ade, was a naturalized
Frenchman, a gaunt Gaul, who had a sallow face, walked with a stoop,
complained of his heart and adored his daughter. To him she was a
pearl, a _perle_, rather. For though he had been long in New York and
spoke English well, he had never quite acquired the accent.

Marie spoke English without any accent whatever. She also spoke
French, sang in it, too, sang in Italian and, with a view to the lyric
stage, or, more exactly, with the hope of studying for it abroad, was,
at the time when this drama begins, taking lessons in what is termed
the _bel canto_.

But her aspirations, in so far as they concerned Europe, her father
was unable to gratify. He could not let her go alone and he could not
afford to throw up what he called his beesness. Here, then, was this
girl, pretty as a picture, with a lovely contralto voice, with
aspirations entirely worldly, with wings, you might say, cooped in Gay
street, spiritually and mentally starved there.

Gay street lies back of Jefferson Market. In shape a crescent, it
curves briefly in a lost and dismal way through a region which,
though but a block or two from Fifth avenue, is almost squalid. At one
end of its short curve is a saloon, at the other an apothecary.

It was from this apothecary that Loftus learned Marie's name--or
thought he did. For inadvertently the man got things mixed as his
drugs and supplied Loftus with the name of a young woman who lived in
a house next to the one in which Loftus had seen the girl enter.

What is more interesting is the fact that, though, while he was
following her there, she had looked neither to the right nor to the
left, or anywhere save straight ahead, she had been fully aware that
he was behind her. How? We cannot tell. It is one of the mysteries of
femininity. But once safely in, boldly she peeked out. Loftus was
crossing the street. Presently he entered the shop. For what, it did
not take Marie more than a minute to conjecture.

Later in the day a motor van appeared in that street. On it was the
name of a Broadway florist. Since the memory of man never before had
such a thing happened. From the van a groom had hopped and, if you
please, with roses. That, too, was phenomenal. Yet thereafter every
day for a week there was the motor, the groom and flowers at a dollar
and a half apiece. The recipient of these attentions was Miss Rebecca
Cohen, the daughter of Mr. Abraham Cohen, who also, like Marie's
father, was a tail