended at a court.
+There was clearly no thoroughfare in this direction. Coming back on
+the trail he examined the stone attentively, she meanwhile shading the
+light with the folds of her dress. It was comparatively easy to note
+the recent wear of feet in the time-accumulation of rust and dirt and
+dry moss of these old stones. In a few moments he discovered that the
+tracks turned off between two high-pitched roofs towards the Pantheon.
+As from one of these slopes grinned a double row of dormer-windows, it
+seemed incredible that any considerable number of prowlers might long
+escape observation.
+
+"But they may be vacant," said the girl, when Jean had suggested the
+contingency.
+
+"That is quite true."
+
+So they stealthily crept rather than walked on, the end of the gutter
+abutting on another court. The depression was marked here by virgin
+moss.
+
+"It is very extraordinary," growled Jean, entirely at a loss to
+account for the abrupt close of the trail. There was no way out of
+this trough save by climbing over one of these steep roofs, except----
+
+"The window, perhaps," she whispered.
+
+"True!"
+
+Rapidly moving the lamp along the bottom of the gutter, Jean stopped.
+
+"There it is!"
+
+She pointed to the window above them with suppressed excitement.
+
+There were almost imperceptible cleats cleverly laid across the
+corrugated tiling; for the roof had a pitch of fifty degrees, and the
+casement was half-way up the slope.
+
+"It must be so," he said. "Wait!"
+
+With the lantern concealed beneath his coat he scrambled noiselessly
+up and examined the window. It was not fastened. Whoever had passed
+here last had come this way. He opened it a little, then wider.
+
+"Come! Quickly!"
+
+Even as he called to her Jean threw open wide the windows,--which
+folded from within, like all French windows--and entered, leaving
+Mlle. Fouchette to follow at will. That damsel's catlike nature made a
+roof a mere playground, and she was almost immediately behind him.
+
+"Mon Dieu! What is this?"
+
+They had descended four steps to the floor, and now the exclamation
+burst from them simultaneously.
+
+For a minute they stood, half breathless, looking about them.
+
+They seemed to be in an empty room embracing the entire unfinished
+garret of a house, gable to gable. The space was all roof and
+floor,--that is, the roof rose abruptly from the floor on two sides to
+the comb above.
+
+As the eye became accustomed to the place, it first took in the small
+square boxes, some of which had evidently been unpacked or prepared
+for that process, the litter being scattered about the floor,--the
+boxes similar to those stored in the dark room below. There were
+roughly constructed platforms beneath all of the windows, with steps
+leading up to the same. Beneath these platforms and along the whole of
+one side of the room were wooden arm-racks glistening with arms of the
+latest model. Belts, cartridge-boxes, bayonets, swords, an immense
+assortment of military paraphernalia, lay piled on the floor at one
+end of the room.
+
+At the opposite end was mounted on a swivel a one-pound Maxim
+rapid-firer, the wall in front of it being pierced to the last brick.
+
+A few blows, and lo! the muzzle of the modern death-dealer!
+
+Along the lower edge of the roof towards the Pantheon might have been
+found numerous similar places, requiring only a thrust to become
+loopholes for prostrate riflemen.
+
+The most cursory glance from the windows above showed that these
+commanded the Place du Pantheon and Rue Soufflot,--the scene of bloody
+street battles of every revolutionary epoch.
+
+Fifty active men from this vantage could have rendered either street
+or barricade untenable, or as support to a barricade in the Place du
+Pantheon have made such a barricade impregnable to exposed troops.
+
+"It is admirable!" cried Jean, lost in contemplation of the strategic
+importance of the position.
+
+"It is wonderful, but----"
+
+"Artillery? Yes," he interrupted, anticipating her reasoning; "but
+artillery could not be elevated to command this place from the street,
+and as for Mont Valerien----"
+
+"The Pantheon----"
+
+"Yes,--exactly,--they would never risk the Pantheon. Even the
+Prussians spared that."
+
+"Oh, Monsieur Jean, see!"
+
+She had discovered a white silk flag embroidered with the lilies of
+France.
+
+"The wretches! They would restore the hated emblem of the Louis! This
+is too much!" he exclaimed, in wrath.
+
+"It is the way of the king, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+She looked at him curiously.
+
+"But the Duc d'Orleans should know that the people of France will
+never abandon the tricolor,--never!"
+
+"The people of France are fools!"
+
+"True!" he rejoined, hotly, "and I am but one of them!"
+
+"Ah, Monsieur Jean! Now you are uttering the words of wisdom. Recall
+the language of Monsieur de Beauchamp,--that it is necessary to make
+use of everybody and everything going the way of the king,--tending to
+re-establish the throne!"
+
+"The throne! I will have none of it. I'm a republican!"
+
+She smiled. "And as a republican, what is your first duty now?"
+
+"Why, to inform the proper authorities of our discovery."
+
+"Good! Let us go!"
+
+"Allons!" he responded, briskly.
+
+"But how will we get out?"
+
+"How about this door?"
+
+He had brought the rays of the lamp to bear upon a door at the gable
+opposite the Maxim gun. It was bolted and heavily barred, but these
+fastenings were easily removed.
+
+As anticipated, this door led to a passage and to stairs which, in
+turn, led down to the street. They closed the door with as little
+noise as possible, carefully locking it and bringing away the key.
+
+A light below showed that the lower part of this house was inhabited,
+probably by people innocent of the terrible drama organized above
+their heads. But the slightest noise might arouse these people, and in
+such a case the Frenchman is apt to shoot first and make inquiries
+afterwards. However, once in the street, they could go around to their
+own rooms without trouble. It was worth the risk.
+
+The stairs, fortunately, had a strip of carpeting, so they soon found
+themselves safely at the street door. To quietly open this was but the
+work of a few seconds, when----
+
+They stepped into the arms of Inspector Loup and his agents.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+"Pardieu!" exclaimed Inspector Loup, who never recognized his agents
+officially outside of the Prefecture; "it is La Savatiere!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette trembled a little.
+
+"And Monsieur Marot! Why, this is an unexpected pleasure," continued
+the police official.
+
+"Then the pleasure is all on one side," promptly responded Jean, who
+was disgusted beyond measure.
+
+Inspector Loup regarded the pair with his fishy eyes half closed. For
+once in his life he was nonplussed. Nay, if anything could be said to
+be surprising to Inspector Loup, this meeting was unexpected and
+surprising. But he was too clever a player to needlessly expose the
+weakness of his hand.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's eyes avoided scrutiny. She had given Jean one quick,
+significant glance and then looked demurely around, as if the matter
+merely bored her.
+
+Jean understood that glance and was dumb.
+
+Inspector Loup's waiting tactics did not work.
+
+"So my birdies must coo at midnight on the house-tops," he finally
+remarked.
+
+"Well, monsieur," retorted the young man, "is there any law against
+that?"
+
+"Where's the lantern?"
+
+"Here," said Jean, turning the bull's-eye on the face of the
+inspector.
+
+"Bicycle. Is your wheel above, monsieur?" This ironically.
+
+"Not exactly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."
+
+"Now, Monsieur Jean," put in Mlle. Fouchette, "if Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur has no further questions to ask----"
+
+"Not so fast, mademoiselle," sharply interrupted the officer. "Just
+wait a bit; for, while I do not claim that roof-walking at midnight is
+unpardonable in cats and lovers, it is especially forbidden to enter
+other people's houses when they are asleep."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's nervousness did not escape the little fishy eyes.
+While it was already evident that Monsieur l'Inspecteur was talking at
+random, it was morally certain that he would smoke them out.
+
+"And two persons armed with a dark-lantern, coming out of a house not
+their own, at this time of night," continued the inspector, "are under
+legitimate suspicion until they can explain."
+
+Mlle. Fouchette made a sign to Jean that he was to hold his tongue.
+
+"Now, none of that, mademoiselle!" cried the inspector, angrily.
+
+He rudely separated the couple, and, taking charge of the girl
+himself, turned Jean over to four of his agents who were near at hand.
+
+"We'll put you where you'll have time to reflect," he said.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was inspired. She saw that it was not a souriciere. If
+the inspector knew what was above, he would not have left the
+entrances and exits unguarded. To be absolutely sure of this, she
+waited until they had passed the Rue St. Jacques.
+
+"Now is my opportunity to play quits," she said to herself, and her
+face betrayed the intensity of her purpose.
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I would like a private word with you, please."
+
+"What's that? Oh, it's of no use," he replied.
+
+"To your advantage, monsieur."
+
+"And yours, eh?"
+
+"Undoubtedly," she frankly said.
+
+They walked on a few steps. Then the inspector raised his hand for
+those in the rear to stop.
+
+They soon stood in the dark entrance of a wine-shop, the inspector of
+the secret police and his petite moucharde, both as sharp and hard as
+flint.
+
+"Now, out with it, you little vixen!" he commanded, assuming his
+brutal side. "Let us have no trifling. You know me!"
+
+"And you know _me_, monsieur!" she retorted, with the first show of
+anger in her voice.
+
+"Speak!"
+
+"I said I had important information," she began, calmly. But it was
+with an effort, for he had shaken her roughly.
+
+"Yes!" he put in; "and see that you make good, mon enfant!"
+
+He was suspicious that this was some clever ruse to escape her present
+dilemma. Monsieur l'Inspecteur certainly knew Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Information that you do not seem to want, monsieur----"
+
+"Will you speak?"
+
+"I have the right to reveal it only to the Ministry," she coldly
+replied.
+
+"Is--is it so important as that?" he asked. But his tone had changed.
+She had made a move as if the interview were over.
+
+"So important that for you to be the master of it will make you master
+of the Ministry and----"
+
+"Bah!" he ejaculated, contemptuously. He was master of them already.
+
+"And the mere publicity of it would send your name throughout the
+civilized world in a day!"
+
+"Speak up, then; don't be afraid----"
+
+"It is such that, no matter what you may do in the future, nothing
+would give you greater reputation."
+
+"But, ma fillette,"--it was the utmost expression of his official
+confidence,--"and for you, more money, eh?"
+
+"No, no! It is not money!"
+
+She spoke up sharply now.
+
+"Good!" said he, "for you won't get it."
+
+"It is not a question of money, monsieur. If I----"
+
+"There is no 'if' about it!" he exclaimed, irritated at her bargaining
+manner and again flying into a passion. "You'll furnish the
+information you're paid to furnish, and without any 'question' or
+'if,' or I'll put you behind the bars. Yes, sacre bleu! on a diet of
+bread and water!"
+
+He was angry that she had the whip hand and that she was driving him.
+
+"Certainly, monsieur,"--and her tone was freezingly polite,--"but then
+I will furnish it to the Ministry, as I'm specially instructed in such
+cases to do."
+
+"Then why do you come to me with it?" he demanded.
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I would do you a favor if you would let
+me----"
+
+"For a substantial favor in return!"
+
+"Precisely."
+
+"Ugh! of course!"
+
+"Of course, monsieur,--partly. Partly because you have been kind to
+me, generally, and I would now reciprocate that kindness."
+
+"So! Well, mademoiselle, now we understand each other, how much?"
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"I say how much money do you want?"
+
+"But, monsieur--no, we do not understand each other. I said it is not
+a question of money. If I wanted money I could get it at the
+Ministry,--yes, thousands of francs!"
+
+"Perhaps you overrate your find, mademoiselle," he suggested, but with
+unconcealed interest.
+
+"Impossible!" she exclaimed.
+
+"It ought to be very important indeed," she continued, "equally
+important to you in its suppression, monsieur."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The fishy eyes were very active.
+
+"And who besides you possesses this secret?"
+
+"Monsieur Marot."
+
+"So! He alone?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+"In a word, mademoiselle, then, what is it that you want?"
+
+"Liberty!"
+
+The inspector started back, confused.
+
+"What's that?" he growled, warily.
+
+"I said 'liberty.' I mean freedom from this service! I'm tired,
+monsieur! I would be free! I would live!"
+
+The veteran looked at her first with incredulity, then astonishment,
+then pity. He began to think the girl was really crazy, and that her
+story was probably all a myth. He suddenly turned the lantern from
+under his cloak upon her upturned face, and he saw that which thrilled
+him, but which he could not understand.
+
+It was the first time within Inspector Loup's experience that he had
+found any one wanting to quit--actually refusing good money to
+quit--the Secret System, having once enjoyed its delightful
+atmosphere.
+
+"Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"
+
+But he was so much involved in his mental struggle with this new phase
+of detective life that he did not answer. He had figured it out.
+
+"So! I think I understand now. But why quit? You have struck something
+better; but, surely, mademoiselle, one can be in love and yet do one's
+duty to the State."
+
+"Monsieur!"
+
+"Oh, well; you can resign, can't you? Nobody hinders you." And be a
+fool! was in Monsieur l'Inspecteur's tone.
+
+"Yes; but that is not all, monsieur. I want it with your free consent
+and written quittance,--and more, your word of honor that I will never
+be molested by you or your agents,--that I will be as if I had never
+been!"
+
+"And if I agree to all this----"
+
+"I shall prove my good faith."
+
+"When?"
+
+"At once!"
+
+"Good! Then we _do_ understand each other," he said, taking her hand
+for the first time in his life.
+
+"I trust you, monsieur."
+
+"You have my word. But you will permit me to give you a last word of
+fatherly advice before I cease to know you. Keep that gay young lover
+of yours out of mischief; he will never again get off as easily as he
+did the other day."
+
+"Thanks, Monsieur l'Inspecteur!" said Mlle. Fouchette, very glad
+indeed now that the lantern was not turned on her.
+
+"Allons!" he cried, looking about him. "And my men, mademoiselle?"
+
+"I would put two at the door where you met us--out of sight--and leave
+two in the Rue St. Jacques where we shall enter,--until you see for
+yourself,--the coast is clear."
+
+"Good!" said he, and he gave the necessary orders.
+
+Inspector Loup issued from the Rue Soufflot entrance an hour later
+with a look of keen satisfaction.
+
+Between the royalists on the one hand, and the republicans on the
+other, there were gigantic possibilities for an official of Inspector
+Loup's elasticity of conscience.
+
+He had first of all enjoined strict silence on the part of Mlle.
+Fouchette and Jean Marot.
+
+"For the public safety," he said.
+
+During his inspection of the premises he had found opportunity to
+secretly transfer an envelope to the hand of Mlle. Fouchette. For the
+chief of the Secret System was too clever not to see the shoe that
+pinched Mlle. Fouchette's toes, and, while despising her weakness, was
+loyal to his obligation.
+
+As soon as Mlle. Fouchette had bidden Jean good-night and found
+herself in her own room, she took this envelope from her pocket and
+drew near the lamp.
+
+It was marked "To be opened to-morrow."
+
+She felt it nervously. It crackled. She squeezed it between her thumb
+and forefinger. She held it between her eyes and the light. In vain
+the effort to pierce its secrets.
+
+The old tower clock behind the Pantheon mumbled two.
+
+"Dame!" she said, "it is to-morrow!"
+
+And she hastily ripped the missive open.
+
+Something bluish white fluttered to the floor. She picked it up.
+
+It was a new, crisp note of five hundred francs!
+
+She trembled so that she sank into the nearest chair, crushing the
+paper in her hand. Her little head was so dizzy--really--she could
+scarcely bring it to bear upon anything.
+
+Except one thing,--that this unexpected wealth stood between her and
+what an honest young woman dreads most in this world!
+
+The tears slowly trickled down the pale cheeks,--tears for which it
+is to be feared only the angels in heaven gave Mlle. Fouchette due
+credit.
+
+Suddenly she started up in alarm. But it was only some belated lodger,
+staggering on the stairs. She examined the lock on her door and
+resolved to get a new one. Then she looked behind the curtains of her
+bed.
+
+The fear which accompanies possession was new to her.
+
+Having satisfied herself of its safety, she cautiously spread out the
+bank-note on the table, smoothed out the wrinkles, read everything
+printed on it, and kissed it again and again.
+
+One of the not least poignant regrets in her mind was that she could
+tell no one of her good fortune. Not that Mlle. Fouchette was bavarde,
+but happiness unshared is only half happiness.
+
+She went to the thin place in the wall and listened. Jean was snoring.
+
+She could look him in the face now.
+
+It was a lot of money to have at one time,--with what she had already
+more than she had ever possessed at once in her life.
+
+Freedom and fortune!
+
+She picked up the envelope which had been hastily discarded for the
+fortune it had contained.
+
+Hold! here was something more! She saw that it was her quittance,--her
+freedom! Her face, already happy and smiling, became joyous.
+
+It was merely a lead-pencil scrawl on a leaf from Inspector Loup's
+note-book saying that----
+
+As she read it her head swam.
+
+"Oh! mon Dieu! It is impossible! Not Fouchette? I am not--and Mlle.
+Remy is my sister! Ah! Mere de Dieu! And Jean--oh! grand Dieu!"
+
+She choked with her emotions.
+
+"I shall die! What shall I do? What shall I do? And Lerouge, my
+half-brother! I shall surely die!"
+
+With the paper crumpled in her folded hands she sank to her knees
+beside the big chair and bowed her head. Her heart was full to
+bursting, but in her deep perplexity she could only murmur, "What
+shall I do? what shall I do?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jean Marot started from his heavy sleep much later than usual to hear
+the clatter of dishes in the next room. Going and coming rose a rather
+metallic voice humming an old-time chanson of the Quartier. He had
+never heard Mlle. Fouchette sing before; yet it was certainly Mlle.
+Fouchette:
+
+    "Il est une rue a Paris,
+    Ou jamais ne passe personne,"--
+
+and the rest came feebly and shrilly from the depths of his kitchen,--
+
+    "La nuit tous les chats qui sont gris
+    Y tiennent leur cour polissonne."
+
+"Oh! oui da!" he cried from his bed. "Yes! and the cats sometimes get
+arrested, too, hein?"
+
+The door leading to his salon was opened tentatively and a small
+blonde head and a laughing face appeared.
+
+"Not up yet? For shame, monsieur!"
+
+"What time is it?"
+
+"Ten o'clock, lazybones."
+
+"Ten----"
+
+"Yes. Aren't you hungry?"
+
+"Hungry as a wolf!" he cried, with a sweep of his curtains.
+
+"Come, then!" And the blonde head disappeared.
+
+"This is living," said the young man to himself as he was
+dressing,--he had never enjoyed such comfort away from home,--"the
+little one is a happy combination of housekeeper and cook as well as
+guide, philosopher, and friend. Seems to like it, too."
+
+He noted that the little breakfast-table was arranged with neat
+coquetry and set off with a bunch of red roses that filled the air
+with their exquisite fragrance. Next he saw that Mlle. Fouchette
+herself seemed uncommonly charming. She not only had her hair done up,
+but her best dress on instead of the customary dilapidated morning
+wrapper.
+
+His quick, artistic eye took in all of these details at a glance,
+falling finally upon the three marguerites at her throat.
+
+"My faith! you are quite--but, say, little one, what's up?"
+
+"I'm up," she laughingly answered, "and I've been up these two hours,
+Monsieur Lazybones."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Yes, and I've been down in Rue Royer-Collard and paid our milk
+bill,--deux francs cinquante, and gave that epiciere a piece of my
+mind for giving me omelette eggs for eggs a la coque; for, while the
+eggs were not bad, one wants what one pays for, and I'm going to have
+it, so she gave me an extra egg this time. How do you like these?"
+
+Without waiting for him to answer she added, "They are vingt-cinq
+centimes for two, six at soixante-quinze centimes, and one extra,
+which is trois francs vingt-cinq; and I got another pound of that
+coffee in Boulevard St. Michel; but it is dreadful dear, mon
+ami,--only you will have good coffee, n'est-ce pas? But three-forty a
+pound! Which makes six francs soixante-cinq."
+
+It was her way to thus account for all expenditures for their joint
+household. He paid about as much attention as usual,--which was none
+at all,--his mind still dwelling on the cheerfulness and genuine
+comfort of the place.
+
+"And the flowers, petite----"
+
+"Of course," she hastily interrupted, "I pay for the flowers."
+
+"No! no!" he explained. "I don't mean that! Is it your birthday,
+or----"
+
+"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, "that is it, Monsieur Jean. I was born
+this morning!"
+
+He laughed, but saw from the sparkle of the blue eyes that he had not
+caught her real meaning.
+
+"From the marguerites----"
+
+"Ah, ca! I made the marchande des fleurs give me those. Aren't they
+sweet? How I love the flowers!"
+
+"But I never saw such a remarkable effect, somehow. They are only
+flowers, and----"
+
+"'Only flowers'! Say, now!"
+
+"Still, it is curious," he added, resuming his coffee and rolls, as if
+the subject were not worth an argument or was too intangible to
+grasp. He could not account for the change in Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+And if Jean Marot had been very much more of a philosopher than he was
+he would not have been able to understand the divine process by which
+human happiness softens and beautifies the human countenance.
+
+"Mon ami," said the girl, seeking to hide the pleasure his admiration
+gave her, "do you, then, forget what we have to do to-day?"
+
+"Lerouge? Yes,--that's so,--at once!"
+
+Immediately after breakfast Jean sat down and wrote a friendly, frank
+letter, making a complete and manly apology for his anger and
+expressing the liveliest sympathy for his old-time friend.
+
+"Tell him, Monsieur Jean, that you have changed your political
+opinions and----"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"At least that you'll have nothing more to do with these
+conspirators."
+
+"But, Fouchette----"
+
+"Last night's discoveries ought to satisfy any reasonable being."
+
+"True enough, petite."
+
+"Then why not say so to----"
+
+"Not yet,--I prefer acts rather than words,--but in good time----"
+
+It is more difficult for a man to bring himself to the acknowledgment
+of political errors than to confess to infractions of the moral law.
+
+In the mean time Mlle. Fouchette had cleared away and washed the
+breakfast things and stood ready to deliver the missive of peace.
+
+"It is very singular," he repeated to himself after she had departed
+upon this errand, "very singular, indeed, that this girl--really, I
+don't know just what to think of her."
+
+So he ceased to think of her at all, which was, perhaps, after all,
+the easiest way out of the mental dilemma.
+
+The fact was that Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming necessary to him.
+
+With a light heart and eager step she tripped down the Boulevard St.
+Michel towards the ancient Isle de la Cite. On the bridge she saw the
+dark shadow of the Prefecture loom up ahead of her, and her face,
+already beaming with pleasure, lighted with a fresher glow as she
+thought of her moral freedom.
+
+The bridge was crowded as usual with vehicles and foot-passers, but
+this did not prevent a woman on the opposite side from catching a
+recognizing glance of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+The sight of the latter seemed to thrill the looker like an electric
+shock. She stopped short,--so suddenly that those who immediately
+followed her had a narrow escape from collision. Her face was heavily
+veiled, and beneath that veil was but one eye, yet in the same swift
+glance with which she comprehended the figure she took in the elastic
+step and the happy face of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"Mort au diable!" she muttered in her masculine voice,--a voice which
+startled those who dodged the physical shock,--and added to herself,
+"It must be love!" She saw the flowers at the girl's throat. "She
+loves!"
+
+It was at the same instant Mlle. Fouchette had raised her eyes to the
+Prefecture that stretched along the quai to the Parvis de la Notre
+Dame.
+
+Ah, ca!
+
+And after years of servitude,--from childhood,--some of it a servitude
+of the most despicable nature,--she had at last struck off the
+shackles!
+
+No,--she had merely changed masters; she had exchanged a master whom
+she feared and hated for one she loved--adored!
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, for the first time in her life, walked willingly and
+boldly past the very front door of the Prefecture,--"like any other
+lady," she would have said.
+
+An agent of the Prefecture, who knew her from having worked with her,
+happened to see this from the court and hastily stepped out. He
+observed her walk, critically, and shook his head.
+
+"Something is in the wind," said he.
+
+But as the secret agents of the government are never allowed to enter
+the Prefecture, he watched for some sign to follow. She gave none.
+
+Nevertheless, he slowly sauntered in the same direction, not daring to
+accost her and yet watchful of some recognition of his presence.
+
+It was the same polite young man who had surrendered his place in the
+dance to Jean on the night of Mardi Gras. He had not gone twenty yards
+before a robust young woman heavily veiled brushed past him with an
+oath.
+
+"Pardieu!" he said to himself, "but this seems to be a feminine
+chase." And he quickened his steps as if to take part in the hunt.
+
+Reaching the corner, Mlle. Fouchette doubled around the Prefecture and
+made straight for the Hotel Dieu.
+
+Rapidly gaining on her in the rear came the veiled woman, evidently
+growing more and more agitated.
+
+And immediately behind and still more swiftly came the sleuth from the
+Prefecture. To be sure, there were always plenty of people crossing
+the broad plaza of Notre Dame from various directions and three going
+the same way would not have attracted attention.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette drew near the steps of the big hospital, taking a
+letter from her bosom.
+
+"That letter! Sacre! I must have that letter!" murmured the veiled
+woman, aloud.
+
+"But you won't get it," thought the agent, gliding closer after her.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette kissed the superscription as she ran up the steps.
+
+"Death!" growled the veiled woman, half frantic at what she considered
+proof of the justice of her jealous suspicions as strong as holy writ.
+
+The man behind her was puzzled; astonished most at Mlle. Fouchette's
+osculatory performance; but he promptly seized the pursuer by the arm.
+
+"Not so fast, mademoiselle!"
+
+"Go! I must have that letter!"
+
+She turned upon the man like an enraged tigress, the one big black eye
+ablaze with wrath.
+
+"Ah! It is you, eh? And right under the nose of the Prefecture!"
+
+"Au diable!" she half screamed, half roared, struggling to free
+herself from his iron grip. "It is none of your business."
+
+"Your best friend, too!"
+
+"Devil!" she shouted, striking at him furiously.
+
+"Oh, no; not quite,--only an agent from the Prefecture, my bird."
+
+"Oho! And she's a dirty spy like you! I know it! And I'll kill her!
+D'you hear that? A mort! The miserable moucharde!"
+
+"Not to-day, my precious!" said the man, cleverly changing his grip
+for one of real steel. "Not to-day. Here is where you go with me,
+deary. Come!"
+
+"I tell you I'll kill her!"
+
+"We'll see about that later; in the mean time you can have a chance to
+sweat some of that absinthe out of you in St. Lazare. And look sharp,
+now! If you don't come along quietly I'll have you dragged through the
+streets! Understand?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had, happily unconscious of this exciting scene,
+passed out of sight, inquired as to the condition of Lerouge, sent in
+the letter by a trusty nurse, and was returning across the Parvis de
+la Notre Dame at the same moment that Madeleine, alternately weeping
+and cursing, was thrown into her cell at the Prefecture.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+A fortnight had passed since the note to Lerouge, and to all
+appearances the latter had ignored it and its author.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was ordinarily an infallible remedy for blue-devils;
+but to Jean Marot Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming a mere matter of
+course. A patient little beast of burden, she was none the less useful
+to a young man floundering around in the mire of politics, love, and
+other dire uncertainties.
+
+As otherwise very good husbands are wont to unload their irritability
+on their wives, so Jean was inclined to favor Mlle. Fouchette. And as
+doting wives who voluntarily constitute themselves drudges soon become
+fixed in that lowly position, so Mlle. Fouchette naturally became the
+servant of the somewhat masterful Jean Marot.
+
+She cheerfully accepted these exactions of his variable temper along
+with the responsibility for the economical administration of his
+domestic affairs.
+
+But even the brightest and most willing of servants cannot always
+anticipate what is in the master's mind; so Jean had come to giving
+orders to Mlle. Fouchette. He had not yet beaten her, but the careless
+observer might have ventured the opinion that this would come in time.
+
+It is the character of Frenchmen to beat women,--to stab them in the
+back one day when they are bored with them. The Paris press furnishes
+daily examples of this sort of chivalry. As a rule, the life of wife
+or mistress in France is a condition little short of slavery.
+
+The mere arrangement of words is unimportant to the woman who
+anticipates blows, and who, doubtless, after the fierce fashion of the
+Latins, would love more intensely when these blows fell thickest and
+heaviest. As for being ordered about and scolded, it was a recognition
+of his dependence upon her.
+
+Over and above all other considerations was Jean's future happiness.
+In this, at least, they were harmonious. For Jean himself was also
+looking solely to that end.
+
+Since that memorable night when one brief pencilled sentence from
+Inspector Loup had bestowed upon her a new birth she found double
+reason for every sacrifice. She not only trampled her love underfoot
+with new courage, but bent all her energy and influence towards the
+reconciliation of Jean Marot and Henri Lerouge.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had gone to the hospital every day to ascertain the
+young man's condition. And when he had been pronounced convalescent
+she ascertained his new address. All of which was duly reported to
+Jean, who began to wonder at this sudden interest in one for whom she
+had formerly expressed only dislike.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette offered no explanation of her conduct,--a woman is
+never bound to give a reason for her change of opinions. She never
+asked to see Lerouge,--never sent in her name to him,--but merely
+inquired, saying she was sent by one of his old friends. As she had
+intended, the name of this friend, Jean Marot, had been finally
+carried to Henri Lerouge.
+
+One day she had seen Mlle. Remy, and had been so agitated and nervous
+that it was all she could do to sustain herself in the shadow of one
+of the great stone columns. She had watched for this opportunity for
+days; yet when it suddenly presented itself she could only hide,
+trembling, and permit the girl to pass without a word.
+
+"If I could only touch her!--feel her pretty fingers in my hand! Ah!
+but can I ever bring myself to that without betrayal? They would be so
+happy! and I,--why should I not be happy also? I love him,--I love
+her,--and if they love each other,--she can help it no more than
+he,--it would be impossible!"
+
+Thus she reasoned with herself as the sunny head of Mlle. Remy
+disappeared in the gloomy corridor. Thus she reasoned with herself
+over and over again, as if the resolution she had taken required
+constant bracing and strengthening.
+
+And it did require it.
+
+For Mlle. Fouchette, humble child of the slums, had bravely cut out
+for herself a task that would have appalled the stoutest moralist.
+
+Love had not only softened the nature of Mlle. Fouchette, as is
+seen,--it had revolutionized her. The fierce spirit to which she owed
+her reputation--of the feline claws and ready boot-heel--had vanished
+and left her weak and sensitive and meekly submissive. Personally she
+had not realized this change because she had not reasoned with herself
+on the subject. Not only her whole time but her entire mind and soul
+were absorbed in the service of Love. She gloried in her
+self-abasement.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette would have gone farther,--would have deliberately and
+gladly sacrificed everything that a woman can lay upon the altar of
+her affections. She had no moral scruples, being only a poor little
+heathen among the heathen.
+
+Somewhat disappointed and not a little chagrined at first that Jean
+had not required, or even hinted at, this sacrifice, she had ended by
+secretly exulting in this nobility of character that made him superior
+to other young men, and distinctly approved of his fidelity to the
+image in his heart. Deprived of this means of proving her complete
+devotion to him, she elevated him upon a higher pedestal and
+prostrated herself more humbly.
+
+Wherein she differed materially from the late Madame Potiphar.
+
+As for Jean Marot, it is to be reluctantly admitted that he really
+deserved none of this moral exaltation, being merely human, and a
+common type of the people who had abolished God and kings in one fell
+swoop, constructed a calendar to suit themselves, and worshipped
+Reason in Notre Dame represented by a ballet dancer. In other words,
+he was an egoist of the egoists of earth.
+
+He was, in fact, so unbearably a bear in his treatment of little
+Fouchette that only the most extraordinary circumstances would seem to
+excuse him.
+
+And the circumstances were quite extraordinary. Jean was suffering
+from personal notoriety. Unseen hands were tossing him about and
+pulling him to pieces. Unknown purposes held him as in a vice.
+
+Within the last two weeks his mail had grown from two to some twenty
+letters a day,--most of which letters were not only of a strongly
+incendiary nature, but expressed a wholly false conception of his
+political position and desires. He was being inundated by
+indiscriminate praise and abuse. There were reams of well-meant advice
+and quires of threats of violence.
+
+Among these letters had been some enclosing money and drafts to a
+considerable amount,--to be used in a way which was plainly apparent.
+From a distinguished royalist he had received in a single cover the
+sum of ten thousand francs "for the cause." From another had come five
+thousand francs for his "personal use." Various smaller sums
+aggregated not less than ten thousand francs more, most of which was
+to be expended at discretion in the restoration of a "good" and
+"stable" and "respectable" government to unhappy France. Besides cash
+were drafts and promises,--the latter reaching unmeasured sums. And
+interspersed with all these were strong hints of political preferment
+that would have turned almost any youthful head less obstinate than
+that which ornamented the broad shoulders of Jean Marot.
+
+At first Jean was amused, then he was astonished. Finally he became
+indignant and angry to the bursting-point.
+
+It was several days before he could adequately comprehend what had
+provoked this furious storm, with its shower of money and warning
+flashes of wrath and rumblings of violence. Then it became clear that
+he was being made the political tool of the reactionary combination
+then laying the axe at the root of the republican tree. The
+Orleanists, Bonapartists, Anti-Semites, and their allies were quick to
+see the value of a popular leader in the most turbulent and
+unmanageable quarter of Paris. The Quartier Latin was second only to
+Montmartre as a propagating bed for revolution; the fiery youth of the
+great schools were quite as important as the butchers of La Villette.
+
+The conclusions of the young leader were materially assisted and
+hastened by the flattering attention with which he was received by the
+young men wearing royalist badges, and by the black looks from the
+more timid republicans. He thereupon avoided the streets of the
+quarter, and devoted his time to answering such letters as bore
+signature and address. He sought to disabuse the public mind, so far
+as the writers were concerned, by declaring his adherence to the
+republic, and by returning the money so far as possible.
+
+Jean Marot had now for the first time, with many others, turned his
+attention to the revelations in the Dreyfus case as appeared in the
+_Figaro_, and saw with amazement the use being made of a wholly
+fictitious crisis to destroy French liberty. He was appalled at these
+disclosures. Not that they demonstrated the innocence of a condemned
+man, but because they showed the utter absence of conscience on the
+part of his accusers and the criminal ignorance of the military
+leaders on whom France relied in the hour of public danger. For the
+first time he saw, what the whole civilized world outside of France
+had seen with surprise and indignation, that the conviction of Captain
+Dreyfus rested upon the testimony of a staff-officer of noble blood
+who lived openly and shamelessly on the immoral earnings of his
+mistress, and who was the self-acknowledged agent of a maison de
+toleration on commission. In the person of this distinguished member
+of the "condotteri" was centred the so-called "honor of the army." As
+for the so-called "evidence," no police judge of England or America
+would have given a man five days on it.
+
+Matters were at this stage when one morning about a fortnight since
+the day Mlle. Fouchette had changed masters they reached the
+bursting-point. Jean suddenly jumped from his seat where he had been
+looking over his mail and broke into a torrent of invective.
+
+"Dame!" said Mlle. Fouchette, coming in from the kitchen in the act of
+manipulating a plate with a towel,--"surely, Monsieur Jean, it can't
+be as bad as that!"
+
+"Mille tonnerres!" cried Jean, kicking the chair viciously,--"it's
+worse!"
+
+"Worse?"
+
+"Fouchette, you're a fool!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette kicked the door till it rattled. She also used oaths,
+rare for her.
+
+"Stop!" he roared. "What in the devil's name are you doing that for?
+Stop!"
+
+"Why not? I don't want to be a fool. I want to do just as you do,
+monsieur!"
+
+"Oh, yes! it is funny; but suppose Inspector Loup wanted you for a
+spy----"
+
+The plate slipped to the floor with a loud crash.
+
+"There!" he exclaimed. And seeing how confused she got,--"Never mind,
+Fouchette. Come here! Look at that!"
+
+Inspector Loup had politely requested Monsieur Marot to furnish
+privately any information in connection with the recent discoveries at
+his appartement which might be useful to the government,--especially
+in the nature of correspondence, etc.
+
+As if Inspector Loup had no agents in the Postes et Telegraphes and
+had not already generously sampled the contents of Jean's mail, going
+and coming! But there are some cynical plotters in France who never
+use the public mails and, understanding the thoroughness of the Secret
+System, prefer direct communication.
+
+"It is infamous!" said the girl, when she had calmly perused the
+letter.
+
+"It is damnable!" said Jean.
+
+"Still, it is his business to know."
+
+"It is a miserable business,--a dishonorable business! And Monsieur
+l'Inspecteur will follow his dirty trade without any help from me!"
+
+"Very surely!" said Mlle. Fouchette, emphatically.
+
+"I've had enough of politics."
+
+"Good!" cried she, gleefully.
+
+"But, I'd like to punch the fellow who wrote this," he muttered,
+tearing an insulting letter into little bits and throwing them on the
+floor.
+
+She laughed. "But that is politics," she remarked.
+
+"True. We Frenchmen are worse than the Irish. I sometimes doubt if we
+are really fit for self-government; don't you know?"
+
+"Mon ami, you are improving rapidly," she replied, with a meaning
+smile,--"why not others?"
+
+"I--I--mille diables!"
+
+"What! Another?"
+
+"Worse!"
+
+He slammed his fist upon the table in sudden passion.
+
+"It is very provoking, but----"
+
+"Read it!" he said, dejectedly.
+
+She read beneath a Lyon date-line, in a small, crabbed, round hand,--
+
+"You are not only a scoundrel, but a traitor, and you dishonor the
+mother who bore you as you betray the country which gives you shelter
+and protection."
+
+"He's a liar!" cried the girl, with a flash of her former spirit.
+
+"He is my father!" said Jean, scarcely able to repress his tears.
+
+"Ah! mon Dieu!"
+
+She slipped down at his knees and covered his hand with kisses.
+
+"He cannot know!--he cannot know!" she said, consoling him. "He has
+only read the newspapers, like the rest. If he knew the truth, mon
+ami!"
+
+"Well!" sighed the young man,--"let us see,--a telegram? I hadn't
+noticed that. There can be nothing worse than what one's father can
+write his son."
+
+He read in silence, then passed it to her with a shrug of the
+shoulders.
+
+"Monsieur de Beauchamp!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"'Come to Brussels at once.'"
+
+"It is the Duc d'Orleans."
+
+"Bah!"
+
+"He knows, then, that I am in possession."
+
+"Yes,--certainly."
+
+"Probably wants me to take charge of his guns----"
+
+"And dynamite bombs----"
+
+"The wretches!"
+
+"You can tell him you have turned them over to Inspector Loup."
+
+"I will, pardieu!"
+
+He was inspecting the superscription of the next envelope.
+
+"Something familiar about that. Ah! its from Lerouge!"
+
+"Lerouge!"
+
+"Very good, very good! Look!"
+
+Jean jumped up excitedly,--this time with evident pleasure.
+
+"Coming here! and to-night! Good!"
+
+"Oh! I'm so glad, mon ami!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "And, see!
+'toi!'--he calls you 'thee;' he is not angry!"
+
+The note from Lerouge was simply a line, as if in answer to something
+of the day.
+
+"Merci,--je serai chez toi ce soir."
+
+"'Toi,'--it is good!" said the girl.
+
+"Yes, it looks fair. And Henri always had the way of getting a world
+of meaning in a few words."
+
+"It is as if there had occurred nothing."
+
+"Yes,--to-night,--and we must prepare him a welcome of some kind. I
+will write him as to the hour. Let us say a supper, eh, Fouchette?"
+
+"A supper? and here? to-night?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette recoiled with dismay written in every line of her
+countenance.
+
+"I don't see anything so strange or horrible about that," said Jean.
+"I did not propose to serve _you_ for supper."
+
+"N-no; only----"
+
+"Well?"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette was greatly agitated. He looked at her curiously.
+Monsieur Lerouge coming to see him and coming to supper--where she
+must be present--were widely different propositions according to Mlle.
+Fouchette; for she had hailed the first with delight and the second in
+utter confusion.
+
+"Fouchette, why don't you say at once that you don't want to do it!"
+he brutally added.
+
+"You do not understand. Would it be well for--for you, mon ami? It is
+not for myself. He probably does not know me."
+
+"What if he does? It strikes me that you are growing mighty nice of
+late. I don't see what Lerouge has to do with you,--and you have
+pretended----"
+
+"Pretended? Oh, monsieur! I beg----"
+
+"Very well," he interrupted. "We can go out to a restaurant, I
+suppose, since you don't seem to want to take that trouble for me."
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" she protested, earnestly, "it is not that; I would be
+glad, only--if it were not Lerouge."
+
+"And why not Lerouge, pray?"
+
+"But, mon ami, would he not tell his sister that----"
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"I know----" she hesitated.
+
+"Pouf! Lerouge will not know you. And what if he did recognize
+the--the----"
+
+"Savatiere----"
+
+"Yes; what, then? But, say! Fouchette, you shall wear that pretty
+bonne costume I got you. Hein?"
+
+"But, mon ami,--mon cher ami! I'd rather not do it," she faltered.
+"If Mademoiselle Remy should hear of it----"
+
+"Bah! I know Lerouge. He'd think you my servant, my model. And have
+you not your own private establishment to retire to in case--really,
+you must!"
+
+"W-well, be it so, Monsieur Jean; but if harm comes of it----"
+
+"It will be my fault, not yours. It goes!"
+
+Thus Jean, having reduced the "Savatiere" to the condition of
+unsalaried servitude, now insisted upon her dressing the part.
+
+He had paid her no empty compliment when he said that she looked her
+best as a maid. He had fitted her out for an evening at the Bullier
+for twenty-five francs. In the Quakerish garb of a French bonne she
+had never looked so demurely sweet in her life. The short skirt showed
+a pair of small feet and neat round ankles. Her spotless apron
+accentuated the delicacy of the slender waist. And with a cute white
+lace cap perched coquettishly over the drooping blonde hair--well,
+anybody could see that Mlle. Fouchette (become simply Fouchette by
+this metamorphosis) was really a pretty little woman.
+
+And Jean kissed her on both cheeks and laughed at her because they
+reddened, and swore she was the sweetest little "bonne a toute faire"
+in all the world.
+
+No doubt Marie Antoinette and her court ladies looked most charming
+when they played peasant at Petit Trianon; for it is a curious fact
+that many women show to better physical advantage in the simple
+costume of a neat servant than in the silks and diamonds of the
+mistress.
+
+As for Fouchette, she was truly artistic, and she knew it. The
+knowledge that Jean comprehended this and admired her caused her eyes
+to shine and her blood to circulate more quickly. And a woman would be
+more than mortal who is not to be consoled by the consciousness of a
+successful toilet.
+
+Yet she had dressed with many misgivings, between many sighs and
+broken exclamations. A little time ago she would have cared nothing
+whether it were Lerouge or anybody else; but now,--ah! it was a cruel
+test of her.
+
+True, she must meet Lerouge some time. Oh! surely. She must see Mlle.
+Remy, too,--she must look into his sombre eyes,--feel the gentle touch
+of her hands! Often,--yes; often!
+
+For if Jean married Mlle. Remy, perhaps she, Fouchette, might--why
+not? She would become their domestic, could she not?
+
+Only, to meet Lerouge here,--in this way!
+
+It was a bitter struggle, but love conquered.
+
+Nevertheless, she felt that she required all of her natural courage,
+all the cleverness learned of rogues and the stoicism engrafted by
+suffering, to undergo the ordeal demanded of her and to follow the
+chosen path to the end.
+
+"How charming you look, Fouchette!" he exclaimed, when she appeared in
+the evening.
+
+"Thanks, monsieur."
+
+She gave the short bob of the professional domestic. Her face was
+wreathed in smiles.
+
+"But, I say, mon enfant, you are really pretty."
+
+"Ah, ca!"
+
+She was blushing,--painfully, because she knew that she was blushing.
+He put his arm about her waist and attempted to kiss her.
+
+"No, no, no!" she cried, with an air of vexation,--"go away!"
+
+"But you are really artistic, Fouchette. I must have a sitting of you
+in that costume."
+
+He had made several sketches of her head, she serving as a model for
+Mlle. Remy. Only, he filled them out to suit his ideal. Mlle.
+Fouchette saw this; yet she was always pleased to pose for him.
+
+"That is, if you are good," he added, in his condescending way.
+
+"Have no fear,--I'll be good."
+
+"Une bonne bonne, say."
+
+"Bon-bon? Va!"
+
+"And can sit still long enough."
+
+"There! I can't sit still now, monsieur. The dinner,--it is nearly
+time."
+
+She had set out the table with the best their mutual resources
+afforded. She had run up and down the street after whatever seemed
+necessary earlier in the day. Now that final arrangement had come,
+nothing seemed quite satisfactory. She changed this, replaced that
+with something else, ran backward a moment to take in the ensemble,
+then changed things back again. She had the exquisite French
+perception of the incongruous in form and color. Between times she was
+diving in and out of the little kitchen, where the soup was simmering
+and where a chicken from the nearest rotisserie was being thoroughly
+warmed up. And in her lively comings and goings she wore a bright
+smile and kept up the incessant purr, purr, purr of a vivacious
+tongue.
+
+"And you must have champagne!" said she, reproachfully.
+
+He had come in with the bottles under his arm. "You should have let me
+purchase it, at least. How much?"
+
+"Ten francs."
+
+"Ten francs! It is frightful! And two for this claret, I'll warrant!"
+
+"More than that, innocent."
+
+"What! more than----"
+
+"Four francs."
+
+She held up her little hands, speechless, being unable to do justice
+to his extravagance. He laughed.
+
+"It is an important occasion," said he. "But, really, you are simply
+astonishing, little one."
+
+"La, la, la!"
+
+Jean had an artistic sense, and Mlle. Fouchette now appealed to it. He
+watched her skipping about the place and tried to reconcile this
+sweet, bright-eyed, light-hearted creature with the woman he had known
+as "La Savatiere."
+
+"Que diable! but she is--well, what in the name of all the goddesses
+has come over the girl, anyhow? It can't be that Lerouge--yet she
+didn't want to have him see her here."
+
+Conscious of this scrutiny, Fouchette would have been compelled to
+retreat to the kitchen on some pretext if she had not got this
+occasional shelter by necessity. She was so happy. Her heart was so
+light she could not be quite certain if she were really on the earth
+or not. Never had Jean looked so handsome to her.
+
+"Dame! It is nothing," she said and repeated over and over to
+herself,--"it is nothing; and yet I am surely the happiest girl in the
+world. Oh, when he looks at me with his beautiful eyes like that I
+feel as if I could fly! Mon Dieu! but if he touched me now I should
+faint! I should die!"
+
+A vigorous ring at the door smote her ear. She trembled.
+
+"Well, why don't you go, melon?" He spoke with a sharpness that fell
+on her like a blow.
+
+She fumbled nervously at her apron-strings.
+
+"Go as you are, stupid!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur."
+
+If her heart had not already fallen suddenly to zero, it would have
+dropped there when she opened the vestibule door.
+
+The elderly image of Jean Marot stood before her. Somewhat stouter of
+figure and broader of feature, with full grayish beard and moustache
+that concealed the outlines of the lower face, but still such a
+striking likeness of father to son that even one less versed in the
+human physiognomy than Mlle. Fouchette must have at once recognized
+Marot pere. The deeply recessed eyes looked darker and seemed to burn
+more fiercely than Jean's, and more accurately suggested Lerouge.
+Indeed, to the casual observer the man might have been the father of
+either of the two young men. In bearing and attire the figure was that
+of the prosperous French manufacturer. His voice was coldly harsh and
+imperious.
+
+"So! mademoiselle!"
+
+He paused in the vestibule and gazed searchingly at the trembling
+little woman with a fierce glare that made her feel as if she were
+being shrivelled up where she stood.
+
+"So! May I inquire whether I am on the threshold of Monsieur Jean
+Marot's appartement or that of his--his----"
+
+He was evidently making an effort to preserve his calmness, but the
+words seemed to choke him.
+
+The implication, though not at once fully understood by Mlle.
+Fouchette, had the effect of rousing her powers of resistance.
+
+"It is Monsieur Marot's, monsieur," she replied, with dignity.
+
+"And you are----"
+
+"His servant, monsieur."
+
+"Oh! So!"
+
+"And you, monsieur----"
+
+"I am his father, mademoiselle."
+
+"Ah!" He need not have told her that.
+
+At this instant the inner door was thrown wide open, and Jean, who had
+recognized his father's voice with consternation, was in the opening.
+
+Father and son stood thus confronting each other for some seconds,
+mute,--the father sternly and with unrelenting eye, the son with a
+pride sustained by obstinacy and bitterness. The sting of his father's
+letter was fresh, and he nerved himself for further insults. Nor had
+he to wait long, for his father advanced upon him as he retired into
+the room, with a growing menace in his tone at every successive step.
+
+"So! Here you are, you--you----"
+
+"Father!"
+
+The old man had excitedly raised his hand as if to strike his son
+without further words, but he found Mlle. Fouchette between them.
+
+"Monsieur! Monsieur! Hold, Jean! Do not answer him! Not now,--not
+now!"
+
+The elder Marot glanced at her as if she were some sort of vermin.
+This at first, then he hesitated before kicking her out of the way.
+
+"Ah, messieurs! is it the way to reconciliation and love to go at it
+in hot blood and hard words? Take a little time,--there is plenty and
+to spare. Anger never settles anything. Sit down, monsieur, will you
+not? Why, Monsieur Jean! Will you not offer your father a chair? And
+remember, he is your father, monsieur. Remember that before you speak.
+It is easy to say hard words, but the cure is slow and difficult,
+messieurs. Why not deliberate and reason without anger?"
+
+As she talked she placed chairs, towards one of which she gently urged
+Marot senior. Then she insisted upon taking his hat. A man with his
+hat off is not so easily roused to anger as he is with it on, nor can
+one maintain his resentment at the highest pitch while sitting down.
+There was this much gained by Mlle. Fouchette's diplomacy.
+
+But the first glance about the room restored the father's
+belligerency. He saw the elaborately laid table, the flowers, the
+wine----
+
+"I am honored, monsieur," he said to his son, sarcastically, "though I
+had no idea that you expected me."
+
+"It is--er--I had a friend----"
+
+"Oh! I know quite well I have no reason to anticipate such a royal
+welcome. Yet there are three plates----"
+
+"That was for Fouchette," said Jean, hastily and unthinkingly. "You
+will be welcome at my humble table, father."
+
+"Fouchette,"--he had noticed the glance at the girl, now making a
+pretence of arranging the table,--"and so this is Fouchette, eh? And
+your humble table, eh?"
+
+The irascible old gentleman regarded both of the adjuncts of life de
+garcon with a bitter smile. Still it was something like a smile, and
+the girl was quick to take advantage of it.
+
+"Oh, this is a special occasion, monsieur,--a reconciliation dinner."
+
+"A reconciliation dinner, eh?" growled the old man, suspicious of some
+sly allusion to himself and son. "And will you be good enough to speak
+for this dummy here and inform me who is to be reconciled and what the
+devil you've got to do with the operation?"
+
+"To be sure!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, with affected gayety. "Only I
+must begin at the last first. I'm the next-door neighbor of Monsieur
+Jean, your son, and I take care of his rooms for him--for a
+consideration. My appartement is over there, monsieur, if you please.
+We are poor, but we must eat----"
+
+"And drink champagne," put in the elder Marot, significantly.
+
+"Is not champagne more fitting for the reconciliation of two men who
+were once friends than would be violent words?" she asked, with
+spirit.
+
+"Who pays for it? It depends upon who pays for it!" He tried to ward
+off the conclusion by hurling this at both of them.
+
+Jean reddened. He knew quite well the insinuation. It is not an
+unusual thing for Frenchmen to live on the product of a woman's shame.
+
+"As if you should ask me if I were a thief, father!" protested the
+young man, now scarcely able to restrain his tears.
+
+"And as if we had not pinched and saved and economized and all that!
+And can you look around you and not see that?" She had hard work to
+smother her indignation.
+
+"Come to the point!" retorted the elder Marot, impatiently. "The
+woman! Where is the woman?"
+
+Jean reddened more furiously and was more confused than before.
+
+"It can't be this--this"--he regarded the slender, girlish figure
+contemptuously--"this grisette menagere! You are not such a fool as
+to----"
+
+"Oh! no, no, no, no!" hastily interrupted Mlle. Fouchette, with great
+agitation. "Oh, no, monsieur! Think not that! She is an angel! I am
+nothing to him,--nothing! Only a poor little friend,--a servant,
+monsieur,--one who wishes him well and would do and give anything to
+see him happy! Nothing more, monsieur, I assure you! I--mon Dieu!
+nothing more!"
+
+There was almost a wail in her last note of too much protestation.
+
+Both father and son scrutinized her attentively, while the color came
+and went in her now downcast face,--the one with a puzzled
+astonishment, the other with surprised alarm.
+
+And both understood.
+
+Not being himself a lover, the elder Marot divined at once what Jean,
+with all his opportunities, had till now failed to discover.
+
+Another pull at the bell came like a gift from heaven to momentarily
+relieve poor little Fouchette of her embarrassment.
+
+Jean started nervously to his feet, in sympathy with her intelligence,
+but by no means relieved in mind.
+
+"It is Lerouge," he said, desperately. "Attend, Fouchette!"
+
+The father glanced from one to the other quickly, inquiringly.
+
+"Lerouge?"
+
+"Yes, father,--it is he,--the friend--whom we--whom I expect--to whom
+I owe reparation----"
+
+The two men studied each other in silence for the few seconds that
+followed, and Jean saw something like aroused curiosity and wonderment
+in his father's face,--something that had suddenly taken the place of
+anger.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had anticipated the coming of Lerouge with quite a
+different sentiment to that which overpowered Jean. The latter saw in
+it only the ruin of his most cherished hopes. Fouchette, on the other
+hand, with the quicker and surer intuition of the woman, believed the
+time now ripe for the reconciliation of not only Jean and Lerouge, but
+of father and son. It would be impossible for Jean and his father to
+quarrel before this third party. Time would be gained. And then, were
+not the two affairs one? The straightening out of the tangle between
+the friends must carry with it the better understanding between Jean
+and his father.
+
+As to herself, the girl had not one thought. She was completely lifted
+out of self,--carried away with the intentness of her solicitude for
+Jean's future.
+
+The situation appealed to her sharpest instincts. Its possibilities
+passed through her alert mind before she had reached the door.
+Glorified in her purpose, she flung it wide open.
+
+She was confronted by two persons,--the one bowing, hat in hand; the
+other smiling, radiantly beautiful.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette stood for a moment like one suddenly turned to stone.
+
+This was more than she had bargained for. She leaned against the wall
+instinctively, as if needing more substantial support than her limbs.
+Her throat seemed parched, so that when she would have spoken the
+result was merely a spasmodic gasp. Even the friendly semi-darkness of
+the little antechamber failed to hide her confusion from her visitors.
+
+Then, recovering her self-possession by a violent effort, she reopened
+the inner door and announced, feebly,--
+
+"Monsieur Lerouge,--Mademoiselle Remy!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+Fortunately for Mlle. Fouchette, Jean's astonishment and temporary
+confusion at the unexpected apparition of the angel of his dreams
+extinguished every other consideration.
+
+Mlle. Remy stood before him--in his appartement--smiling, gracious, a
+picture of feminine youth and loveliness,--her earnest blue eyes
+looking straight into his lustrous brown ones, searching, penetrante!
+
+He forgot Fouchette; he forgot his friend Henri; he forgot even the
+presence of an angry father.
+
+"Hello, Jean!"
+
+"Henri, mon ami!"
+
+Recalled partially to his senses, Jean embraced his old friend after
+the effusive, dramatic French fashion. They kissed each other's
+cheeks, as if they were brothers who had been long parted.
+
+"We will begin again, Henri," said Jean,--"from this moment we will
+begin again. Forgive me----"
+
+"There!" cried Henri, "let us not go into that. We have both of us
+need of forgiveness,--I most of all. As you say, let us begin again.
+And in making a good start, permit me to present you to my sister
+Andree, whom you have met before, and, I have reason to believe, wish
+to meet again. I have brought her along without consulting you, first
+because she insists on going where I go, next as an evidence of good
+faith and a pledge of our future good-will. Mademoiselle Remy, mon
+cher ami."
+
+"No apology is necessary for bringing in the sunshine with you, mon
+ami," said Jean, bending over the small hand.
+
+"Monsieur Marot is complimentary," said Mlle. Remy.
+
+For a moment her eyes drooped beneath his ardent gaze.
+
+"But, then, I know him so well," she quickly added, recovering her
+well-bred self-possession,--"yes, brother Henri has often talked about
+you, and I have seen you----"
+
+There was a faint self-consciousness apparent here. And he knew that
+she was thinking of his lonely watches in front of her place of
+residence.
+
+They rapidly exchanged the usual courtesies of the day, in the usual
+elaborate and ornate Parisian fashion.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette saw every minute detail of this meeting with an
+expression of intense concern. She weighed every look and word and
+gesture in the delicate, tremulous balance of love's understanding.
+And she realized that Jean's way was clear at last, and at the same
+time saw the consequences to herself.
+
+Well, was not this precisely what she had schemed and labored to bring
+about?
+
+Yet she stole away unobserved to the little kitchen, and there turned
+her face to the wall and covered her ears with her hands, as if to
+shut it all out. Her eyes were dry, but her heart was drenched with
+tears.
+
+Meanwhile, the elder Marot, who had risen politely upon the entrance
+of Lerouge and his sister, stood apparently transfixed by the scene.
+At the sight of Andree his face assumed a curious mixture of eagerness
+and uncertainty. Upon the mention of her name the uncertainty
+disappeared. A flood of light seemed to burst upon him with the
+encomiums showered upon his son.
+
+When Jean turned towards his father--being reminded by a plucking of
+the sleeve--he was confounded to behold a face of smiles instead of
+the one recently clouded with parental wrath.
+
+"This is m-my father, Monsieur Lerouge,--Mademoiselle----"
+
+"What? Monsieur Marot? Why, this is a double pleasure!" exclaimed
+Lerouge, briskly seizing the outstretched hand. "The father of a noble
+son must perforce be a noble father. So Andree says, and Andree has
+good intuitions.--Here, Andree; Jean's father! Just to think of
+meeting him on an occasion like this!"
+
+Neither Lerouge nor his sister knew of the estrangement between Jean
+and his home. They had puzzled their heads in vain as to the reasons
+for Jean's retirement to the Rue St. Jacques, but were inclined to
+attribute it to politics or business reverses.
+
+"Ah! so this is Monsieur Lerouge,--of Nantes," remarked the old
+gentleman when he got an opening.
+
+"Of Nantes," repeated Lerouge.
+
+"And this is Andree,--bless your sweet face!--and--and,"--turning a
+quizzical look on the wondering Jean,--"and 'the woman'!"
+
+It was now Lerouge's turn to be astonished. Jean and the girl
+attempted to conceal their rising color by casting their eyes upon the
+floor. Marot pere was master of the situation.
+
+"Your father was a noted surgeon," he continued, still holding the
+girl's hand.
+
+"One of the best of his time," said Henri, proudly.
+
+"And your mother----"
+
+"Is dead, monsieur."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The look of pain that passed swiftly over M. Marot's face was
+reflected in an audible sigh.
+
+"One of the best of women," he went on, musingly,--"and you are the
+living image of your mother when I last saw her. Her name, too----"
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" interrupted Andree, excitedly, "you knew my mother,
+then?"
+
+"So well, my dear girl, that I asked her to be my wife."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"Oh, monsieur!"
+
+"Father!"
+
+"That is the truth. It is the additional truth that my cousin, the
+doctor, got her."
+
+"My father was your cousin?" asked Lerouge. "Why, I come right by the
+family resemblance, Jean!"
+
+"Yes," laughingly retorted the latter, "and the family temper."
+
+"I was not aware that your mother again married," observed M. Marot.
+
+"Yes,--Monsieur Frederic Remy, the father of Andree, here," said
+Henri. "Alas! neither he nor my mother long survived the loss of their
+younger daughter."
+
+"Then there is yet another child?"
+
+"Was," replied the young man, sadly. "For Louise, who was two years
+younger than Andree, disappeared one day----"
+
+"Disappeared!"
+
+"Yes; and has never been heard of to this date. She was scarcely three
+years old. Whether she wandered away or was stolen, is dead or living,
+we do not know. She was never seen again."
+
+"What a terrible blow! What a terrible blow!" murmured the elder
+Marot, thinking of the unhappy mother.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had reappeared a few moments before,--just in time to
+hear this family history. But she immediately returned to the kitchen,
+where she sank upon a low stool and bowed her face in her hands.
+
+"Fouchette! Here, Fouchette!"
+
+It was Jean's peremptory voice.
+
+She hastily roused herself. She re-entered the little salon, and upon
+a sign from Jean conducted Henri Lerouge and his sister to Jean's
+bedroom, where she assisted Mlle. Remy to remove her hat. For up to
+this time the party had been grouped in running conversation without
+having settled down.
+
+"How you tremble, child!" exclaimed Andree,--"and you look so scared
+and pale. Is it, then, so bad as all that? What is the matter? Have
+they been quarrelling? I don't understand."
+
+"Andree!" whispered her brother, warningly. "Remember the salt woman!"
+
+Mlle. Fouchette raised one little nervous finger to her lips and
+gently closed the door.
+
+"Pray do not seem to notice," she whispered. "But you did not know,
+then, that Jean and his father have been estranged, oh! for months?
+That the poor young man had been cast off,--forsaken by father and
+mother----"
+
+"But why?" insisted Mlle. Remy. "It must have been something
+dreadful,--some horrible mistake, I mean. Why should----"
+
+The confusion of Mlle. Fouchette was too evident to press this
+questioning. And it was increased by the curious manner in which the
+pair regarded her.
+
+For a single instant she had wavered. She had secretly pressed her
+lips to her sister's dress, and she felt that she could give the whole
+world for one little loving minute in her sister's arms.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+At least one dilemma relieved her from another; so she flew to answer
+Jean's call, like the well-trained servant she was fast becoming.
+
+"That's right, Fouchette. I'm glad to find you more attentive to our
+guests than I am. But I've been so confoundedly upset--and
+everlastingly happy. We shall want another plate. Yes, my father will
+honor us. I say, Fouchette, what a night! What a night!"
+
+"I am so glad, Monsieur Jean! I am so glad!"
+
+He considered her an instant and then hustled her into the kitchen and
+shut the door. "Let us consult a moment, my petite menagere," were his
+last words to be overheard. In the kitchen he took her hands in his.
+
+"Look here, Fouchette! I owe my happiness to you. Everything, mind
+you,--everything!"
+
+"But have I not been happy, too?"
+
+"There! For what you have done for me I could not repay you in a
+lifetime, little one."
+
+"Then don't try, Monsieur Jean," she retorted, as if annoyed.
+
+"And I'm going to ask you to increase the obligation. It is that you
+will continue to preserve the character you have assumed,--just for
+this occasion, you know. It will save me from----"
+
+"Ah, ca! It is not much, Monsieur Jean," she interrupted, with a
+seraphic smile. "To be your servant, monsieur, is---- I mean, to do
+anything to please you is happiness."
+
+"You are good, Fouchette,--so good! And when I think that I have no
+way to repay you----"
+
+"Have I laid claim to reward?" she interposed, suddenly withdrawing
+her hands. "Have I asked for anything?"
+
+"No, no! that is the worst of it!"
+
+"Only your friendship,--your--your esteem, monsieur,--it is enough.
+Yet now that your affairs are all right and that you are happy, we
+must--must part,--it will be necessary,--and--and----" There was a
+pleading note in her low voice.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You have been a brother,--a sort of a brother and protector to me,
+anyhow, you know, and it would wrong--nobody----"
+
+The blood had slowly mounted to her neck as she spoke and the lips
+quivered a little as she offered them.
+
+It was the last, and when he was gone she felt that it would
+strengthen her and enable her to bear up under the burden she had laid
+upon herself. She went about the additional preparations for the
+dinner mechanically.
+
+There was not a happier quartette in all Paris on this eventful
+evening than that which sat around the little table in Jean Marot's
+humble appartement in ancient Rue St. Jacques.
+
+And poor little Mlle. Fouchette!
+
+The very sharpness of the contrast made her patient, resolute
+abnegation more beautiful, her sacrifice more complete, her poignant
+suffering more divine. Unconsciously she rose towards the elevated
+plane of the Christ. She wore the crown of thorns in her heart; on her
+face shone the superhuman smile of sainthood.
+
+If in his present sudden and overwhelming happiness Jean forgot Mlle.
+Fouchette except when she was actually before him he must be forgiven.
+But neither his father nor Henri Lerouge was so blind, though the
+latter evidently saw Mlle. Fouchette from a totally different point of
+view.
+
+The gracious manner and encouraging smile of Mlle. Remy happily
+diverted Fouchette from the consideration of her critics. Every kind
+word and every smile went home to Mlle. Fouchette. And for the moment
+she gave way to the pleasure they created, as a stray kitten leans up
+against a warm brick. Sometimes it seemed as if she must break down
+and throw herself upon the breast of this lovely girl and claim her
+natural right to be kept there, forever next to her heart!
+
+At these moments she had recourse to her kitchen, where she had time
+to recover her equilibrium. But Fouchette was a more than ordinarily
+self-possessed young woman. She had been educated in a severe school,
+though one in which the emotions were permitted free range. It was
+love now which required the curb.
+
+She served the dinner mechanically, but she served it well. Amid the
+wit and badinage she preserved the shelter of her humble station.
+
+Yet she knew that she was the frequent subject of their conversation.
+She saw that she was being covertly scrutinized by Lerouge. And, what
+was harder to bear, the elder Marot showed his sympathy by
+good-natured comments on her appearance and service. The cry of
+"Fouchette!" recalling her to all this from her refuge in the kitchen
+invariably sent a tremor through her slender frame.
+
+"Henri said you were so practical!" laughingly remarked Mlle. Andree.
+
+"And am I not?" asked Jean, looking around the room.
+
+"Not a bit! There is nothing practical here,--no,--and your Fouchette
+is the most impossible of all."
+
+"Ah, Jean!" broke in Henri, "this Fouchette,--come now, tell us about
+her."
+
+"With proper reservations," said M. Marot, seriously.
+
+"No; everything!" cried Andree.
+
+She could see that it teased him, and persisted. "Anybody would know
+that she is not a common servant. Look at her hands!"
+
+"I've seen your Fouchette somewhere under different circumstances,"
+muttered Lerouge, "but I can't just place her."
+
+"Well," said Jean, after a moment's reflection, "she is an uncommon
+servant."
+
+He began to see that some frankness was the quickest way out of an
+unpleasant subject. "The fact is, as she has already told my father,
+Fouchette is an artist's model and lives next door to me. She takes
+care of my rooms for a consideration. But all the money in the world
+would not repay what I owe her,--quite all of my present happiness!
+Let me add, my dear mademoiselle, that the less attention you show
+her, the less you seem to notice her, the better she will like it."
+
+"How interesting!" cried Andree; "and how unsatisfactory!"
+
+"Very," said her brother, with a meaning smile.
+
+"Some day, mademoiselle, I will tell you,--not now. I beg you to
+excuse me just now."
+
+"Certainly, monsieur; but, pardon me, she must be ill,--and her face
+is heavenly!"
+
+"Is it?" asked Jean. "I had not noticed. Perhaps because one heavenly
+face is all I can see at the same time."
+
+"Ah, monsieur!"
+
+She tried to hide her confusion in a sip of champagne.
+
+M. Marot and Lerouge became suddenly interested in a sketch upon the
+wall and rose, puffing their cigars, to make a closer and more
+leisurely examination.
+
+Jean's hand somehow came in contact with Andree's,--does any one know
+how these things come about?--and the girl's cheeks grew more rosy
+than usual. She straightway forgot Mlle. Fouchette. Her eyes were
+lowered and she gently removed her hand from the table.
+
+"Here is the true model for an artist," said he.
+
+"But I never sat," she declared.
+
+"Oh, don't be too sure."
+
+"Never; wouldn't I remember it?"
+
+"Perhaps not. One doesn't always remember everything."
+
+She blushed through her smile. She had unconsciously yielded her hand
+again.
+
+They talked airy nothings that conceal the thoughts. Then, in a few
+minutes, she discovered that his hand again covered hers and was
+innocently caressing it. She drew it away in alarm.
+
+"Do not take it away! Are we not cousins, mademoiselle?"
+
+"Oh, yes; funny, isn't it? Long-lost cousins!" She laughed merrily.
+
+"And now that we are found----"
+
+"It seems to me as if I had known you a long time," she
+continued,--"for years and years! Or, perhaps it is
+because--because----"
+
+"Come! let me show you something," he interrupted, still retaining the
+hand, "some poor sketches of mine."
+
+He led her to the portfolio-stand in the corner and seated himself at
+her feet.
+
+The elder connoisseurs, meanwhile, had taken the sketch in which they
+were interested from its place on the wall to the better light at the
+table.
+
+"'La Petite Chatte.'"
+
+"An expressive title, truly."
+
+"Why, its Mademoiselle Fouchette!" exclaimed M. Marot, holding the
+picture off at arm's length.
+
+"It is, indeed! And the real Fouchette as I last beheld her at the
+notorious Cafe Barrate. It's the 'Savatiere'! That solves a mystery."
+
+Lerouge thereupon took M. Marot by the arm, replaced the picture on
+the wall, and led the old gentleman to the corner farthest from that
+occupied by the younger couple, and there the two conversed over their
+cigars in a low tone for a long time.
+
+In that time they had mutually disposed of the other couple,--Henri
+Lerouge, as brother and legal custodian of Mlle. Andree Remy; M.
+Marot, as father of Jean Marot. They had not only agreed that these
+two should marry, but had arranged as to the amount of the "dot" of
+the girl and the settlement upon the young man. Mlle. Andree had two
+hundred and fifty thousand francs in her own right, but the chief
+consideration in the case was, to M. Marot, the fact that she was the
+daughter of the beautiful woman whom he had once loved. For this
+consideration he agreed to double the amount of her dot and give his
+son a junior partnership in the silk manufactory at Lyons.
+
+This arrangement had no relation whatever to the sentiment existing
+between the young couple. It would have been concluded, just the same,
+if they had not loved.
+
+In French matrimonial matters love is a mere detail. The parents, or
+those who stand in the place of parents, are the absolute masters, and
+therefore the high contracting powers. Sons as well as daughters are
+subject to this will until after marriage. It is a custom strong as
+statute law. If inclination coincide with parental desire, well and
+good; if not, a social system which rears young orphan girls to feed
+the insatiate lust of Paris winks at the secret lover and the
+mistress.
+
+With the reasonable certainty of the approval of both father and
+brother and with a heart surcharged with love for the sweet girl whom
+he felt was not indifferent to him, Jean had reason to feel happy and
+confident. As they bent over the pictures they formed a charming
+picture themselves.
+
+"Really, monsieur!"
+
+Mlle. Remy saw herself reproduced with such faithfulness that she
+started.
+
+"Well?"
+
+Jean looked up in her face with all his passion concentrated in his
+eyes.
+
+She was bending over the head of a young girl with a profusion of fair
+hair down upon her shoulders, and she forgot. Another showed the same
+face in a pen-and-ink profile, with the same glorious hair.
+
+"They are amateurish----"
+
+"Au contraire," she interrupted, "they are quite--but Henri did not
+tell me, monsieur, that you were an artist."
+
+"And he was right, cousin."
+
+She had turned her face away from the light, so he could not see her
+blushes. For these pictures told a story of love more vividly and more
+eloquently than words. She was trying to piece out that which remained
+untold.
+
+"The pictures are well done, Cousin Jean,--and your model----"
+
+"Fouchette."
+
+"Oh, yes; I see now! She is a model, truly!"
+
+Mlle. Remy seemed to derive a good deal of satisfaction from this
+conclusion.
+
+    [Illustration: IT WAS A CRITICAL MOMENT]
+
+"But," she added, quickly, "do you think she looks so much like me?"
+
+"A mere suggestion," he said.
+
+"It is curious,--very curious, mon--Cousin Jean; but do you know----"
+
+Their heads were very close together. Unconsciously their lips met.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had been engaged in the work of washing dishes. It was
+an excuse to kill time and something to occupy her attention. As she
+carefully arranged everything in its place she realized that it was
+for the last occasion. She knew her work was done. So she made
+everything particularly bright and clean. The dessert dishes and
+glasses were still on the table, and she had stepped out cautiously
+and timidly to fetch them. It was a critical moment.
+
+With the noiseless tread of a scared animal she turned back again into
+the kitchen, and, closing the door softly, leaned against it with
+ghostly face. She quickly stuffed the corner of her apron into her
+mouth to keep back the scream of agony that involuntarily rose to her
+lips. Her thin hands were tightly clinched and her body half drawn
+into a knot.
+
+"Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"
+
+Even the Saviour stumbled and fell beneath the heavy cross He had
+assumed to insure the happiness of others.
+
+And Mlle. Fouchette was only a poor little, weak, nervous, ignorant
+woman, groping blindly along the same rugged route of her Calvary.
+
+Unconsciously the same despairing cry had broken from her lips.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+It was Jean's voice.
+
+Half fainting, half terror-stricken at her unfortunate position, she
+drew a needle from the bosom of her dress and thrust it into her
+thigh--twice.
+
+"Fouchette!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur!"
+
+"That poor girl is certainly ill, Je--Cousin Jean," said Mlle. Remy,
+sympathetically.
+
+"Nonsense!" he lightly replied.
+
+He wished to spare the unhappy Fouchette this attention. "She has
+worked too hard. Drop it till to-morrow, little one," he said, gently.
+"You must let things alone for to-night."
+
+"Indeed, it is nothing, monsieur. I must clear away these dessert
+dishes----"
+
+"Have a glass of wine," insisted Andree, putting her arm
+affectionately about the slender waist and pouring out a glass of
+champagne.
+
+Lerouge regarded them with a frown of disapproval. Turning to M.
+Marot, he said,--
+
+"You were congratulating France just now upon a new ministry,
+monsieur. At least the new ministry ought to give us a new set of
+spies. Don't you think----"
+
+But the wine-glass broke the last sentence, as it fell to the floor
+with a crash.
+
+Only the protecting arm of Mlle. Remy sustained the drooping figure
+for a moment, then Jean and his affianced bride bore it gently to the
+model's home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+"C'est fini!"
+
+The girl raised herself wearily from her knees by the side of her bed,
+where she had fallen when she had bravely gotten rid of Jean and
+Andree.
+
+"C'est fini!"
+
+She repeated the words as she looked around the room, the poor, cheap
+little chamber where she had been so happy. Just so has many a
+bereaved returned from the freshly made grave of some beloved to see
+the terrible emptiness of life in every corner of the silent home.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had grievously overrated her capacity to bear--to
+suffer. Instead of lightening the load she had assumed, the discovery
+of her sister in the beloved had doubled it.
+
+She had schooled herself to believe that to be near the object of her
+love would be enough. She had thought that all else, being impossible,
+might be subordinated to the great pleasure of presence. That to serve
+him daily, to share after a fashion his smiles and sorrows, to be at
+his elbow with her sympathy and counsel, would be her happiness,--all
+that she could ask for in this world. It would be almost as good as
+marriage, n'est-ce pas?
+
+Fouchette was in error. Not wholly as to the last assumption; it was a
+false theory, marriage or no marriage. Countless thousands of better
+and more intellectual people have in other ways found, are finding,
+will continue to find, it to be so.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette's tactical training in the great normal school of
+life had not embraced Love. Therefore no line of retreat had been
+considered. She was not only defeated, she was overwhelmed.
+
+All of her theories had vanished in a breath.
+
+Instead of finding happiness in the happiness of those whom she loved,
+it was torture,--the thumbscrew and the rack. It was terrible!
+
+How could she have imagined that she might live contentedly under this
+day after day?
+
+The malice of Lerouge had been but the knock-out blow. It seemed to
+her now that his part was not half so cruel as that one kiss,--the
+kiss of Andree's, that had stolen hers, Fouchette's, from his warm
+lips!
+
+Yes, it was finished.
+
+There was nothing to live for now. Her sun had set. The light had gone
+out, leaving her alone, friendless, without a future.
+
+The fact that she had herself willed it, brought it about, and that
+she earnestly desired their happiness, made her despair none the less
+dark and profound.
+
+She felt that she must get away,--must escape in some way from the
+consequences of her own folly.
+
+She precipitated herself down the narrow stairs at the risk of her
+neck and darted down the Rue St. Jacques half crazed with grief. She
+had made no change in her attire, had not even paused to restrain the
+blonde hair that fell over her face.
+
+Rue St. Jacques is in high feather at this hour in the evening. It is
+the hour of the jolly roysterer, male and female. Students, soldiers,
+bohemians, and bums jostle each other on the corners, while the dame
+de trottoir stealthily lurks in the shadows with one eye out for
+possible victims and the other for the agents de police. The cafes and
+wine-shops are aglare and the terrasse chairs are crowded to their
+fullest of the day.
+
+The spectacle, therefore, of a pretty bonne racing along the middle of
+the street very naturally attracted considerable attention.
+
+This attention became excitement when another woman, who seemed to
+spring from the same source, broke away in hot pursuit of the servant.
+
+Nothing so generously appealed to the sensitiveness of Rue St. Jacques
+as a case of jealousy, and women-baiting was a favorite amusement of
+the quarter.
+
+There was now a universal howl of delight and approbation. When the
+pursuing woman tripped and fell into the gutter the crowd greeted the
+unfortunate with a shower of unprintable pleasantries.
+
+"Ma foi! but she is outclassed!"
+
+"Oh, she's only stopped to rest."
+
+"Too much absinthe!"
+
+"The cow can never catch the calf!"
+
+"The fat salope! To think she could have any show in a race or in love
+with the pretty bonne!"
+
+"Yes; but where's the man?"
+
+"Dame! It is one-eyed Mad!"
+
+"Let her alone,--she's drunk!"
+
+The fallen woman had laboriously regained her feet and turned a
+torrent of vulgar maledictions upon the jeering crowd.
+
+Then, having regained her equilibrium, she staggered forward in
+renewed pursuit. The broad-bladed, double-edged knife of the Paris
+assassin gleamed in her right hand.
+
+"Bah! she will never catch her," said a man whose attention had been
+called to this.
+
+"Let them fight it out," assented his companion.
+
+"Hold! She is down again."
+
+Madeleine had reached the Rue Soufflot, and, in turning the corner
+sharply, had fallen against the irregular curb.
+
+The stragglers from the wine-shops hooted. The drunken women fairly
+screamed with delight. It was so amusing.
+
+But Madeleine did not get up this time.
+
+This was more amusing still; for the crowd, now considerably augmented
+by the refuse from the neighboring tenements, launched all sorts of
+humorous suggestions at the prostrate figure, laughing uproariously at
+individual wit.
+
+A few ran to where the dark figure lay, and a merry ruffian playfully
+kicked the prostrate woman.
+
+Still the woman stirred not.
+
+The ruffian who had just administered the kick slipped and fell upon
+her, whereat the crowd fairly split with laughter. It was so droll!
+
+But the man did not join in this, for he saw that he had slipped in a
+thin red stream that flowed sluggishly towards the gutter, and that
+his hands were covered with warm blood.
+
+"Pardieu! she's dead," he whispered.
+
+And they gently turned her over, and found that it was so.
+
+Madeleine had fallen upon her arm, and the terrible knife was yet
+embedded in her heart.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile, unconscious of this pursuit and its fatal consequences,
+Mlle. Fouchette had swiftly passed from the narrow Rue St. Jacques
+into Rue Soufflot, and was flying across the broad Place du Pantheon.
+Blind to the glare of the wine-shops, deaf to the gay chanson of a
+group of students and grisettes swinging by from the Cafe du Henri
+Murger,--indeed, dead to all the world,--the grief-stricken girl still
+ran at the top of her speed--towards----
+
+The river?
+
+Her poor little overtaxed brain was in a whirl. She had no definite
+idea of anything beyond getting away. As a patient domestic beast of
+burden suddenly resumes his savage state and rushes blindly,
+pell-mell, he knows not where, so Mlle. Fouchette now plunged into the
+oblivion of the night.
+
+Unconsciously, too, she had taken the road to the river,--the broad
+and well-travelled route of the Parisian unfortunate.
+
+Ah! the river!
+
+For the first time it occurred to her now,--how many unbearable griefs
+the river had swallowed up.
+
+There were so many things worse than death. One of these was to live
+as Madeleine had lived. Never that! Never! Not now,--once, perhaps;
+but not now. Oh, no; not now!
+
+The river seemed to beckon to her,--to call upon her, reproachfully,
+to come back to it,--to open its slimy arms and invite her to the
+palpitating bosom that had soothed the sorrows of so many thousands of
+the children of civilization.
+
+And Fouchette was the offspring of the river. Why had she been
+spared, then? Had it proved worth while?
+
+She recalled every incident of that eventful period. She remembered
+the precise spot where she had been pulled out that gray morning,
+years before.
+
+This idea had flitted through her mind, at first vaguely, then, still
+unsought, began to assume definite shape.
+
+Eh, bien,--soit! From the river to the river!
+
+Mlle. Fouchette, as we have seen, had all the spontaneity of her race,
+accentuated by a life of caprice and reckless abandon. To conceive was
+to execute. Consequences were an after-consideration, if at all worthy
+of such a thing as consideration.
+
+She stopped. But this hesitation was not in the execution of her
+suddenly formed purpose. It was necessary to recover breath, and to
+decide whether to go by the way of the Rue Clovis, or to turn down by
+the steep of Rue de la Mont Ste. Genevieve to the Boulevard St.
+Germain.
+
+It was but for a few panting moments.
+
+The clock of the ancient campanile of the Lycee Henri IV. struck the
+hour of eleven. The hoarse, low, booming sound went sullenly rumbling
+and roaring up and down the stone-ribbed plaza of the Pantheon, and
+rolled and reverberated from the great dome that sheltered the
+illustrious dead of France.
+
+The curious old church of St. Etienne du Mont rose immediately in
+front of the girl, and the sound of the bells startled her,--shook her
+ideas together,--and, with the sight of the church, restored, in a
+measure, her presence of mind.
+
+Her thoughts flew instantly back to the happy scene she had recently
+left behind. The bells of the old tower,--ah! how often she and Jean
+had regulated their menage by their music!
+
+And she looked up at the grimly mixed pile of four centuries, with its
+absurd little round tower, its grotesque gargouilles, and grass-grown
+walls,--St. Etienne du Mont.
+
+Doubtless they would be married here.
+
+To be married where reposed the blessed bones of Ste. Genevieve, or at
+St. Denis amid the relics of royalty, was the dream of every youthful
+Parisienne. And Ste. Genevieve was the patronne of the virgins as well
+as of the city of Paris.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette had witnessed a wedding at good old St. Etienne du
+Mont,--indeed, any one might see a wedding here upon any day of the
+week, and at almost any hour of the day, in season,--and she now
+recalled the pretty scene. Yes, of course Jean and Andree would be
+married here.
+
+Obeying a curious impulse, the girl, still breathing heavily, ascended
+the broad stone steps and peeped into the little vestibule. The dark
+baize door within stood ajar, and she could see the faint twinkle of
+distant lights and smell the escaping odors from the last mass.
+
+She would go in--just for a moment--to see again where they would
+stand before the altar. It would do no harm. Her last thoughts should
+be of those she loved,--loved dearer--yes, a great deal more dearly
+than life.
+
+Entering, she mechanically followed her training at Le Bon Pasteur,
+and, bending a knee, dipped the tips of her fingers in the font and
+crossed her heaving breast.
+
+The great wax tapers were still burning about the ancient altar, and
+here and there pairs and bunches of expiatory candles flickered in the
+little chapels.
+
+As no other light relieved the sombre blackness of the vaulted
+edifice, an indefinite ghostliness prevailed, from out of which the
+numerous gilded forms of the Virgin and the saints appeared half
+intangible, as if hovering about with no fixed support or substance.
+
+The church might have been deserted, so far as any living indications
+were visible, though two or three darker splotches on the darkness
+could have been taken for as many penitents seeking the peace which
+passeth understanding.
+
+Gliding softly down the right, outside of the pews and row of stately
+columns, Mlle. Fouchette stopped only at the last pillar, from which
+she had a near view of the pretty white altar. She remained there,
+leaning against the pillar, her eyes bent upon the altar, motionless,
+for a long time.
+
+During that period she had pictured just how the young couple would
+look,--how beautiful the bride would appear,--how noble and handsome
+Jean Marot would shine at her side.
+
+She supplied all of the details as she had seen them once before,
+correcting and rearranging them in her mind with scrupulous care.
+
+All of this dreamily and without emotion, as one lies in the summer
+shade idly tracing the fleeting clouds across a summer's sky.
+
+She had grown wonderfully calm, and when she turned away she gently
+put the picture behind her as an accomplished material thing.
+
+On her way she paused before the little chapel of Ste. Genevieve.
+There were candles burning before the altar, and a delicious, holy
+incense filled the air.
+
+Mlle. Fouchette recalled the stories of the intercession of Ste.
+Genevieve in behalf of virgin suppliants, and impetuously fell upon
+her knees outside the railing and bowed her face in her hands.
+
+She knew absolutely nothing of theological truth and error; religion
+was to her only a vague scheme devised for other people--not for her.
+She had never in all her life uttered a prayer save on compulsion.
+Now, impulsively and without forethought, she was kneeling before the
+altar and acknowledging God and the intercession of the Christ.
+
+It was the instinct of poor insignificant humanity--the weakest and
+the strongest, the worst and the best--to seek in the hour of
+suffering and despair some higher power upon which to unburden the
+load of life.
+
+To say now that Mlle. Fouchette prayed would be too much. She did not
+know how,--and the few sentences she recalled from Le Bon Pasteur
+seemed the mere empty rattle of beads.
+
+She simply wished. And as Mlle. Fouchette never did anything by
+halves, she wished devoutly, earnestly, passionately, and with the hot
+tears streaming from her eyes, without uttering a single word.
+
+It would have been, from her point of view, quite impertinent for her
+to thrust her little affairs directly before the Throne. She was too
+timid even to appeal to the Holy Virgin, as she had often heard others
+do, with the familiarity of personal acquaintance; but she felt that
+she might approach Ste. Genevieve, patronne des vierges, with some
+confidence, if not a sense of right.
+
+She silently and tearfully laid her heart bare to Ste. Genevieve, and
+with her whole passionate soul called upon her for support and
+assistance. If ever a young virgin needed help it was she, Fouchette,
+and if Ste. Genevieve had any influence at the higher court, now was
+the time to use it. First it was that Jean and Andree might be happy
+and think of her kindly now and then; next, that she might be forgiven
+for everything up to date and be permitted to be good,--that some way
+might be opened to her, and that she might be kept in that way.
+
+Otherwise she must surely die.
+
+If Sister Agnes might only be restored to her, it would be enough. It
+was all she would ask,--the rest would follow. She must have Sister
+Agnes,--good Sister Agnes, who loved her and would protect her and
+lead her safely to the better life. Oh! only send her Sister Agnes----
+
+"My child, you are in trouble?"
+
+That gentle voice! The soft, caressing touch!
+
+Ah! le bon Dieu!
+
+It was Sister Agnes, truly!
+
+The religieuse, ever struggling against the desires of the flesh, had
+unconsciously kneeled side by side with the youthful suppliant.
+Disturbed by the sobs of the latter, she had addressed her
+sympathetically.
+
+To poor little ignorant and believing Fouchette it was as if one of
+the beautiful painted angels had suddenly assumed life and, leaving
+the vaulted ceiling, had come floating down to softly brush her with
+her protecting wings. Awe-stricken at what seemed a direct
+manifestation of God, she found no words to express either surprise or
+joy. She simply toppled over into the arms of the astonished
+religieuse and lost consciousness. The reaction was too great.
+
+Sister Agnes, who had not recognized in the girl dressed as a
+bonne-a-toute-faire her protegee of Le Bon Pasteur, was naturally
+somewhat startled at this unexpected demonstration, and called aloud
+for the sacristan.
+
+"Blessed be God!" she exclaimed, when they had carried the girl into
+the light of the vestry,--"it is Mademoiselle Fouchette!"
+
+"What's she doing here?" demanded the man, with a mixture of suspicion
+and indignation.
+
+"Certainly nothing bad, monsieur. No, it can be nothing bad which
+leads a young girl to prostrate herself at this hour before the altar
+of the blessed Ste. Genevieve!"
+
+"Ste. Genevieve! That girl? That---- Mere de Dieu! what next?"
+
+"Chut!"
+
+"But it's a sacrilege, my sister. It's a profanation of God's holy
+temple!"
+
+"S-sh! monsieur----"
+
+"It's a wonder she was not stricken dead! Before Ste. Genevieve!"
+
+"S-sh! monsieur," protested the religieuse, gently, "ne jugez pas!"
+
+"But----"
+
+"Ne jugez pas!"
+
+They had, in the mean time, applied simple restoratives with such
+effect that Mlle. Fouchette soon began to exhibit signs of
+reanimation.
+
+"Will you kindly leave me alone with her here for a few minutes?"
+whispered Sister Agnes.
+
+"Willingly," replied the ruffled attendant. "And mighty glad to----"
+
+"S-sh!"
+
+When Mlle. Fouchette's eyes were finally opened they first fell upon
+the motherly face of Sister Agnes, then wandered rapidly about the
+room, as if to fix her situation definitely, to again rest upon the
+religieuse. And this look was one of inexpressible content,--of
+boundless love and confidence.
+
+Sister Agnes, who was seated on the edge of the sofa on which the girl
+lay extended, leaned over and affectionately kissed her lips.
+
+"You are much better now, my child?"
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed! I was afraid it might be only--only a dream,--one
+dreams such things, n'est-ce pas? But it is true! There is really a
+God, and prayers are answered--when one believes,--yes; when one
+believes very hard! Even the prayers of a poor little, miserable,
+wicked, motherless girl like me. Ah!----"
+
+"Cer--certainly, cherie; but don't try to talk just yet. Wait a bit.
+You will feel stronger."
+
+The religieuse thought the girl's mind was wandering.
+
+"And good Ste. Genevieve heard me and had you sent to me. It was all I
+asked. For I knew that if I only had you, I could be good, and I would
+know what to do. It was all I asked--for myself. And you were sent at
+once. Dear, good, sweet Sister Agnes!--the only one who ever loved
+me!--except Tartar,--and love is necessary, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+"You asked for me?"
+
+Sister Agnes listened now with intense interest. Mlle. Fouchette was a
+revelation.
+
+"Oh! yes,--and they sent you--almost at once! Blessed Ste. Genevieve!"
+
+"Why, what was the matter, Fouchette?" inquired Sister Agnes, wiping
+her eyes, after gently disengaging the young arms from her neck. She
+tried to speak cheerily.
+
+"Take me as you did when I first saw you,--when I was in the
+cell,"--and the voice now was that of a pleading child,--"that way;
+yes,--kiss me once more."
+
+On the matronly bosom of Sister Agnes the girl told her story,--the
+story of her love, of her suffering, of her hopes, of her final
+failure, of her despair.
+
+"You see, my more than mother, it was too much----"
+
+"Too much! I should think so!" interrupted the good sister, brusquely,
+to prevent a total breakdown. "Sainte Mere de Dieu! such is for the
+angels in heaven, mon enfant,--for mortals, never!"
+
+"When I found she was my sister,--that her brother was my
+brother,--and that even Jean Marot--I could not be one to spoil this
+happiness by making myself known. No, I would rather die. I should
+hate myself even if they did not hate me. No, no, no! I could never do
+that!"
+
+"Fouchette, you are an angel!"
+
+The religieuse slipped to the floor at the girl's side, and covered
+the small hands with kisses. She felt the insignificance of her own
+worldly trials.
+
+"I am not worthy to sit in your presence, Fouchette," she faltered.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As they slowly passed out of the church the younger seemed to support
+the elder woman. Both bowed for a few moments in silence before the
+altar of Ste. Genevieve.
+
+And when they arose, Mlle. Fouchette took from the bosom of her dress
+a bit of folded paper and put it in the box of offerings inside the
+rail.
+
+It was the bank-note for five hundred francs.
+
+At the door the grim sacristan, long impatient for this departure,
+growled his final disapproval of Mlle. Fouchette.
+
+"She's a terror," he said.
+
+"She's a saint, monsieur," was the quiet reply of Sister Agnes.
+
+A few minutes later the great door of the Dames de St. Michel closed
+upon the two women. Mlle. Fouchette had ceased to exist, and Mlle.
+Louise Remy had entered upon the coveted life of peace and love.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                   |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Page  71: Prettly replaced with Pretty                    |
+    | Page 225: whch replaced with which                        |
+    | Page 227: companon replaced with companion                |
+    | Page 241: ascerbity replaced with acerbity                |
+    | Page 285: seing replaced with seeing                      |
+    | Page 323: amunition replaced with ammunition              |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Mlle. Fouchette, by Charles Theodore Murray
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MLLE. FOUCHETTE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 30041.txt or 30041.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/0/4/30041/
+
+Produced by Irma Spehar, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/old/30041.zip b/old/30041.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..36360e0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/30041.zip