beckoning Jean to follow him. Once in the petit
salon, the inspector motioned the young man to a chair and looked him
over for about half a minute. Whereupon Jean made a clean breast of
what his listener practically already knew, and what he did not know
had guessed.

"Bring me her clothing," said the inspector, when Jean had finished.

The young man brought the torn and soiled garments which had been
removed from the girl.

Inspector Loup examined them in a perfunctory way, but apparently
discovered nothing beyond the fact that they were typical charity
clothes, which Jean had already decided for himself.

"Be good enough to ask Monsieur le Docteur to step in here a few
moments at his leisure," he finally said.

As soon as Jean had his back turned the inspector whipped out a knife,
slit the lining of the bosom of the little dress, and taking therefrom
the letter addressed to himself, noted at a glance that the seal was
intact, tore it open, saw its contents and as quickly transferred the
missive to his pocket.

"Well, doctor," he gravely inquired, "how about your young patient?"

"Uncertain, monsieur, but hopeful."

"She will recover, then?"

"I think so, but it will be some time. She must be removed to a
hospital."

"Yes, of course,--of course. But you will report to me where she is
taken from here, Monsieur le Docteur?"

"Oh, yes,--certainly. Though perhaps the girl's friends----"

"She has no friends," said the inspector.

"What! You know her, then?"

"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."

"A nobody's child, eh?" asked the doctor.

"Mademoiselle Fouchette is the child of the police," said Inspector
Loup.

He slowly retired down-stairs, through the court and passage-way,
reaching the street. Then as he walked away he drew from his pocket
the letter he had extracted from the little dress.

"So! Sister Agnes is prompt and to the point. These Jesuitical
associations are hotbeds of treason and intrigue! They are
inconsistent with civil and religious liberty. We'll see!"

CHAPTER VII

When Fouchette opened her eyes it was to see three strange faces at
her bedside,--the faces of Dr. Cardiac, Jean Marot, and a professional
nurse.

But she had regained consciousness long before she could see, her eyes
being in bandages, and had passively listened to the soft goings and
comings and low conversations and whispered directions, without saying
anything herself or betraying her growing curiosity.