e moment,--some call it inspiration."

"But if you didn't know who did it, monsieur----"

"It is not signed."

"N-no; but, monsieur, every one must know his work."

"Yes, and every one knows that some of it is bad."

"Oh!"

"And this is----"

"Bad too, monsieur," she laughingly interrupted. "When any one offers
me fifty francs for that thing, Monsieur Jean, it goes!"

"Then it is mine," said Jean.

"No! You joke, monsieur," she protested, turning away.

"Not at all," said he, tendering her a fresh, crisp billet de banque
for fifty francs. "Voila! Is that a joke?"

Mlle. Fouchette colored slightly and drew back.

"Monsieur likes the picture?"

"Why, certainly. If I didn't----"

"Then it is yours, monsieur, if you will deign to accept it as
a--present----"

"No, no!"

"As a souvenir, monsieur."

"Nonsense! I will not do it," he declared. "Come, mademoiselle, you
are trying to back out of your offer of a minute ago. Here! Is it mine
or is it not? Say!"

"It is yours, monsieur, in any case," she said, in a low voice,
"though you would have done me a favor not to press me with money.
Besides, 'La Petite Chatte' is not worth it."

"I differ with you, mademoiselle; I simply get a picture cheap."

Which was true. There was no sentiment in his offer, and she saw it as
she carefully folded the bank-note and put it away with a sigh. It was
a great deal of money for her, but still----

There was a great noise at the iron knocker below. This had been
repeated for the third time.

"My friends below are growing impatient," he thought.

Jean had that inborn hatred of authority so common to many of his
countrymen. It often begins in baiting the police, and sometimes ends
in the overthrow of the government.

"Whoever that is," observed the girl, "he will never get in,--never!"

"Good!" said Jean.

"He won't get in," she repeated, listening. "Monsieur Benoit will
never let anybody in who makes a racket like that."

"Not even the police?"

"No,--he will not hear them."

"Oh! ho! ho! ho!" roared Jean; "not hear that!"

"I mean he would affect not to know that it was the police."

She went to a window and listened at the shutter. Then, returning to
her guest, who was placidly smoking,--

"It is the police, sure."

"I knew it."

"Now, what do you suppose the agents want at this hour?" It was one
o'clock by the little bronze timepiece on the mantel.

"Me," said Jean.

"You!" She glanced at him