in their hands. And the men marvelled at the resistance they had
encountered.

A messenger had been at once despatched for medical assistance. The
great hospital of Salpetriere was near at hand.

"May as well take her to the morgue," muttered one.

"Soon enough,--soon enough," replied the river policeman. "Follow the
custom."

Notwithstanding the general opinion that it was too late, a rough
boatman had torn off a section of his flannel shirt and was chafing
the cold little hands, while another rubbed the legs and a third tried
to restore respiration. These people were familiar with cases of
drowning, and knew the best and simplest immediate first aid by heart.

To their very great surprise a few minutes sufficed to show that the
child was still alive. By the time the doctor arrived she gave decided
signs of returning animation. Under the influence of his restoratives
she opened her eyes.

"Tartar!" she gasped.

"What's that, little one?" inquired the doctor, bending low over her.
She still lay on the stone quai, a laborer's coat beneath her extended
figure.

"Tar--Tartar," she repeated, again closing her eyes. "Oh, mon Dieu! I
remember now. That wretch!--it could not have been!"

"Maybe it's her dog," suggested a man.

"Yes,--Tartar----"

"There, my child,--don't! Is it the dog?"

"Yes,--tell me----"

"Oh, he's all right.--Say!"

He hailed the group gathered about the other victim of the river.

"How's the dog?"

"All right, Monsieur le Docteur!"

Fouchette heard and brightened perceptibly. The doctor increased the
effect by observing that the dog was coming around all right.

"But he's had a pretty close call."

"So it was Tartar, after all," whispered Fouchette. "Dear Tartar!"

"A brave dog, Tartar,--stuck to you to the last," put in the
policeman.

"Truly!"

Half a dozen men cried at once, "Vive Tartar!" with the enthusiasm of
true Frenchmen.

And if a dog ever did deserve the encomiums that were showered upon
him Tartar certainly was that dog.

As soon as Fouchette began to revive, a stalwart bargewoman, awakened
in her little cubby by the cries of the men in the vicinity, and who
had hastily turned out to see for herself, had disappeared for a
moment in her floating home, and shortly afterwards returned with some
substantial clothing borrowed from her family wardrobe.

"How thin the child is!" she remarked, as she substituted the dry
clothing on the spot.

"Thin!" growled a by