sweet? How I love the flowers!"

"But I never saw such a remarkable effect, somehow. They are only
flowers, and----"

"'Only flowers'! Say, now!"

"Still, it is curious," he added, resuming his coffee and rolls, as if
the subject were not worth an argument or was too intangible to
grasp. He could not account for the change in Mlle. Fouchette.

And if Jean Marot had been very much more of a philosopher than he was
he would not have been able to understand the divine process by which
human happiness softens and beautifies the human countenance.

"Mon ami," said the girl, seeking to hide the pleasure his admiration
gave her, "do you, then, forget what we have to do to-day?"

"Lerouge? Yes,--that's so,--at once!"

Immediately after breakfast Jean sat down and wrote a friendly, frank
letter, making a complete and manly apology for his anger and
expressing the liveliest sympathy for his old-time friend.

"Tell him, Monsieur Jean, that you have changed your political
opinions and----"

"Oh!"

"At least that you'll have nothing more to do with these
conspirators."

"But, Fouchette----"

"Last night's discoveries ought to satisfy any reasonable being."

"True enough, petite."

"Then why not say so to----"

"Not yet,--I prefer acts rather than words,--but in good time----"

It is more difficult for a man to bring himself to the acknowledgment
of political errors than to confess to infractions of the moral law.

In the mean time Mlle. Fouchette had cleared away and washed the
breakfast things and stood ready to deliver the missive of peace.

"It is very singular," he repeated to himself after she had departed
upon this errand, "very singular, indeed, that this girl--really, I
don't know just what to think of her."

So he ceased to think of her at all, which was, perhaps, after all,
the easiest way out of the mental dilemma.

The fact was that Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming necessary to him.

With a light heart and eager step she tripped down the Boulevard St.
Michel towards the ancient Isle de la Cite. On the bridge she saw the
dark shadow of the Prefecture loom up ahead of her, and her face,
already beaming with pleasure, lighted with a fresher glow as she
thought of her moral freedom.

The bridge was crowded as usual with vehicles and foot-passers, but
this did not prevent a woman on the opposite side from catching a
recognizing glance of Mlle. Fouchette.

The sight of the latter seemed to thrill