would have wished for the moon to play with. She had met him, by
accident, twice since her departure from his roof, and the first time
he had a hurried, uneasy air, as if he feared she might presume to
detain him. The second time he had gone out of his way to stop her and
talk to her and to inquire what she was doing and how she was getting
along,--condescendingly, as one might interest himself for the moment
in a former servant.

In the mean time Jean Marot had held himself aloof from "la vie
joyeuse" and from the reunions at "Le Petit Rouge." It attracted the
attention of his associates.

"First Lerouge, now it's Jean," growled Villeroy. "Comes of loafing
along the quais nights,--it's malaria."

"He's greatly changed," remarked another student.

"It's worry," said another.

"Probably debts," observed young Massard, thinking of his chief
affliction.

"Bah! that kind of worry never pulls you down like this," retorted a
companion.

"Now, don't get personal; but debts do worry a fellow,--debts and
women."

"Put women first; debts follow as a necessary corollary."

"He ought to hunt up Lerouge. What the devil is in that Lerouge,
anyhow?"

"More women," said Massard.

"And debts, eh?"

"Oh, well," continued Massard, "if she is a pretty woman----"

"She's more than pretty," cut in George Villeroy,--"she's a beauty!"

"Hear! hear! Tres bien!"

But the student turned to the "subject" on the "dressing-table,"
humming a gay chanson of Musset:

"'Nous allons chanter a la ronde,
Si vous voulez.
Que je l'adore, et qu'elle est blonde
Comme les bles!'"

"A man never should neglect his lectures for anything, and that's what
both Lerouge and Jean are doing," remarked a serious young man,
looking up from his book.

"Yes, and the first thing our comrade Marot will know, he'll be
recalled by his choleric father. He's taken to absinthe, too----"

"Which is worse."

"_The_ worst----"

"And prowling----"

"And moping off alone."

"What's the lady's name?"

"Mademoiselle Fouchette."

"What! the wild, untamed----"

"La Savatiere? Nonsense!"

"Here's a lock of her hair in evidence," remarked Massard, going to a
drawer and taking out a bit of paper. "It is as clear to my mind as it
was to the police that Monsieur Marot had that girl, or some other
like her, up here that night."

"Let me see that," said Villeroy.

"I found it on the floor the next day,--the inspector took away quite