It was social revolution—anarchy!
Now his friend Lerouge and he had quarrelled,—exchanged blows. They had wrangled before, but within the bounds of student friendship. Blows had now changed this friendship to hatred. Blows from those whom we love are hardest to forgive,—they are never forgotten.
Yet it was not this friendship in itself that particularly concerned Jean Marot. Through it he had calculated on reaching something more vital to his happiness.
Henri Lerouge had introduced him to Mlle. Remy. It was in the Jardin du Luxembourg. They had met but for a brief minute. The presentation had been coldly formal,—reluctant. Yet in that time, in the midst of the usual conventionalities, Jean had looked into a pair of soulful blue eyes that had smiled upon him, and Jean was lost.
His hope of meeting her again lay in and through Lerouge,—and now they had quarrelled; and about a Jew!
The fine blonde hair and slender figure of this girl—this "child of the police"—had reminded Jean of Mlle. Remy. She possessed the same kind of hair. It was this mental association that prompted him to carry the unknown to his own lodgings as described. This impulse of compassion and association was strengthened by his narrow escape from being her slayer. In fact, it was the best thing to have done under all the circumstances.
Now that the causes and the impulse had disappeared together, he began to feel bored. The "child of the police" was in his way,—the police might look after her. Jean Marot had troubles of his own.
As for Fouchette, she silently regarded the motionless figure at the window, wondering, thinking, on her part, of many things. When it had disappeared in the adjoining room she beckoned to the doctor.
"The young man, Monsieur Marot?" she asked, feebly. "Is this his——"
"It is his apartment, mademoiselle," the doctor anticipated.