"But, my child, you must have started----"

"I started in a rag-heap, ma'm'selle. There's where the Podvin found
me."

"In a rag-heap!"

"Yes, ma'm'selle,--so they say."

"But don't you remember anything at all before that?"

"Precious little. Only this: that I came a long ways off, walking, and
riding in market carts, and walking some more,--and then the Podvin
found me,--near here,--and here I am. That's all."

"What does Podvin do for a living?"

"Drinks."

"Ah! And madame?"

"Hammers me."

"And you?"

"Rags."

"Now, Fouchette, which is 'the' Podvin?"

"Madame, of course!"

The young woman laughed merrily, and Fouchette gave forth a singular,
low, unmusical tinkle. She was astonished that the young lady should
put such a question, then amused as she thought of Mother Podvin
playing second to anybody.

"What a lively little girl you are, Fouchette!" said her questioner,
pleasantly.

"It's the fleas, ma'm'selle."

"W-wh-what?"

"I sleep with Tartar."

"Who's Tartar, and what----"

"He's the dog, ma'm'selle."

"Heavens!"

"Oh, he's the best of the family, ma'm'selle, very sure!" protested
Fouchette, naively.

"No doubt of it, poor child!"

"Only for him I'd freeze in winter; and sometimes he divides his
dinner with me--as well as his fleas--when he is not too hungry, you
know. This amuses the Podvin so that sometimes, when we have company,
she will not give me any dinner, so I'll have to beg of Tartar. And we
have lots of fun, and I dance----"

"You dance after that? Why----"

"Oh, I love to dance, ma'm'selle. I can----"

Fouchette elevated her dirty little bare foot against the railing
above her head by way of illustration; while, half shocked, half
laughing, the other hastily exclaimed,--

"La, la, la! Put it down, Fouchette! Put it down!"

A restless glance up and down the road and back towards the house
seemed to relieve the young woman materially; she laughed now with
delightful abandon.

"So Tartar and you are good friends in spite of the--the----"

"The fleas,--yes, ma'm'selle. He loves me and me alone. Nobody dares
come near him when we sleep--or eat,--and I love him dearly. Did you
ever love anybody, ma'm'selle?"

This artless question appeared to take the young woman by surprise;
for she grew confused and quite red, and finally told little Fouchette
to "run along, now, and don't be silly."

"Not with fleas,--oh, no; I didn't mean that!" cried the child,
cons