"S-sh! It is a souricière, monsieur, as I suspected when you came in with that little she-devil! The agents were at your heels. Now, Monsieur Lerouge, do you wish to escape or do you——"
"I intend to remain right here. There is no reason that I should become a fugitive."
"As you please, monsieur," replied the concierge, with an expressive shrug. And the clack of his sabots was soon heard on the stone stair.
"Funny," said Jean, re-entering, "but he takes me for Lerouge. There is some sort of understanding between them. He would have aided me to escape."
"And why not have accepted, monsieur?" asked Mlle. Fouchette.
"I would rather be a prisoner as Jean Marot than escape as Henri Lerouge," replied the young man.
"Anyhow," muttered the girl, "perhaps the police have made the same mistake."
"I'm afraid not," said Jean.
Mlle. Fouchette regarded the young man admiringly from the corner of her eye. He was so calm and resolute. He had resumed the easy-chair and pipe.
Mlle. Fouchette was not able to veil her feelings under this cloak of indifference. Her highly nervous organization was sensibly disturbed. One might have easily presumed that she was in question instead of Jean Marot. She had hastily cleared the little table and replaced the lamp, when her unwelcome visitors announced themselves. Mlle. Fouchette promptly confronted them at the door.