gent.

"Depot," said the sous-brigadier.

"Oh! no! no!" exclaimed the girl, indignantly. "See, messieurs; he is
wounded and weak, and----"

"One moment!"

A young surgeon knelt and applied his ear to the heaving breast, while
the police agents whispered among each other.

Mlle. Fouchette caught the words, "It is La Savatiere," and smiled
faintly, but was at once recalled to the situation by a pair of open
eyes through which Jean Marot regarded her intently.

"So! It--it is only Mademoiselle Fouchette. I----"

He saw the cloud that rose upon her face and heard the gentle humility
of her reply,--

"Yes, monsieur, it is only Fouchette. How do you find yourself,
Monsieur Jean?"

She put a flask of brandy to his lips and saw him swallow a mouthful
mechanically. Suddenly he raised himself to a sitting posture and
looked anxiously about.

"Where is he?"

"Who? Where is who, monsieur?"

"Lerouge. Why, he was here but now. Where is he?"

"Lerouge! That wretch!" cried the girl, with passion. "I could
strangle him!"

"Oh! no, no, no!" he interposed. "It is a mistake. His sister,
Fouchette----"

His glance was more than she could bear. She would have drawn him back
to her as a mother protects a sick child, only a rough hand
interposed.

"See! he raves, messieurs."

"Let him rave some more," said the sous-brigadier. "This is our
affair. So it was Monsieur Lerouge, was it? Very good! Henri Lerouge,
medical student, Quartier Latin, anarchist, turbulent fellow,
rascal,--well cracked this time!"

Jean looked from the girl to the man and laid himself back in her arms
without a word.

"Make a note," continued the police official,--"bad characters, both.
This man goes to depot!"

"For shame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette.

"And hear this!" added the sous-brigadier in an angry voice,--"if this
grisette of Rue St. Jacques gives you any of her guff run her in!"

"But--no, monsieur, that you will not! My business is here,--my
authority above your authority,--and here I will remain!"

"Show it!" demanded the official.

She regarded him wrathfully.

"Very well, mademoiselle," said he, choking back his anger. "I know my
duty and will not be interfered with by----"

"Gare a vous!" she interrupted, threateningly.

"Don't!" whispered Jean. "It is nothing. But tell me quickly,--has
Lerouge gone to prison?"

"Hotel Dieu," she replied.

"Good! Go to his place, 7 Rue Dareau, you know,--tell
her,--Mademoiselle Remy,--h