in the road, the stone quai, the
boats moored not far away, the human monster at her side, all at a
single sweeping glance.

Her feet and arms were bound, the gag was still in her mouth,--there
was no escape, no succor.

There was the river; there was le Cochon.

Nothing more.

What more, indeed, was necessary to complete the picture?

Death.

Nothing was easier. No conclusion more mathematically certain.

With his knife between his teeth the assassin hastily adjusted the
straps under her arms. It was but the work of half a minute from the
time he had stopped, though to the terror-stricken child it seemed an
age of torment.

The rags were packed tightly down in the bottom of the basket.

"It'll do for a sinker," said the man.

Then he cut the thongs that held her arms, severed the ligament that
bound her feet, and with one hand removed the cloth from her mouth,
while with the other he suddenly pushed his victim over the edge of
the stone quai.

"Voila!"

Short as was the opportunity, Fouchette gave one terrified shriek as
she went over the brink,--a shriek that pierced the river mists and
reverberated from the stone walls and parapets and went ringing up and
down the surface of the swiftly swirling stream.

Again, as she reappeared, battling with the murky waters with
desperate stroke and splash, her childish voice rose,--

"Tartar! Tartar!"

And yet again, choking with the flood,--

"Tar--Tar--tar!"

It was the last thought,--the last appeal,--this despairing cry for
the only one on earth she loved,--the only being on earth who loved
her.

CHAPTER II

The piercing cry of Fouchette seemed yet to linger in the misty
morning air, thrilling the distant ear, vibrating upon the unstrung
nerves of the outcasts beneath the far-away bridges, borne upon the
surface of the waters, when it was answered out of the darkness by a
sharp, shrill note of sympathy.

Those who have heard the wild hyena in his native fastnesses
responding to the appeal of its imperilled young might have understood
this half-human, half-savage cry of the roused animal.

And almost simultaneously came the swift rush of feet that seemed to
claw the granite into flying electric sparks.

The repulsive face of the convict murderer turned pale at the sound,
and at the sight of the glowing eye-balls his ugly teeth clattered
against each other. Nevertheless, the instinct of self-preservation
made him crouch low, deadly knife