f the water-soaked wad of paper which bore a
mother's appeal to the world, he did not mention the key to Block Ten.
He told the story of Walker Farr's devotion to a child. He did not
dare to reveal to this stranger the identity of that child, because the
telltale letter had been hidden from the coroner, and old Etienne stood
in awe of the curt and domineering men who enforced the laws. But with
simple earnestness and in halting speech he revealed the tenderness of
Farr's nature and gave further testimony to her woman's understanding
that this man who had come into her life possessed depths which she
longed to probe.

"But the child!" she ventured, after Etienne had finished the story of
how the two of them, voices in the wilderness of careless greed, had
faced the masters of the city in the _hotel de ville_; "it seems strange
that a man--that anybody should take a child and--" She hesitated.

"_Oui_, ma'm'selle, it seemed strange," agreed the old man, studying her
with sharp glance of suspicion--a gaze so strange that she shifted her
eyes uneasily.

Ah, Etienne told himself, the law sometimes sent queer emissaries to
probe for it--and he feared the law very much.

He must be very careful how he told any of the secrets which might
trouble his good friend, who was now such a friend of the mighty
folks; as for himself--well, he would willingly be a martyr if the law
demanded--but he did fear that law!

"But he loved the child very much," she hinted.

"So much that he will fight them because they have poisoned her--he will
fight them and not be scare."

"It is strange!" she repeated.

"_Oui_, ma'm'selle," he said, regarding her with still more suspicion.

"But before that morning--when you found them here under the tree! He
told you--"

"He walk the street with her in his arm. I don't tell you some more
about dat t'ing what I do not know!"

But she knew that he was withholding something from her. She mustered
her courage.

"Mr. Provancher, the bad men are making threats that they will print
stories about the child--and its mamma--to hurt your friend. And the
stories will make the mamma very sad."

"No stories can make her sad," said old Etienne, solemnly. But he did
not say that he had raked the mother from the canal. The law must not
know!

"But I have heard about her," she insisted.

The old man's mouth trembled; he was frightened. "What you hear?" he
faltered.

"Only good things. That she was very t