of
Gruyere cheese to be served them. Her mother having died, her father
himself had begun to lead rather a gay life, in such wise that the
whole of the grocery stores--tea, coffee, dried vegetables, and jars and
drawers of sweetstuff--were gradually devoured. Irma was still going to
school, when, one day, the place was sold up. Her father died of a fit
of apoplexy, and Irma sought refuge with a poor aunt, who gave her more
kicks than halfpence, with the result that she ended by running away,
and taking her flight through all the dancing-places of Montmartre and
Batignolles.

Claude listened to the story with his usual air of contempt for women.
Suddenly, however, as the gentleman rose and went out after whispering
in her ear, Irma Becot, after watching him disappear, bounded from
her seat with the impulsiveness of a school girl, in order to join
Fagerolles, beside whom she made herself quite at home, giving him a
smacking kiss, and drinking out of his glass. And she smiled at the
others in a very engaging manner, for she was partial to artists,
and regretted that they were generally so miserably poor. As Jory was
smoking, she took his cigarette out of his mouth and set it in her own,
but without pausing in her chatter, which suggested that of a saucy
magpie.

'You are all painters, aren't you? How amusing! But why do those three
look as if they were sulking. Just laugh a bit, or I shall make you,
you'll see!'

As a matter of fact, Sandoz, Claude, and Mahoudeau, quite taken aback,
were watching her most gravely. She herself remained listening, and,
on hearing her companion come back, she hastily gave Fagerolles an
appointment for the morrow. Then, after replacing the cigarette between
Jory's lips, she strode off with her arms raised, and making a very
comical grimace; in such wise that when the gentleman reappeared,
looking sedate and somewhat pale, he found her in her former seat, still
looking at the same engraving in the newspaper. The whole scene had been
acted so quickly, and with such jaunty drollery, that the two sergeants
who sat nearby, good-natured fellows both of them, almost died of
laughter as they shuffled their cards afresh.

In fact, Irma had taken them all by storm. Sandoz declared that her
name of Becot was very well suited for a novel; Claude asked whether she
would consent to pose for a sketch; while Mahoudeau already pictured her
as a Paris gamin, a statuette that would be sure to sell. She soon