"Voilà!"
Short as was the opportunity, Fouchette gave one terrified shriek as she went over the brink,—a shriek that pierced the river mists and reverberated from the stone walls and parapets and went ringing up and down the surface of the swiftly swirling stream.
Again, as she reappeared, battling with the murky waters with desperate stroke and splash, her childish voice rose,—
"Tartar! Tartar!"
And yet again, choking with the flood,—
"Tar—Tar—tar!"
It was the last thought,—the last appeal,—this despairing cry for the only one on earth she loved,—the only being on earth who loved her.