"Go home!"
"But——"
She interrupted him sharply, nervously grasping his passive hand.
"Go home, Monsieur Jean,—at once!"
She trembled, and her voice grew low and softly sweet, and almost pleading.
"Go home, Monsieur Jean! Leave all of this behind,—it is ruin!"
"Never! I cannot do that, mademoiselle. Besides, it is too late,—it is impossible! I have no home, now. Never!"
"There!"
Mlle. Fouchette rose abruptly, shrugging her narrow shoulders with the air of having done what she could and washing her hands of the consequences. Her smile of half pity, half contempt, for the weakness of a strong man clearly indicated that she had expected nothing and was not disappointed. As he still remained absorbed in his own miserable thoughts, she returned to the attack in a lively manner.
"So that is out of the way," she said. "Now let us see what you are going to do. You probably have friends?"