s-brigadier that at
once attracted that consequential man's attention.

"Then, mademoiselle," he concluded, after a moment's thought, "you can
give us the address of this Monsieur Lerouge?"

"Oh, yes. It is Montrouge, 7 Rue Dareau,--en quatrieme."

M. Benoit gave the girl informer a vicious look, which had as much
effect upon her as water might have on a duck's back.

Jean did not require a note-book and pencil to fix this street and
number in his own mind. He turned to the sous-brigadier as the latter
rose to take his departure,--

"Pardon, monsieur; may I ask what charge is made against Monsieur
Lerouge that you thus hunt him down in the middle of the night?"

"It is very serious, monsieur," replied the man, respectful enough
now; "a young woman has been blinded with vitriol."

"Horrible!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I don't believe Lerouge could
have ever done that! No, never!"

"Nor I," said Jean.

The police officer merely raised his eyebrows slightly and observed,--

"It was in the Rue Dareau, monsieur."

"And the woman? Do they know----"

"One named Madeleine, mademoiselle."

"Madeleine!" cried the girl, with a white face. "Madeleine! Mon Dieu!
You hear that, Monsieur Jean? It was Madeleine!"

"Courage, mademoiselle; Lerouge never did that," said Jean, calmly.
"It is a mistake. He could not do that."

"Never! It is impossible!"

Mlle. Fouchette wrung her hands and sought his eyes in vain for some
explanation. She seemed overcome with terror.

"Parbleu!" exclaimed the police officer, in taking his leave.
"Mademoiselle, there is nothing impossible in Paris."

CHAPTER X

The first instinct of Jean Marot had been to kill Henri Lerouge.

Revenge is the natural heritage of his race. Revenge is taught as a
sacred duty in the common schools of France. Revenge keeps the fires
aglow under the boilers of French patriotism. Revenge is the first
thought to follow on the heels of private insult or personal injury.

It had been that of the ignorant human animal called Madeleine. How
the horrible design of Madeleine had chilled his blood! He was sorry
for the unhappy girl with a natural sympathy; yet he would have torn
her to pieces had she successfully carried her scheme of revenge into
execution.

Jean took to haunting Montrouge day and night, invariably passing down
Rue Dareau and contemplating No. 7, keeping his eye on the
porte-cochere and the fourth floor, as if she might be passing in o