Mlle. Fouchette a little nervously, and Madeleine
introduced them.

"It is strange, Mademoiselle Fouchette," observed Mlle. Remy; "could I
have met you before?"

"I think not, mademoiselle. One meets people on the boulevards----"

"No, I don't mean that,--a long time ago, somewhere,--not in Paris."

Mlle. Remy was trying to think.

"Perhaps you confuse me with somebody else, mademoiselle."

"Scarcely, since I do not remember seeing anybody who resembled you.
No, it is not that, surely."

"One often fancies----"

"But my brother Henri thought so too, which is very curious. May I ask
you if your name----"

"Just Fouchette, mademoiselle. I never heard of any other----"

"I am from Nantes," interrupted Mlle. Remy. "Think!"

"And I am only a child of the streets of Paris, mademoiselle," said
Mlle. Fouchette, humbly.

"Ah!"

Mlle. Remy sighed.

"Mademoiselle Fouchette and Monsieur Marot have come to learn the news
of your brother," said Madeleine, seeing the latter approaching.

Jean Marot had, in fact, followed Mlle. Remy inside of the building,
but having been overtaken by timidity for the first time in his life,
had hesitated at a little distance in the rear. He could stand the
suspense no longer.

"Monsieur Marot, Mademoiselle----"

"Oh, we have met before, monsieur, have we not?" asked Mlle. Remy,
lightly. "I thank you very much for----"

Jean felt his heart beating against the ribbed walls of its prison as
if it would burst forth to attest its love for her. He had often
conjured up this meeting and rehearsed what he would say to her. Now
his lips were dumb. He could only look and listen.

And this was she whom he loved!

In the mean time Mlle. Remy, who had flushed a little under the
intense scrutiny she felt but could not understand, grew visibly
uneasy. She detected a sign from Mlle. Fouchette.

He had unconsciously disclosed the telltale marks upon his neck.

At the sight Mlle. Remy grew pale. There was much about this young man
that recalled her brother Henri, even these terrible finger-marks. All
at once she remembered the meeting of Mardi Gras, when her brother
insulted him and pulled her away.

Why?

It was because this young Marot admired her, and because he and her
brother were enemies. She saw it now for the first time. Paris was
full of political enemies. Yet, in awe of her brother's judgment and
like a well-bred French girl, she dared not raise her eyes to
his,--with the hal