she quickly added, recovering her
well-bred self-possession,--"yes, brother Henri has often talked about
you, and I have seen you----"

There was a faint self-consciousness apparent here. And he knew that
she was thinking of his lonely watches in front of her place of
residence.

They rapidly exchanged the usual courtesies of the day, in the usual
elaborate and ornate Parisian fashion.

Mlle. Fouchette saw every minute detail of this meeting with an
expression of intense concern. She weighed every look and word and
gesture in the delicate, tremulous balance of love's understanding.
And she realized that Jean's way was clear at last, and at the same
time saw the consequences to herself.

Well, was not this precisely what she had schemed and labored to bring
about?

Yet she stole away unobserved to the little kitchen, and there turned
her face to the wall and covered her ears with her hands, as if to
shut it all out. Her eyes were dry, but her heart was drenched with
tears.

Meanwhile, the elder Marot, who had risen politely upon the entrance
of Lerouge and his sister, stood apparently transfixed by the scene.
At the sight of Andree his face assumed a curious mixture of eagerness
and uncertainty. Upon the mention of her name the uncertainty
disappeared. A flood of light seemed to burst upon him with the
encomiums showered upon his son.

When Jean turned towards his father--being reminded by a plucking of
the sleeve--he was confounded to behold a face of smiles instead of
the one recently clouded with parental wrath.

"This is m-my father, Monsieur Lerouge,--Mademoiselle----"

"What? Monsieur Marot? Why, this is a double pleasure!" exclaimed
Lerouge, briskly seizing the outstretched hand. "The father of a noble
son must perforce be a noble father. So Andree says, and Andree has
good intuitions.--Here, Andree; Jean's father! Just to think of
meeting him on an occasion like this!"

Neither Lerouge nor his sister knew of the estrangement between Jean
and his home. They had puzzled their heads in vain as to the reasons
for Jean's retirement to the Rue St. Jacques, but were inclined to
attribute it to politics or business reverses.

"Ah! so this is Monsieur Lerouge,--of Nantes," remarked the old
gentleman when he got an opening.

"Of Nantes," repeated Lerouge.

"And this is Andree,--bless your sweet face!--and--and,"--turning a
quizzical look on the wondering Jean,--"and 'the woman'!"

It was now Lerouge's