n route, and the man was now serious and taciturn.

All at once she saw that they were approaching the barrier. Things
looked differently from a carriage window, and yet there was a
familiar air about the surroundings.

The man noticed her uneasiness and pulled down the blinds.

A terrible fear now seized her. Were they going to take her back to
the Podvins?

This fear increased as the speed of the vehicle lessened and as Tartar
began to move about impatiently. He was trying to get his nose under
the curtain.

"Hold him down!" said the man in a low voice. He was afraid to touch
the dog himself.

"Oh, monsieur!" she finally exclaimed, "we are not going to--to----"

"The Rendez-Vous pour Cochers, my little Fouchette," he put in, with a
smile.

"Oh, mon Dieu! Please, monsieur! Take me anywhere else,--back to the
Prefecture--to prison--anywhere but to this place! They'll kill me!
Oh, they'll kill me, monsieur!"

"Bah! No, they won't, little one. We'll take care of that."

"But----"

"Besides," he continued, reassuringly, "we're not going to leave you
there, so don't be afraid. Maybe you won't have to get out, or be seen
even, if you do as I tell you. Have no fear."

"Mon Dieu! monsieur does not know. They'll kill you, too!"

"No, they won't. And I know all about them, my child. There are four
of us, and---- Keep the dog down till I open the door."

The carriage had stopped.

"Stay right where you are," he whispered. "Let the dog out."

Tartar could not have been held in by both of them. He jumped to the
ground with joyous barks of recognition.

It was now ten o'clock, and the usual odors of a Parisian second
breakfast permeated the atmosphere of the cabaret.

Four or five rough-looking men were lounging about, gossiping over
their absinthe or aperatif. Monsieur Podvin was already, at this early
hour in the day, on his second bottle of ordinaire. Opposite, as
usual, sat le Cochon.

Madame Podvin was busily burnishing up the zinc bar, and the vigorous
and spiteful way in which she did this betrayed the fact that she was
in bad temper. She was reserving an extra force of pent-up wrath
against the moment when that "lazy little beast Fouchette" should put
in an appearance.

Monsieur Podvin was also irritated, but not because of Fouchette's
prolonged absence. He was concerned about Tartar.

Le Cochon sympathized with both of them.

Among the various theories offered for these disappearances madame
th