cious of having made a faux pas, but not clear.

But the young woman was already flying through the flower-garden, and
quickly disappeared around the corner of the house without once
looking back.

Fouchette then let go of her breath and heaved a deep sigh as she
turned away.

It was the only occasion within her childish recollection when one of
her own sex had spoken to her in kindness. Now and then she had
dreamed of such a thing as having occurred in the long ago,--in some
other world, perhaps,--this was real, tangible, perceptible to the eye
and ear.

"Sweet words
Are like the voices of returning birds,
Filling the soul with summer."

For the moment the starved soul of the child was filled with summer
softness, as she slowly returned along the route she had recently
come, thinking of the beautiful young lady and the sensuous odor of
the flowers which had penetrated to the innermost recesses of her
being.

As she neared the barriers, however, and was gradually recalled to the
harsh realities of her daily environment, these fleeting dreams had
disappeared with the rest, leaving the old, fixed feelings of
hopelessness and sullen combativeness. With this revival came the pain
from the still recent blows of the morning, temporarily forgotten.

The barriers at Paris have long been the popular haunts of poverty and
crime,--though their moral conditions have been greatly modified by
the multitude of tramways that afford the poor of Paris more extended
outings. The barriers run along the line of fortifications and form
the "octroi," or tax limit of the city. These big iron gates of the
barriers intercept every road entering Paris and are manned by customs
officials, who inspect all incoming vehicles and packages for dutiable
goods.

Within the barriers is Paris,--beyond is the rest of the world. Inside
are the police agents,--outside are the gendarmes.

Cheap shows, gypsy camps, merry-go-rounds, and all sorts of games
hover about the barriers, where no special tax is exacted and where
the regulations with reference to public order are somewhat lax. They
attract noisy and unruly crowds on Sundays and holidays. A once
popular song ran:

"Pour rigoler montons,
Montons a la barriere."

Which means, that to have a good time let us go up to the barrier.

These resorts are infested by the human vermin that prey on the
ignorant,--thieves, pickpockets, robbers, and cutthroat