r
out, or show herself at a lighted window. But he never saw her,--never
saw Lerouge. He never seemed to expect to see them.

He had ceased to attend classes. What were books and classes to him
now? He took more absinthe than was good for him.

His father's friend, Dr. Cardiac, visited him, remonstrated with him,
readily diagnosed his case, then wrote to Monsieur Marot the elder.
The result of this was a peremptory call home. To this summons Jean as
promptly replied. He refused to go. An equally prompt response told
him he had no home,--no father,--and that thenceforth he must shift
for himself,--that he had received his last franc.

Ten days later he unexpectedly encountered Mlle. Fouchette on
Boulevard St. Michel. It was Saturday evening, and all the student
world was abroad. But perhaps of that world none was more miserable
than Jean Marot.

"Ah! Then it is really you, monsieur?" There was a perceptible
coldness in her greeting. However, his condition was apparent. The
sharp blue eyes had taken his measure at a glance. She interrupted his
polite reply.

"La! la! la! Then you are in trouble. You young men are always in
trouble. When it isn't one thing it is another."

"It is both this time, I'm afraid," he said, smiling at the heavy
philosophy from such a light source.

They crossed over and walked along the wall of the ancient College
d'Harcourt, where there were fewer people. The dark circles under his
handsome eyes seemed to soften her still further.

"I am sorry for you, monsieur."

"Thank you, mademoiselle."

"And poor Madeleine----"

"You have seen her, then?"

"Oh, of course!"

"Of course," he repeated.

"But, monsieur, you may not know that you were suspected of----"

"Go on," seeing her hesitation. "Of having something to do with it?"

"Precisely."

"I knew that."

To avoid the crowd and curious comment, Jean turned into the
Luxembourg garden.

"Well," he resumed, "you said I was suspected first by the police,
then----"

"By me," she said, promptly.

"By you!"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And what, my dear mademoiselle, had I done to merit so distinguished
an honor?"

"Dear me! monsieur, it was chiefly what you hadn't done; and then the
circumstantial evidence, you must confess, was strong."

"I realized that, also that in France it is not easy to get out of
prison, once in it, innocent or guilty."

"So you kept out. Very wisely, monsieur. But you know the papers next
morning spo