"Andree!" whispered her brother, warningly. "Remember the salt woman!"

Mlle. Fouchette raised one little nervous finger to her lips and
gently closed the door.

"Pray do not seem to notice," she whispered. "But you did not know,
then, that Jean and his father have been estranged, oh! for months?
That the poor young man had been cast off,--forsaken by father and
mother----"

"But why?" insisted Mlle. Remy. "It must have been something
dreadful,--some horrible mistake, I mean. Why should----"

The confusion of Mlle. Fouchette was too evident to press this
questioning. And it was increased by the curious manner in which the
pair regarded her.

For a single instant she had wavered. She had secretly pressed her
lips to her sister's dress, and she felt that she could give the whole
world for one little loving minute in her sister's arms.

"Fouchette!"

At least one dilemma relieved her from another; so she flew to answer
Jean's call, like the well-trained servant she was fast becoming.

"That's right, Fouchette. I'm glad to find you more attentive to our
guests than I am. But I've been so confoundedly upset--and
everlastingly happy. We shall want another plate. Yes, my father will
honor us. I say, Fouchette, what a night! What a night!"

"I am so glad, Monsieur Jean! I am so glad!"

He considered her an instant and then hustled her into the kitchen and
shut the door. "Let us consult a moment, my petite menagere," were his
last words to be overheard. In the kitchen he took her hands in his.

"Look here, Fouchette! I owe my happiness to you. Everything, mind
you,--everything!"

"But have I not been happy, too?"

"There! For what you have done for me I could not repay you in a
lifetime, little one."

"Then don't try, Monsieur Jean," she retorted, as if annoyed.

"And I'm going to ask you to increase the obligation. It is that you
will continue to preserve the character you have assumed,--just for
this occasion, you know. It will save me from----"

"Ah, ca! It is not much, Monsieur Jean," she interrupted, with a
seraphic smile. "To be your servant, monsieur, is---- I mean, to do
anything to please you is happiness."

"You are good, Fouchette,--so good! And when I think that I have no
way to repay you----"

"Have I laid claim to reward?" she interposed, suddenly withdrawing
her hands. "Have I asked for anything?"

"No, no! that is the worst of it!"

"Only your friendship,--your--your esteem, monsieur