le discussion,
in which Fouchette came to the private conclusion that they were even
more anxious for her to get to Paris than she was herself, if such a
thing were possible.

* * * * *

Fouchette arrived in Paris and alighted at the Gare de l'Est at a very
early hour in the morning. Her idea had been to go direct to the
Prefecture and demand the whereabouts of Sister Agnes. Incidentally
she would deliver the mysterious letter intrusted to her.

But during her journey Fouchette had enjoyed ample time for
reflection. She was not absolutely certain of her reception at the
hands of Inspector Loup; could not satisfy her own mind that he would
receive her at all. Besides, would he really know anything about
Sister Agnes?

Fouchette's self-confidence had been oozing away in the same ratio as
she was nearing her journey's end. When she had finally arrived she
was almost frightened at the notion of meeting Inspector Loup. He had
threatened her with prison. He might regard her now as an escaped
convict. On the whole, Fouchette was really sorry she had run away.
Back again in Paris, where she had suffered so much, she realized
again that there were worse places for a girl than Le Bon Pasteur.
Anyhow, it was early,--there was plenty of time,--she would consider.

She took the tramway of the Boulevards Strausbourg and Sebastopol,
climbing to the imperial, where a seat was to be had for three sous.

What crowds of people!

She was surprised to see the great human flood pouring down the
boulevards and side streets at such an early hour in the morning. But
her volatile nature rose to the touch of excitement. She at once
forgot everything else but the street. Fouchette was a true
Parisienne.

"Paris!" she murmured; "dear Paris!"

As if Paris had blessed her childhood with pleasure, instead of having
starved and beaten her and degraded her to the level of beasts!

"Where on earth are all of these people going?" she asked herself.

There were now and then cries of "Vive l'armee!" "Vive la republique!"
and "Vive la France!" while the excitement seemed to grow as they
reached the Porte St. Denis.

"What is it, monsieur?" she finally asked the man at her side.

"It is the 25th of October," said he.

"But, monsieur, what is the matter?"

He looked over his shoulder at the young girl rather resentfully,
though his doubts as to her sincerity vanished in a smile.

"It is the rentree of the Cha