ng! All the same, you know
now that it is the very last time you are to apply to me!"

Then she added, laughing in her usual hail-fellow-well-met way, and
pressing the old fellow's hand as she moved towards the door:

"I don't mean to be the letter-box of Chalons any more: that's
ended--the last collection has been made!"

Nichoune departed. Vagualame wished her a cordial "Good night"; then,
locking the door, he became absorbed in his reflections.

* * * * *

Towards five o'clock in the afternoon of the day following his private
talk with Nichoune, Vagualame accosted the proprietor of a little inn
situated at the extreme end of the town, and far removed from the
tavern where he had passed the night.

"Mademoiselle Nichoune is not in, is she?"

"No, my good man--what do you want with her?"

Vagualame gave a little laugh.

"Has she not told you, then, that she was expecting someone from her
part of the country to call on her?"

The innkeeper was leaning carelessly against the wall. He straightened
himself a little.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Nichoune has told us that an old musician would
call to see her this afternoon, and that we must ask him to wait."...

"Ah, she's a good, kind little thing! How courageous! What a worker!"
Vagualame seemed to be speaking to himself.

"You know her very well, then?" asked the puzzled innkeeper.

"I should think I did!" protested the old fellow. "Why, it was I who
taught her to sing!... Do you think she will be long, my little
Nichoune?"

"I don't fancy so! If you would like to come in and wait for her in
her room, you will find it at the end of the corridor. It's not
locked.... You will find some picture papers on her table."

"Thank you, kind sir," said Vagualame after a moment's hesitation. "I
will go in and rest for a few minutes," and, hobbling along, he gained
the singer's room. The moment he was inside, and the door safely shut,
his whole attitude changed. He looked eagerly about him.

"If there is anything, where is it likely to be?"... He considered.
"Why, in the mattress, of course!"

He drew from some hiding-place in his garments a long needle, and
began to probe the mattress of Nichoune's bed very carefully.

"Ha, ha!" cried he, suddenly. The needle had come in contact with
something difficult to penetrate. "I wager it's what I am after!"

Vagualame slipped his hand, spare and delicately formed, under the
counterpane.

"Litt