Mlle. Fouchette Part 58

"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 rehea.r.s.ed 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 mult.i.tude 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 pet.i.te 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----"