"You know that a reconciliation between these men means——"
"That Jean Marot will be thrown into the arms of the woman he loves," was the bold interpolation.
"Exactly."
"That is what I wish."
The dark eye gleamed again, and the breast heaved. It must be Lerouge! Jealousy places the desirability of its subject above everything. It must be Lerouge.
"Chut! Here she comes," whispered Mlle. Fouchette.
It was Mlle. Remy. She was clad in a simple blue costume, the skirt of which cleared the ground by several inches, her light blonde hair puffing out in rich coils from beneath the sailor hat. Her sad blue eyes lighted at the sight of Madeleine, and her face broke into a questioning smile as she extended her small hand.
"Oh, Monsieur Lerouge is much better, mademoiselle," said Madeleine.
"Thank you!—thank you for your good news, my dear," Mlle. Remy warmly replied.
She turned towards Mlle. Fouchette a little nervously, and Madeleine introduced them.