nsieur!" she protested, earnestly, "it is not that; I would be
glad, only--if it were not Lerouge."

"And why not Lerouge, pray?"

"But, mon ami, would he not tell his sister that----"

"Nonsense!"

"I know----" she hesitated.

"Pouf! Lerouge will not know you. And what if he did recognize
the--the----"

"Savatiere----"

"Yes; what, then? But, say! Fouchette, you shall wear that pretty
bonne costume I got you. Hein?"

"But, mon ami,--mon cher ami! I'd rather not do it," she faltered.
"If Mademoiselle Remy should hear of it----"

"Bah! I know Lerouge. He'd think you my servant, my model. And have
you not your own private establishment to retire to in case--really,
you must!"

"W-well, be it so, Monsieur Jean; but if harm comes of it----"

"It will be my fault, not yours. It goes!"

Thus Jean, having reduced the "Savatiere" to the condition of
unsalaried servitude, now insisted upon her dressing the part.

He had paid her no empty compliment when he said that she looked her
best as a maid. He had fitted her out for an evening at the Bullier
for twenty-five francs. In the Quakerish garb of a French bonne she
had never looked so demurely sweet in her life. The short skirt showed
a pair of small feet and neat round ankles. Her spotless apron
accentuated the delicacy of the slender waist. And with a cute white
lace cap perched coquettishly over the drooping blonde hair--well,
anybody could see that Mlle. Fouchette (become simply Fouchette by
this metamorphosis) was really a pretty little woman.

And Jean kissed her on both cheeks and laughed at her because they
reddened, and swore she was the sweetest little "bonne a toute faire"
in all the world.

No doubt Marie Antoinette and her court ladies looked most charming
when they played peasant at Petit Trianon; for it is a curious fact
that many women show to better physical advantage in the simple
costume of a neat servant than in the silks and diamonds of the
mistress.

As for Fouchette, she was truly artistic, and she knew it. The
knowledge that Jean comprehended this and admired her caused her eyes
to shine and her blood to circulate more quickly. And a woman would be
more than mortal who is not to be consoled by the consciousness of a
successful toilet.

Yet she had dressed with many misgivings, between many sighs and
broken exclamations. A little time ago she would have cared nothing
whether it were Lerouge or anybody else; but now,--ah! it was a cru