And there never was time
or place more propitious or auditor more tender of spirit.

He began at the beginning, when he first met Mlle. Remy with Lerouge,
every detail of which was fixed upon his memory. He told how he sought
her in Rue Monge, how Lerouge interposed, how he quarrelled with his
friend, how the latter changed his address and kept the girl under
close confinement to prevent his seeing her,--Jean was certain of
this.

Monsieur Lerouge had a right to protect his sister, even against his
late friend; and even if she had been his mistress, Jean now argued,
Lerouge was justified; but love is something that in the Latin rises
superior to obstacles, beats down all opposition, is obstinate,
unreasonable, and uncharitable.

When Mlle. Fouchette, going straight to the core of the matter, asked
him what real ground he had for presuming that his attentions, if
permitted, would have been agreeable to Mlle. Remy, Jean confessed
reluctantly that there were no reasons for any conclusion on this
point.

"But," he wound up, impetuously, "when she knows--if she knew--how I
worship her she _must_ respond to my affection. A love such as mine
could not be forever resisted, mademoiselle. I feel it! I know it!"

"Yes, Monsieur Jean, it would be impossible to--to not----"

"You think so, too, chere amie?"

"Very sure," said Mlle. Fouchette.

"Now you can understand, Fouchette. You are a woman. Put yourself in
her place,--imagine that you are Mademoiselle Remy at this moment. And
you look something like her, really,--that is, at least you have the
exact shade of hair. What beautiful hair you have, Fouchette! Suppose
you were Mademoiselle Remy, I was going to say, and I were to tell you
all this and--and how much I loved you,--how I adored you,--and got
down on my knees to you and begged of you----"

"Oh!"

"And asked you for a corner--one small corner in your heart----"

"Ah! mon ami!"

"What would you----"

"Shall I show you, mon frere?"

"Yes--quickly!"

He had, with French gesture, suiting the action to the word, knelt
beside her and extended his arms, as if it were the woman he loved.

"Mon Dieu!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, throwing herself upon his breast
precipitately and entwining his neck with her arms,--"it would be
this! It would be this! Ah! mon Dieu! It surely would be this!"

For the moment Jean was so carried away by his imagination that he
accepted Mlle. Fouchette as Mlle. Remy and pressed her to