Mlle. Fouchette Part 41

"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 circ.u.mstantial 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 circ.u.mstances," 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 a.s.sailant?"

"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 cla.s.ses,--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?"