ticed that. There can be nothing worse than what one's father can
write his son."

He read in silence, then passed it to her with a shrug of the
shoulders.

"Monsieur de Beauchamp!" she exclaimed.

"Yes."

"'Come to Brussels at once.'"

"It is the Duc d'Orleans."

"Bah!"

"He knows, then, that I am in possession."

"Yes,--certainly."

"Probably wants me to take charge of his guns----"

"And dynamite bombs----"

"The wretches!"

"You can tell him you have turned them over to Inspector Loup."

"I will, pardieu!"

He was inspecting the superscription of the next envelope.

"Something familiar about that. Ah! its from Lerouge!"

"Lerouge!"

"Very good, very good! Look!"

Jean jumped up excitedly,--this time with evident pleasure.

"Coming here! and to-night! Good!"

"Oh! I'm so glad, mon ami!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette. "And, see!
'toi!'--he calls you 'thee;' he is not angry!"

The note from Lerouge was simply a line, as if in answer to something
of the day.

"Merci,--je serai chez toi ce soir."

"'Toi,'--it is good!" said the girl.

"Yes, it looks fair. And Henri always had the way of getting a world
of meaning in a few words."

"It is as if there had occurred nothing."

"Yes,--to-night,--and we must prepare him a welcome of some kind. I
will write him as to the hour. Let us say a supper, eh, Fouchette?"

"A supper? and here? to-night?"

Mlle. Fouchette recoiled with dismay written in every line of her
countenance.

"I don't see anything so strange or horrible about that," said Jean.
"I did not propose to serve _you_ for supper."

"N-no; only----"

"Well?"

Mlle. Fouchette was greatly agitated. He looked at her curiously.
Monsieur Lerouge coming to see him and coming to supper--where she
must be present--were widely different propositions according to Mlle.
Fouchette; for she had hailed the first with delight and the second in
utter confusion.

"Fouchette, why don't you say at once that you don't want to do it!"
he brutally added.

"You do not understand. Would it be well for--for you, mon ami? It is
not for myself. He probably does not know me."

"What if he does? It strikes me that you are growing mighty nice of
late. I don't see what Lerouge has to do with you,--and you have
pretended----"

"Pretended? Oh, monsieur! I beg----"

"Very well," he interrupted. "We can go out to a restaurant, I
suppose, since you don't seem to want to take that trouble for me."

"Oh, mo