an appearance. In
the mean time Fouchette was disposed of on a bench within a railed
space, her bare feet dangling, momentarily growing physically better
and more mentally perplexed.

What would they do with her?

She dared not return to the Podvins. She knew of no other place to go.
She was desperately alone in the world. Only Tartar, who once more
stretched himself at her feet, with his head in a position where he
could keep a half-open eye on his mistress. Tartar needed rest, and
was getting it.

The police! Next to the murderer of the barrier she hated and feared
the police.

Would they send her to prison?

After all, she thought, one might as well have been drowned to a
finish. It would have been an easy escape from this uncertainty and
agony of mind.

She began to feel hungry. Gradually the thoughts of what she should do
for something to eat, and where she would be able to get something for
Tartar, drove out all other thoughts. If they could only get away
now,--at this hour something might be found in the streets. She
calculated the chances of escape by a sudden dash for the door. But
there were several police agents lounging in the anteroom, and her
conductor sat at the little gate of the enclosure. So the scheme was
reluctantly dismissed. Anyhow, if they would let Tartar remain with
her she didn't care much.

During this time several successive attempts were made by the police
agents to get her to talk. She responded by "Yes" or "No" or a motion
of the head to all questions not connected with her case. On this
subject she was persistently silent.

An hour later the bargewoman, who had been in secret consultation with
the police agents, went out and got Fouchette a roll and some cheese,
which she ate eagerly. This woman was a coarse, masculine-looking
creature with hands as hard and rough as a fowl's foot, a distinct
moustache and tufts of hair cropping out here and there on her neck
and chin, but her voice assumed a kindly tone. She led Fouchette to
the farther corner of the room.

"I must go back to my boat now, cherie. Cheer up! And promise me one
thing,--don't try the river again. You were not born to be drowned,
anyhow. If you really want to die you'll have to try something else."

"But I don't want to die," protested Fouchette.

"And they send people to prison who attempt suicide," continued the
woman.

"But I didn't, madame."

"The bodies spoil the water. There are so many of them floati