ke of Madeleine's lover, and talked of the lost clue of the
Place St. Jacques, where we met."

"It certainly would have been suspicious under some circumstances," he
admitted. "Now, if I had been her lover, for instance----"

"There! I went to the hospital. And don't you know, she would not
betray the man who did it, though she suffered horribly. She will lose
one of her eyes, poor girl!"

"Great heavens! What a misfortune!"

"Yes!"

"And she would not betray her assailant?"

"Not a word!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "I never believed Madeleine
could rise to that."

"Nor I," said Jean.

"And the police did worry that Lerouge," continued the girl.

"Oh, they did?"

"Yes; but he easily proved that he was not only not Madeleine's lover,
but that he was out somewhere with his--his----"

"Mistress, eh?" he said, bitterly. "Why not say it?"

"With his friend," she added, her eyes on the ground.

"Ugh!"

"But you, monsieur,--you have not yet told me your troubles. Your love
goes badly, I suppose, eh?"

"Always."

"It is the same old thing. I wonder how it is to be loved thus. Very
nice, no doubt."

"And has no one ever loved you, mademoiselle?" he asked.

"Non!"

"You astonish me! And the world is so full of lovers, too."

"I mean no man."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure, monsieur. Could one be loved like that and not know it?"

"That is what I ask myself every day." He said this to himself rather
than to his wondering companion.

"Why, monsieur!----"

"But there are other things just now,--to-day," he said, abruptly
changing the subject; "and the worst thing----"

"The worst thing is money," she interrupted. "I have had 'the worst
thing.' It happens every now and then. You need not hesitate."

"Worse yet," he continued, smiling in spite of himself at her
conclusion.

"I can tell it in advance. It is the old story. Your love is not
reciprocated,--you neglect your classes,--you fail in the exams,--you
take to absinthe. Ah, ca!"

"Still worse, mon enfant."

"Ah! You play----"

"No. I never play. You are wrong only that once, mademoiselle."

He told her the truth. And she listened with the sage air of one who
knows all about it and was ready with her decision.

"Monsieur Marot,"--she paused a second,--"you think I'm a bad
girl----"

"Oh, don't be too sure of that. I----"

"Ah, ca!" impatiently waving his politeness aside; "but I owe you
much, and I would do you a service if possible."