ng something more
vital to his happiness.

Henri Lerouge had introduced him to Mlle. Remy. It was in the Jardin
du Luxembourg. They had met but for a brief minute. The presentation
had been coldly formal,--reluctant. Yet in that time, in the midst of
the usual conventionalities, Jean had looked into a pair of soulful
blue eyes that had smiled upon him, and Jean was lost.

His hope of meeting her again lay in and through Lerouge,--and now
they had quarrelled; and about a Jew!

The fine blonde hair and slender figure of this girl--this "child of
the police"--had reminded Jean of Mlle. Remy. She possessed the same
kind of hair. It was this mental association that prompted him to
carry the unknown to his own lodgings as described. This impulse of
compassion and association was strengthened by his narrow escape from
being her slayer. In fact, it was the best thing to have done under
all the circumstances.

Now that the causes and the impulse had disappeared together, he began
to feel bored. The "child of the police" was in his way,--the police
might look after her. Jean Marot had troubles of his own.

As for Fouchette, she silently regarded the motionless figure at the
window, wondering, thinking, on her part, of many things. When it had
disappeared in the adjoining room she beckoned to the doctor.

"The young man, Monsieur Marot?" she asked, feebly. "Is this his----"

"It is his apartment, mademoiselle," the doctor anticipated.

"Tell me----"

"Monsieur Marot found you in the street near by, after the riot of the
25th of October, and brought you here,--temporarily, you know."

"Monsieur Marot is very good," she murmured.

"Excellent young man!" said the doctor. "A trifle obstinate, but still
a very excellent young man, mademoiselle."

The girl was silent for a minute, as if lost in thought.

"Is this his--his bedchamber, doctor?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"I must be moved," she said, promptly. "You understand? I must be
removed at once. Take me to a hospital, please!"

"Oh, don't excite yourself about it, my child. Soon enough--when you
are able."

"What day of the month is----"

"This? The 5th of November."

"Ten days! Ten days!"

"Yes,--you have had a narrow call, mademoiselle."

"And I owe my life to you, doctor."

"To Monsieur Marot, mademoiselle."

"Ah! but you----"

"If it hadn't been for him I would never have seen you, child."

He spoke very gently and in a subdued voice that reached on