them. It was a critical moment.

With the noiseless tread of a scared animal she turned back again into
the kitchen, and, closing the door softly, leaned against it with
ghostly face. She quickly stuffed the corner of her apron into her
mouth to keep back the scream of agony that involuntarily rose to her
lips. Her thin hands were tightly clinched and her body half drawn
into a knot.

"Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"

Even the Saviour stumbled and fell beneath the heavy cross He had
assumed to insure the happiness of others.

And Mlle. Fouchette was only a poor little, weak, nervous, ignorant
woman, groping blindly along the same rugged route of her Calvary.

Unconsciously the same despairing cry had broken from her lips.

"Fouchette!"

It was Jean's voice.

Half fainting, half terror-stricken at her unfortunate position, she
drew a needle from the bosom of her dress and thrust it into her
thigh--twice.

"Fouchette!"

"Yes, monsieur!"

"That poor girl is certainly ill, Je--Cousin Jean," said Mlle. Remy,
sympathetically.

"Nonsense!" he lightly replied.

He wished to spare the unhappy Fouchette this attention. "She has
worked too hard. Drop it till to-morrow, little one," he said, gently.
"You must let things alone for to-night."

"Indeed, it is nothing, monsieur. I must clear away these dessert
dishes----"

"Have a glass of wine," insisted Andree, putting her arm
affectionately about the slender waist and pouring out a glass of
champagne.

Lerouge regarded them with a frown of disapproval. Turning to M.
Marot, he said,--

"You were congratulating France just now upon a new ministry,
monsieur. At least the new ministry ought to give us a new set of
spies. Don't you think----"

But the wine-glass broke the last sentence, as it fell to the floor
with a crash.

Only the protecting arm of Mlle. Remy sustained the drooping figure
for a moment, then Jean and his affianced bride bore it gently to the
model's home.

CHAPTER XXII

"C'est fini!"

The girl raised herself wearily from her knees by the side of her bed,
where she had fallen when she had bravely gotten rid of Jean and
Andree.

"C'est fini!"

She repeated the words as she looked around the room, the poor, cheap
little chamber where she had been so happy. Just so has many a
bereaved returned from the freshly made grave of some beloved to see
the terrible emptiness of life in every corner of the silent home.

Mlle. Fouchette had gri