"Oh, then he's worse than a fool woman,—he's a man, monsieur."

They reached her neighborhood.

"Come up, monsieur, will you? It is but a poor hospitality I can offer, but an easy-chair and a pipe are the same everywhere, n'est-ce pas?"

"Good!" said he. "I'll accept it with all my heart, mademoiselle."

Jean had again noted the police agents, and he mentally concluded to let them wait a bit. Besides, he was very tired.

When Mlle. Fouchette had arranged her shaded lamp, drawn up the easy-chair and settled the young man in it, she flung her hat on the bed and bustled about to get some supper. She pulled out a small round oil-stove and proceeded to light the burners. He looked at her inquiringly.

"It is Poupon," said she.

"Oh! it's Poupon, is it?"

"Yes. It's a darling, isn't she?"

"It—she—is."