Marot laughed so heartily at this subtle distinction that he lost
the mental note of her disinclination to gossip about her late
neighbor,--a reluctance that is decidedly foreign to the French female
character.

"Now, Monsieur Jean,"--when he had made up his mind,--"if you will let
me manage the concierge," she went on, "it may save you fifty francs,
don't you know? Very likely the term has been paid,--he will make you
pay it again. I know Monsieur Benoit,--he'd rob you like saying a
prayer."

"It is a novelty to be looked after by a female agent, anyhow," mused
the young man, when she had disappeared on this mission. "If she picks
up the fifty francs instead of that surly rascal Benoit I'm satisfied.
It is a quiet place, sure, and dog cheap. Now, I wonder what her game
is, for women don't do all of these things for nothing."

Jean was of the great pessimistic school of Frenchmen who never give a
woman credit for disinterestedness or honesty, but who regard them
good-naturedly as inferior beings, amusing, weak, selfish creatures,
placed on earth to gratify masculine vanity and passion,--to be
admired or pitied, as the case might be, but never trusted, and always
fair game. The married Frenchman never trusts his wife or daughter
alone with his best male friend. No young girl alone in the streets of
Paris is free from insult, day or night; and such a girl in such a
case would appeal to the honor of Frenchmen in vain.

Jean Marot would have never dreamed that Mlle. Fouchette had saved him
from imprisonment. Even in his magnanimous moments he would have
listened to the accusation that this girl had robbed him of his money
and watch quite as readily as to the statement that she had already
taken measures to insure the recovery of that personal property. Yet,
while his estimate of woman was low, it did not prevent him from
loving one whom he had believed another man's mistress; it did not
now steel his heart against the sympathy of mutual isolation.

"All goes well!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, skipping into the room.

"All goes well, eh?" he repeated.

"Yes, Monsieur Jean. Think then! it is a bargain. Oh, yes, one hundred
francs----"

"What?"

"I say one hundred francs saved! The semestre was paid and you get it
less a term's rent, thus you save one hundred francs. Isn't that nice?
One can live two months on one hundred francs."

"Oh! oh! oh! not I," he laughingly exclaimed. "But I guess I'd better
let you manage, l