adeleine.

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 th