d
his resentment at this malicious--but, after all, this "child of the
police" could not know. He shifted the talk to Madeleine.

"You seem to have offended her, mademoiselle."

"Bah! Madeleine is that jealous----"

"What? Lerouge?"

"Of Lerouge. Can't you see?"

"No,--that is, I didn't know that she had anything in common with
Lerouge."

"Ah, ca! When she flies into a rage at the mention of him and another
woman? Monsieur is not gifted with surprising penetration."

"But Mademoiselle Madeleine is rather a handsome girl," he observed,
tentatively. While he mentally resolved not to be robbed of his own
secret he was not averse to gaining any information this girl might
possess.

"Perhaps," said she,--"for those who admire the robust style. But you
should see the other; she's an angel!"

"Indeed?"

It was hard to put this in a tone of indifference, and he felt her
eyes upon him.

"Yes, monsieur."

"I'd like to see her. You know angels are not to be seen every day."

"Monsieur Lerouge can be trusted, I suppose, to render these visions
as fleeting and rare as possible."

He winced perceptibly.

"But Madeleine has magnificent eyes," he suggested.

"This other has the eyes of heaven, monsieur."

"And as for figure----"

"Chut! monsieur is joking,--the form of a Normandie nurse!
Mademoiselle Remy is the sculptor's dream!"

Jean Marot laughed. This unstinted praise of the girl who had
fascinated him,--who had robbed him of his rest,--who had without an
effort, and unconsciously, taken possession of his soul,--it was
incense to him. Truly, Mlle. Fouchette had an artistic eye,--a most
excellent judgment. It extracted the sting----

"Yes," continued Mlle. Fouchette, looking through him as if he were so
much glass, "a great artist said to me the other day----"

"Pardon! but, mademoiselle, does your new beauty,--the 'sculptor's
dream,' you know,--does she do the studios of the quarter?"

"No! Why should she?"

He was silent. Would she have another drink?

"Thanks! Un ballon, garcon," repeated Mlle. Fouchette.

They looked at the crowd in silence for a while.

The scene was inspiriting. With the shades of evening the joyous
struggle waxed more furious. The entire street was now taken up by the
merrymakers, who made the air resound with their screams and shrieks
of laughter. The confetti lay three or four inches deep on the walks,
where street gamins slyly scraped it into private receptacles for
se