hat startled at first. Her catalogue of familiar faces was so
limited that it was a sensation.

It was the face she had seen through the iron gate on the road to
Charenton long, long ago!

Somewhat fuller, somewhat redder, with suspicious circles under the
lustrous eyes, yet, unmistakably, the same face. The plump figure
looked still more robust, and the athletic limbs showed through the
scant bloomer bicycle suit.

The owner of this face and figure did not recognize in the other the
petite chiffonniere de Charenton. That would have been too much to
expect.

"Pardon! but, mademoiselle----"

Fouchette boldly accosted her nevertheless.

"Pardon! You don't remember me? I'm Fouchette!"

"Fouchette?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. You do not remember the poor little ragpicker of
Charenton? But of course not,--it was long ago, and I have changed."

The other stared at her with her big black eyes.

"I was hungry,--you gave me a nice sandwich; it was kind,--and I do
not easily forget, mademoiselle,--though I'm only Fouchette,--no!"

"What! Fouchette--the--dame! it is impossible!"

"Still, it is true, mademoiselle," insisted Fouchette, laughing.

"Ah! I see--I know--why, it is Fouchette! 'Only Fouchette'--oh! sacre
bleu! To think----"

She embraced the girl between each exclamation, then held her out at
arm's length and looked her over critically, from head to feet and
back again, then kissed her some more on both cheeks, laughing merrily
the while, and attracting the amused attention of numerous passers.

Mlle. Fouchette realized, vaguely, that the laugh was not that of the
pretty garden of years ago; she saw that the flushed cheeks were toned
down by cosmetics; she noted the vinous smell on the woman's breath.

"Heavens! but how thin and pale you are, petite!" exclaimed the
bicycliste.

"It is true. I have just come out of the hospital--only a few
days----"

"Pauvrette! Come! Let us celebrate this happy reunion," said the
other, grasping Fouchette's arm and striding along the bridge. "You
shall tell me everything, dear."

"But, Mademoiselle--er----"

"Madeleine,--just Madeleine, Fouchette."

"Mademoiselle Madeleine----"

"I live over here,--au Quartier Latin. It is the only place--the place
to see life. It is Paris! C'est la vie joyeuse!"

"Ah! then you no longer live at----"

"Let us begin here, Fouchette," interrupted Mlle. Madeleine, gravely,
"and let us never talk about Charenton,--never! It cannot be