"I sleep with Tartar."
"Who's Tartar, and what——"
"He's the dog, ma'm'selle."
"Heavens!"
"Oh, he's the best of the family, ma'm'selle, very sure!" protested Fouchette, naïvely.
"No doubt of it, poor child!"
"Only for him I'd freeze in winter; and sometimes he divides his dinner with me—as well as his fleas—when he is not too hungry, you know. This amuses the Podvin so that sometimes, when we have company, she will not give me any dinner, so I'll have to beg of Tartar. And we have lots of fun, and I dance——"
"You dance after that? Why——"
"Oh, I love to dance, ma'm'selle. I can——"
Fouchette elevated her dirty little bare foot against the railing above her head by way of illustration; while, half shocked, half laughing, the other hastily exclaimed,—