his fourth bottle, offered to put her up against the dog of his
convive of the moment, so much was he impressed with Fouchette's
fighting talent. Fouchette, who was serving the wine, was not
unmindful of the implied compliment. She glanced at the animal and
then at its owner with a bitter smile that in her catlike jaws seemed
almost a snarl,--

"I'd much rather fight le Cochon," said she.

"Ho! ho! ho!" roared the man, who was a dirty ruffian of two hundred
pounds, mostly alcohol, and who enjoyed the fitting sobriquet of "le
Cochon," from his appearance and characteristic grunt.

"Voila!" cried Monsieur Podvin; "that's Fouchette!"

"Pardieu! but what a little scorcher!" exclaimed the ruffian, rather
admiringly.

"The dog is honest and decent," said the child, turning her steely
blue eyes on the man.

"Fouchette!"

The peremptory voice was that of "the" Podvin behind the zinc. Such
plain talk--any talk at all about "honesty" and "decency"--at the
Rendez-Vous pour Cochers was interdicted. And had the girl noted the
look which followed her retreating figure she might have gone abroad
the next morning with less confidence.

From that time on these two, ruffian and child, snapped at each other
whenever they came in contact,--which, as the man was an habitue of
the place, and occasional assistant of Monsieur Podvin in his business
of scouring the wood of Vincennes for booty, was pretty nearly every
day. For in addition to her labors as a rag-picker Fouchette was
compelled to wait upon customers in the wine-shop and run errands and
perform pretty much all the work of housekeeping for the Podvins. Her
foraging expeditions merely filled in the time when customers were not
expected.

Strange as it may appear, Fouchette liked this extra hour or so abroad
better than any other duty of the day,--it was freedom and
independence. With her high pannier strapped to her slender back and
iron hook in hand she roamed about the streets of Charenton, sometimes
crossing over through ancient Conflans and coming home by the Marne
and Seine. There were only footpads, low-browed rascals, thieves, and
belated robbers about at this hour, before the trams began to make
their trips to and from Paris, but these people never disturbed the
petite chiffonniere, save to sometimes exchange the foul witticisms of
the slums, in which contests the ready tongue and extensive vocabulary
of little Fouchette invariably left a track of good-humor. The