Mlle. Fouchette had her reasons for not wishing to meet Inspector Loup anywhere or at any time. These reasons were especially sound, considering this particular time and place.
And that the knock on Jean's door was that of Inspector Loup she had no more doubt than if she had been confronted by that official in person.
Therefore her flight.
The visit of Inspector Loup had the same effect upon Mlle. Fouchette that the unexpected appearance of the general of an army might have upon a sleepy picket-guard or a man off post. Inspector Loup was to her a sort of human monster—a moral devil-fish—that not even the cleverest could escape if he chose to reach out for them.
Mlle. Fouchette had been seized by the tentacles of Inspector Loup in her infancy, as has been seen, and from that moment had become the creature of his imperial will,—had, in fact, finally become one of the myriad infinitesimal tentacles herself, subservient to the master-mind. Whatever scruples she had imbibed from the society of the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers had been dissipated by the Jesuit sisters of Le Bon Pasteur. In the select circle of the vagabonds of the Porte de Charenton and robbers of the wood of Vincennes the police agent was execrated, and the secret informer, or spy, was deemed the most despicable of human creatures and worthy only of a violent death; whereas the good Mother Supérieure of Le Bon Pasteur encouraged the tale-bearer and rewarded theinformer with her favor and the assurance of the Divine blessing. Even the good Sister Agnes—now already a kind of shadowy memory—had taught the waif that spying out and reporting to the constituted authorities was commendable and honorable.
And to do Mlle. Fouchette full justice she so profited by these religious teachings that she was enabled to impart valuable inside information to Inspector Loup's branch of the government concerning the royalist plottings at Le Bon Pasteur. The importance of these revelations Mlle. Fouchette herself did not understand, but that it was of great value to the ministry—as possibly corroborating other facts of a similar nature in their possession—was evidenced by the transfer of Mlle. Fouchette's name to a special list of secret agents at the Ministry, with liberty to make special reports over the head of Monsieur l'Inspecteur himself.
From that moment the latter official watched Mlle. Fouchette with a vigilant eye; for under the spy system agents were employed to watch and report the actions of other agents. This held good from the top of the Secret Service down,—reminding one of the vermin of Hudibras that—
"had fleas to bite 'em,And these same fleas had lesser fleas,So on ad infinitum."
"had fleas to bite 'em,And these same fleas had lesser fleas,So on ad infinitum."
In Mlle. Fouchette the government had found one of the lesser fleas, but none the less sharp, shrewd, active, and unconscionable.
Up to a quite recent period.
Mlle. Fouchette's reports to the Préfecture hadlatterly betrayed a laxity of interest that invited official attention, if they did not call down upon her the official censure.
The girl was conscious of this. Half sullen, half defiant, she was struggling under the weight of the new views of life recently acquired. Like the rest of the intelligent world, whose wisdom chiefly consists in unlearning what it has already learned, Mlle. Fouchette was somewhat confused at the rapidity with which old ideas went to pieces and new ideas crowded upon her mind.
Because—well, because of Jean Marot.
A single look from Inspector Loup before Jean would terrify her,—a word would crush her.
She must have time.
And why did Inspector Loup come there in person as errand-boy unless for another purpose? She thought of the secret agents who usually accompanied Inspector Loup. She knew that at this moment they were spread out below like the videttes of an army. They were down in the Rue St. Jacques in their usual function of Inspector Loup's eyes that saw everything and Inspector Loup's ears that heard everything.
This visit to Jean was a mere pretext that covered something more important. Was it concerning Jean? Or, was it her? Perhaps Monsieur l'Inspecteur wanted her,—a species of flattery which would have been incense to her a month ago, and was now a terror.
It was only a few days since she had earned fifty francs and the compliments of Inspector Loup. It was true, Monsieur de Beauchamp had got away to Brussels, the centre of the Orléans conspiracy.
He was the first victim of the new ministry, and his flight indicated the change of policy as to the well-known and openly tolerated machinations of the royalists. Some of the more timid Orléanists in Paris and the provinces, recognizing the signal, took the alarm and also put the frontier between them and Inspector Loup.
Mlle. Fouchette's conscience was clear; she had combined feminine philanthropy with duty in Monsieur de Beauchamp's case—he was such a handsome and such an agreeable gentleman—and had given him the straight tip after having betrayed him. She had not repented this good action, but she felt the cold chills again when she thought of Inspector Loup. She was only a poor petite moucharde,—a word from him—nay, a nod, a significant wink—would deprive her of the sunshine that ripens the grapes of France.
When Mlle. Fouchette fled before Inspector Loup's knock she took the key of the closet and these swift reflections with her. The snap-lock was familiar to her, and the key was the only means of pulling the door shut upon herself, and the only means of opening it again when she chose to come out.
She leaned against the side of the dark box and listened. The sound of Monsieur l'Inspecteur's soft voice did not startle her,—she knew it. She would have been surprised if it had been anything else. The watch and chain episode reassured her but little,—beyond the assurance that Jean was in no immediate danger.
She got over in the farthest corner behind the clothes, thinking to have some fun with Jean when heshould come to search for her. The wall was very thick and there was ample space behind her, but this space seemed to give way and let her back farther and farther, unexpectedly, as one leans against an opening door.
It was a door. And it let her into the wall, apparently, and so suddenly that she lost her balance.
As soon as she had recovered from her astonishment she stood perfectly still for a few moments and listened attentively. Fortunately, she had made no noise.
"Dear me! but this is very curious," she murmured, feeling the walls on all sides.
She was in another closet similar to the one she had just left,—she could feel the empty hooks above her head. Her hand struck a key.
All the curiosity of the moucharde came over her. She forgot all about Jean,—even Inspector Loup. She turned the key slowly and noiselessly and opened the door,—a little at first, then more boldly.
She heard nothing. She saw nothing. Whatever the place it was as black as pitch.
She now recalled the mysterious goings and comings of the friends of Monsieur de Beauchamp,—the disappearance of half a dozen at a time,—the peculiar noises heard from her side of the closet.
"Truly, this is the back shop of Monsieur de Beauchamp," said she, as she stumbled upon a box. "If I only had a candle or a match."
She felt the box, which was almost square, and was so heavy she could scarcely raise one end of it.
She groped along the wall, where similar boxes werepiled up, and began to wonder what on earth Monsieur de Beauchamp had stored there in his back shop.
A startling suggestion stole into her mind,—perhaps it was——
She hastily sought the door by which she had entered, and in her excitement she stumbled against it.
The door closed with a snap.
Mlle. Fouchette was not afraid of being alone in the dark, yet she trembled nervously from head to foot.
She knew that the key was on the inside!
Then she remembered that other door only a few feet away with its key on the inside and with Jean Marot on the outside. And she trembled more than ever.
What would Jean think of her?
Of course, she knew he would be likely to force the closet door; but when he had found her missing,—what then? Would he be angry? Would he not suspect some trick? Would he persevere till he found her?
It was all about Jean,—of herself she scarcely thought, only so far as the effect might come through him. All at once she felt rather than heard the dull sound of the breaking door beyond.
"Ah! he has broken the door. He will come! He has discovered it!"
She beat the walls with her small fists,—kicked the unresponsive stone with her thin little shoes,—her blows gave out no sound. If she only had something to knock with——
She fumbled blindly in the darkness among the boxes. Perhaps—yes, here was one open, and—
"Voilà!"
She laid her hand on a heavy, cylindrical substance like a piece of iron gas-pipe, only—funny, but it was packed in something like sawdust.
She tapped smartly on the wall with it—once, twice, thrice—at regular intervals, then listened.
The two similar raps from the other side showed that she was both heard and understood.
"He has found it. Ah! here he is!"
And with her last exclamation Jean appeared, candle in hand, peering into the room and at Mlle. Fouchette in the dazed way more characteristic of the somnambulist than of one awake and in the full possession of his senses.
"Mon Dieu! mon enfant, what have we here?" he ejaculated as soon as he recovered breath. "What is it? Are you all right? How foolish you are, little one!"
"All right, mon ami."
And she briefly and rapidly recited her adventures, at the end triumphantly exhibiting the bit of iron pipe with which she had opened communication.
His face suddenly froze with horror!
"Give it to me!"
He snatched it from her hand excitedly and held it an instant apart from his candle.
"A thousand thunders!" he gasped, at the same time handling the thing gingerly and looking for a place to lay it down.
"But——"
"It is a dynamite bomb!" he said, hoarsely.
"Mon Dieu!"
She turned as white as a sheet and staggered backward only to come in contact with one of the boxes on the floor. She recoiled from this as if she had been threatened by a snake. Mlle. Fouchette was quite feminine. A mouse now would have scared her into convulsions.
"Where did you get this, petite?" he asked. "It is death,—a horrible death!"
She pointed to the boxes, unable to speak.
"Dynamite bombs! cartridges! powder and ball!" he declared, as he casually examined the nearest. "It is a real arsenal!"
"Come, Jean! Let us go!" said the girl, seizing him. "It is dangerous! Your candle! think! Come!"
She dragged him towards the open door. "Ah! to think I beat upon the wall with that—that——"
She shivered like a leaf.
"You are right," said he. "The candle is dangerous. I will get my bicycle-lamp and we will investigate this mystery."
"It is no longer a mystery," she replied,—"not to me. It is the hand of the Duke."
"It is very singular," he muttered. "Very curious."
"It is a fairy romance," said she, as they passed back through the narrow opening to Jean's appartement.
"There is no fairy story about that dynamite,—that, at least, is both practical and modern."
"Oh! I mean this secret passage and all that——"
"Yes; but don't you know, mon enfant, that I first thought it led to—to your——"
"For shame! Monsieur Jean!"
"I don't know," said he, shaking his head smilingly. "Monsieur de Beauchamp was a very handsome man."
"Yes, besides being an ardent servant of the Duc d'Orléans and an artist collector of pictures and bric-à-brac——"
"Especially 'bric-à-brac,'" said Jean, with sarcasm.
"Anyhow, mon ami, you now know——"
"That I was unjust to you, yes; pardon me! You could know very little of Beauchamp, since he was able to collect all of this bric-à-brac under your nose."
Mlle. Fouchette reddened, thinking, nervously, of what Inspector Loup would say on that head. Jean saw this color and changed the conversation.
"Come, now, let us go and explore Monsieur de Beauchamp's articles of vertu."
With the bicycle bull's-eye light in hand he led the way back through the secret passage, followed closely by the young girl.
"Monsieur de Beauchamp wasn't the mighty Cæsar in one thing," said Jean, as he squeezed through the narrow opening in the wall.
"How is that?"
"He had only lean men about him,—true conspirators."
"Yes,—it was necessary."
They found the dark room where all of the munitions of war and compound assassination were stored. Entering, they inadvertently closed the door behind them.
"Dame!" cried Mlle. Fouchette. "The key, monsieur! the key!"
"Que diable!"
"How provoking!"
"But we have the dynamite——"
"Ah, çà!"
But somehow Mlle. Fouchette was not as badly frightened at the situation as one might have the right to expect. She even laughed gayly at their mutual imprisonment.
"Dynamite!" muttered Jean,—"a throne founded upon dynamite would crumble quickly——"
"Yes, and by dynamite," said she.
"Monsieur de Beauchamp was——"
"Is a royalist leader——"
"An assassin!"
"A tool of the Duc d'Orléans."
"The Duke would never stoop to wholesale murder! Never!"
"It is the way of kings, n'est-ce pas? to shelter themselves from responsibility behind their tools?"
"Stop! there must be guns for this ammunition. It must be——"
Before the idea had fairly germinated in his brain Jean discovered a door that in the candle-light had easily escaped their observation. It was at the opposite side of the room from which they had entered. It was a narrow door and the key was in the lock.
"Another way out," suggested the girl.
"Surely, petite, since that closet entrance was never meant for a porte-cochère."
The door opened upon a narrow and dark passage paved with worn tiles. At the end of this passage another door barred the way. An examination showedat once that this last had not been used for a long time. To the left, however, a mere slit in the stone was seen to involve a steep stair of very much worn steps. Opposite the entrance to this stairway was a shallow niche in the wall, in which were the remains of burned candles.
"Cat stairs," said Mlle. Fouchette.
"And the cats have used it a good deal of late, I should judge," he observed, carefully examining the entrance in the glare of the lamp.
"Leads to the roof, probably," she muttered.
"Probably. Let us mount."
"Oh, yes, let us follow the trail."
The instinct of the woman and the spy was now strong within her.
The "cat stairs" were closed at the top by a heavy oaken trap securely fastened within by two iron hooks.
"It is astonishing!" he said.
"What?"
"These fastenings, keys, bolts, bars, are all on this side."
"Which shows merely that they are to be used only from this direction, does it not?"
"Yes, that is plain; but we are now in another building, evidently,—a building that must open on some other street than the Rue St. Jacques."
In the mean time Jean had finally unfastened and forced the trap. In another moment he had drawn her through the opening and they stood under a cloudless sky.
"Ah!" she murmured.
"We are free, at least, mon enfant."
She was not thinking of that. The silence, the glorious vault of stars, the——
"S-sh!"
"It's the bell of Sainte Geneviève," he whispered, crossing himself involuntarily.
"Cover the light, Monsieur Jean. These roofs have scores of eyes——"
"And a couple of prowlers might be the target for a score of bullets, eh? True enough!"
"Midnight!"
She had been counting the strokes of the clock, the sound of which came, muffled and sullen, from the old square belfry beyond the Panthéon.
The roofs of this old quarter presented a curious conglomeration of the architectural monstrosities of seven centuries. It was a fantastic tumult of irregular shapes that only took the semblance of human design upon being considered in detail. As a whole they seemed the result of a great upheaval of nature—the work of some powerful demon—rather than that of human architectural conception. These confused and frightful shapes stretched from street to street,—stiff steeps of tile and moss-covered slate, massive chimneys and blackened chimney-pots, great dormer-windows and rows of mere slits and holes of glass betraying the existence of humanity within, walls and copings of rusty stone running this way and that and stopping abruptly, mysterious squares of even blackness representing courts and breathing-spaces,—up hill and down dale, under the canopy of stars, as far as the eye could reach!
And here, close at hand, and towering aloft in theentrancing grandeur of celestial beauty, rose the dome of the Panthéon,—so close, indeed, and so grandly great and beautiful in contrast with all the rest, that it seemed the stupendous creation of the angels.
"You are cold, petite?" he whispered.
She had shivered and drawn a little closer to him.
"No," replied the girl, glancing around her, "but it is frightful."
"What?"
"Oh, these sombre roofs."
"Bah! petite," he responded lightly, "ghosts don't promenade the roofs of Paris."
"They'd break their ghostly necks if they did."
"Come! and let us be careful not to break ours. Allons!"
They stole softly along the adjoining wall that ended at a court. There was clearly no thoroughfare in this direction. Coming back on the trail he examined the stone attentively, she meanwhile shading the light with the folds of her dress. It was comparatively easy to note the recent wear of feet in the time-accumulation of rust and dirt and dry moss of these old stones. In a few moments he discovered that the tracks turned off between two high-pitched roofs towards the Panthéon. As from one of these slopes grinned a double row of dormer-windows, it seemed incredible that any considerable number of prowlers might long escape observation.
"But they may be vacant," said the girl, when Jean had suggested the contingency.
"That is quite true."
So they stealthily crept rather than walked on, theend of the gutter abutting on another court. The depression was marked here by virgin moss.
"It is very extraordinary," growled Jean, entirely at a loss to account for the abrupt close of the trail. There was no way out of this trough save by climbing over one of these steep roofs, except——
"The window, perhaps," she whispered.
"True!"
Rapidly moving the lamp along the bottom of the gutter, Jean stopped.
"There it is!"
She pointed to the window above them with suppressed excitement.
There were almost imperceptible cleats cleverly laid across the corrugated tiling; for the roof had a pitch of fifty degrees, and the casement was half-way up the slope.
"It must be so," he said. "Wait!"
With the lantern concealed beneath his coat he scrambled noiselessly up and examined the window. It was not fastened. Whoever had passed here last had come this way. He opened it a little, then wider.
"Come! Quickly!"
Even as he called to her Jean threw open wide the windows,—which folded from within, like all French windows—and entered, leaving Mlle. Fouchette to follow at will. That damsel's catlike nature made a roof a mere playground, and she was almost immediately behind him.
"Mon Dieu! What is this?"
They had descended four steps to the floor, and now the exclamation burst from them simultaneously.
For a minute they stood, half breathless, looking about them.
They seemed to be in an empty room embracing the entire unfinished garret of a house, gable to gable. The space was all roof and floor,—that is, the roof rose abruptly from the floor on two sides to the comb above.
As the eye became accustomed to the place, it first took in the small square boxes, some of which had evidently been unpacked or prepared for that process, the litter being scattered about the floor,—the boxes similar to those stored in the dark room below. There were roughly constructed platforms beneath all of the windows, with steps leading up to the same. Beneath these platforms and along the whole of one side of the room were wooden arm-racks glistening with arms of the latest model. Belts, cartridge-boxes, bayonets, swords, an immense assortment of military paraphernalia, lay piled on the floor at one end of the room.
At the opposite end was mounted on a swivel a one-pound Maxim rapid-firer, the wall in front of it being pierced to the last brick.
A few blows, and lo! the muzzle of the modern death-dealer!
Along the lower edge of the roof towards the Panthéon might have been found numerous similar places, requiring only a thrust to become loopholes for prostrate riflemen.
The most cursory glance from the windows above showed that these commanded the Place du Panthéon and Rue Soufflot,—the scene of bloody street battles of every revolutionary epoch.
Fifty active men from this vantage could have rendered either street or barricade untenable, or as support to a barricade in the Place du Panthéon have made such a barricade impregnable to exposed troops.
"It is admirable!" cried Jean, lost in contemplation of the strategic importance of the position.
"It is wonderful, but——"
"Artillery? Yes," he interrupted, anticipating her reasoning; "but artillery could not be elevated to command this place from the street, and as for Mont Valérien——"
"The Panthéon——"
"Yes,—exactly,—they would never risk the Panthéon. Even the Prussians spared that."
"Oh, Monsieur Jean, see!"
She had discovered a white silk flag embroidered with the lilies of France.
"The wretches! They would restore the hated emblem of the Louis! This is too much!" he exclaimed, in wrath.
"It is the way of the king, n'est-ce pas?"
She looked at him curiously.
"But the Duc d'Orléans should know that the people of France will never abandon the tricolor,—never!"
"The people of France are fools!"
"True!" he rejoined, hotly, "and I am but one of them!"
"Ah, Monsieur Jean! Now you are uttering the words of wisdom. Recall the language of Monsieur de Beauchamp,—that it is necessary to make use of everybody and everything going the way of the king,—tending to re-establish the throne!"
"The throne! I will have none of it. I'm a republican!"
She smiled. "And as a republican, what is your first duty now?"
"Why, to inform the proper authorities of our discovery."
"Good! Let us go!"
"Allons!" he responded, briskly.
"But how will we get out?"
"How about this door?"
He had brought the rays of the lamp to bear upon a door at the gable opposite the Maxim gun. It was bolted and heavily barred, but these fastenings were easily removed.
As anticipated, this door led to a passage and to stairs which, in turn, led down to the street. They closed the door with as little noise as possible, carefully locking it and bringing away the key.
A light below showed that the lower part of this house was inhabited, probably by people innocent of the terrible drama organized above their heads. But the slightest noise might arouse these people, and in such a case the Frenchman is apt to shoot first and make inquiries afterwards. However, once in the street, they could go around to their own rooms without trouble. It was worth the risk.
The stairs, fortunately, had a strip of carpeting, so they soon found themselves safely at the street door. To quietly open this was but the work of a few seconds, when——
They stepped into the arms of Inspector Loup and his agents.
"Pardieu!" exclaimed Inspector Loup, who never recognized his agents officially outside of the Préfecture; "it is La Savatière!"
Mlle. Fouchette trembled a little.
"And Monsieur Marot! Why, this is an unexpected pleasure," continued the police official.
"Then the pleasure is all on one side," promptly responded Jean, who was disgusted beyond measure.
Inspector Loup regarded the pair with his fishy eyes half closed. For once in his life he was nonplussed. Nay, if anything could be said to be surprising to Inspector Loup, this meeting was unexpected and surprising. But he was too clever a player to needlessly expose the weakness of his hand.
Mlle. Fouchette's eyes avoided scrutiny. She had given Jean one quick, significant glance and then looked demurely around, as if the matter merely bored her.
Jean understood that glance and was dumb.
Inspector Loup's waiting tactics did not work.
"So my birdies must coo at midnight on the house-tops," he finally remarked.
"Well, monsieur," retorted the young man, "is there any law against that?"
"Where's the lantern?"
"Here," said Jean, turning the bull's-eye on the face of the inspector.
"Bicycle. Is your wheel above, monsieur?" This ironically.
"Not exactly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."
"Now, Monsieur Jean," put in Mlle. Fouchette, "if Monsieur l'Inspecteur has no further questions to ask——"
"Not so fast, mademoiselle," sharply interrupted the officer. "Just wait a bit; for, while I do not claim that roof-walking at midnight is unpardonable in cats and lovers, it is especially forbidden to enter other people's houses when they are asleep."
Mlle. Fouchette's nervousness did not escape the little fishy eyes. While it was already evident that Monsieur l'Inspecteur was talking at random, it was morally certain that he would smoke them out.
"And two persons armed with a dark-lantern, coming out of a house not their own, at this time of night," continued the inspector, "are under legitimate suspicion until they can explain."
Mlle. Fouchette made a sign to Jean that he was to hold his tongue.
"Now, none of that, mademoiselle!" cried the inspector, angrily.
He rudely separated the couple, and, taking charge of the girl himself, turned Jean over to four of his agents who were near at hand.
"We'll put you where you'll have time to reflect," he said.
Mlle. Fouchette was inspired. She saw that it was not a souricière. If the inspector knew what was above, he would not have left the entrances and exits unguarded. To be absolutely sure of this, she waited until they had passed the Rue St. Jacques.
"Now is my opportunity to play quits," she said toherself, and her face betrayed the intensity of her purpose.
"Monsieur l'Inspecteur!"
"Well?"
"I would like a private word with you, please."
"What's that? Oh, it's of no use," he replied.
"To your advantage, monsieur."
"And yours, eh?"
"Undoubtedly," she frankly said.
They walked on a few steps. Then the inspector raised his hand for those in the rear to stop.
They soon stood in the dark entrance of a wine-shop, the inspector of the secret police and his petite moucharde, both as sharp and hard as flint.
"Now, out with it, you little vixen!" he commanded, assuming his brutal side. "Let us have no trifling. You know me!"
"And you knowme, monsieur!" she retorted, with the first show of anger in her voice.
"Speak!"
"I said I had important information," she began, calmly. But it was with an effort, for he had shaken her roughly.
"Yes!" he put in; "and see that you make good, mon enfant!"
He was suspicious that this was some clever ruse to escape her present dilemma. Monsieur l'Inspecteur certainly knew Mlle. Fouchette.
"Information that you do not seem to want, monsieur——"
"Will you speak?"
"I have the right to reveal it only to the Ministry," she coldly replied.
"Is—is it so important as that?" he asked. But his tone had changed. She had made a move as if the interview were over.
"So important that for you to be the master of it will make you master of the Ministry and——"
"Bah!" he ejaculated, contemptuously. He was master of them already.
"And the mere publicity of it would send your name throughout the civilized world in a day!"
"Speak up, then; don't be afraid——"
"It is such that, no matter what you may do in the future, nothing would give you greater reputation."
"But, ma fillette,"—it was the utmost expression of his official confidence,—"and for you, more money, eh?"
"No, no! It is not money!"
She spoke up sharply now.
"Good!" said he, "for you won't get it."
"It is not a question of money, monsieur. If I——"
"There is no 'if' about it!" he exclaimed, irritated at her bargaining manner and again flying into a passion. "You'll furnish the information you're paid to furnish, and without any 'question' or 'if,' or I'll put you behind the bars. Yes, sacré bleu! on a diet of bread and water!"
He was angry that she had the whip hand and that she was driving him.
"Certainly, monsieur,"—and her tone was freezingly polite,—"but then I will furnish it to the Ministry, as I'm specially instructed in such cases to do."
"Then why do you come to me with it?" he demanded.
"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I would do you a favor if you would let me——"
"For a substantial favor in return!"
"Precisely."
"Ugh! of course!"
"Of course, monsieur,—partly. Partly because you have been kind to me, generally, and I would now reciprocate that kindness."
"So! Well, mademoiselle, now we understand each other, how much?"
"Monsieur?"
"I say how much money do you want?"
"But, monsieur—no, we do not understand each other. I said it is not a question of money. If I wanted money I could get it at the Ministry,—yes, thousands of francs!"
"Perhaps you overrate your find, mademoiselle," he suggested, but with unconcealed interest.
"Impossible!" she exclaimed.
"It ought to be very important indeed," she continued, "equally important to you in its suppression, monsieur."
"Ah!"
The fishy eyes were very active.
"And who besides you possesses this secret?"
"Monsieur Marot."
"So! He alone?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"In a word, mademoiselle, then, what is it that you want?"
"Liberty!"
The inspector started back, confused.
"What's that?" he growled, warily.
"I said 'liberty.' I mean freedom from this service! I'm tired, monsieur! I would be free! I would live!"
The veteran looked at her first with incredulity, then astonishment, then pity. He began to think the girl was really crazy, and that her story was probably all a myth. He suddenly turned the lantern from under his cloak upon her upturned face, and he saw that which thrilled him, but which he could not understand.
It was the first time within Inspector Loup's experience that he had found any one wanting to quit—actually refusing good money to quit—the Secret System, having once enjoyed its delightful atmosphere.
"Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"
But he was so much involved in his mental struggle with this new phase of detective life that he did not answer. He had figured it out.
"So! I think I understand now. But why quit? You have struck something better; but, surely, mademoiselle, one can be in love and yet do one's duty to the State."
"Monsieur!"
"Oh, well; you can resign, can't you? Nobody hinders you." And be a fool! was in Monsieur l'Inspecteur's tone.
"Yes; but that is not all, monsieur. I want it with your free consent and written quittance,—and more, your word of honor that I will never be molested byyou or your agents,—that I will be as if I had never been!"
"And if I agree to all this——"
"I shall prove my good faith."
"When?"
"At once!"
"Good! Then wedounderstand each other," he said, taking her hand for the first time in his life.
"I trust you, monsieur."
"You have my word. But you will permit me to give you a last word of fatherly advice before I cease to know you. Keep that gay young lover of yours out of mischief; he will never again get off as easily as he did the other day."
"Thanks, Monsieur l'Inspecteur!" said Mlle. Fouchette, very glad indeed now that the lantern was not turned on her.
"Allons!" he cried, looking about him. "And my men, mademoiselle?"
"I would put two at the door where you met us—out of sight—and leave two in the Rue St. Jacques where we shall enter,—until you see for yourself,—the coast is clear."
"Good!" said he, and he gave the necessary orders.
Inspector Loup issued from the Rue Soufflot entrance an hour later with a look of keen satisfaction.
Between the royalists on the one hand, and the republicans on the other, there were gigantic possibilities for an official of Inspector Loup's elasticity of conscience.
He had first of all enjoined strict silence on the part of Mlle. Fouchette and Jean Marot.
"For the public safety," he said.
During his inspection of the premises he had found opportunity to secretly transfer an envelope to the hand of Mlle. Fouchette. For the chief of the Secret System was too clever not to see the shoe that pinched Mlle. Fouchette's toes, and, while despising her weakness, was loyal to his obligation.
As soon as Mlle. Fouchette had bidden Jean good-night and found herself in her own room, she took this envelope from her pocket and drew near the lamp.
It was marked "To be opened to-morrow."
She felt it nervously. It crackled. She squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger. She held it between her eyes and the light. In vain the effort to pierce its secrets.
The old tower clock behind the Panthéon mumbled two.
"Dame!" she said, "it is to-morrow!"
And she hastily ripped the missive open.
Something bluish white fluttered to the floor. She picked it up.
It was a new, crisp note of five hundred francs!
She trembled so that she sank into the nearest chair, crushing the paper in her hand. Her little head was so dizzy—really—she could scarcely bring it to bear upon anything.
Except one thing,—that this unexpected wealth stood between her and what an honest young woman dreads most in this world!
The tears slowly trickled down the palecheeks,—tears for which it is to be feared only the angels in heaven gave Mlle. Fouchette due credit.
Suddenly she started up in alarm. But it was only some belated lodger, staggering on the stairs. She examined the lock on her door and resolved to get a new one. Then she looked behind the curtains of her bed.
The fear which accompanies possession was new to her.
Having satisfied herself of its safety, she cautiously spread out the bank-note on the table, smoothed out the wrinkles, read everything printed on it, and kissed it again and again.
One of the not least poignant regrets in her mind was that she could tell no one of her good fortune. Not that Mlle. Fouchette was bavarde, but happiness unshared is only half happiness.
She went to the thin place in the wall and listened. Jean was snoring.
She could look him in the face now.
It was a lot of money to have at one time,—with what she had already more than she had ever possessed at once in her life.
Freedom and fortune!
She picked up the envelope which had been hastily discarded for the fortune it had contained.
Hold! here was something more! She saw that it was her quittance,—her freedom! Her face, already happy and smiling, became joyous.
It was merely a lead-pencil scrawl on a leaf from Inspector Loup's note-book saying that——
As she read it her head swam.
"Oh! mon Dieu! It is impossible! Not Fouchette? I am not—and Mlle. Remy is my sister! Ah! Mère de Dieu! And Jean—oh! grand Dieu!"
She choked with her emotions.
"I shall die! What shall I do? What shall I do? And Lerouge, my half-brother! I shall surely die!"
With the paper crumpled in her folded hands she sank to her knees beside the big chair and bowed her head. Her heart was full to bursting, but in her deep perplexity she could only murmur, "What shall I do? what shall I do?"