"And I am only a child of the streets of Paris, mademoiselle," said Mlle. Fouchette, humbly.
"Ah!"
Mlle. Remy sighed.
"Mademoiselle Fouchette and Monsieur Marot have come to learn the news of your brother," said Madeleine, seeing the latter approaching.
Jean Marot had, in fact, followed Mlle. Remy inside of the building, but having been overtaken by timidity for the first time in his life, had hesitated at a little distance in the rear. He could stand the suspense no longer.
"Monsieur Marot, Mademoiselle——"
"Oh, we have met before, monsieur, have we not?" asked Mlle. Remy, lightly. "I thank you very much for——"
Jean felt his heart beating against the ribbed walls of its prison as if it would burst forth to attest its love for her. He had often conjured up this meeting and rehearsed what he would say to her. Now his lips were dumb. He could only look and listen.
And this was she whom he loved!
In the mean time Mlle. Remy, who had flushed a little under the intense scrutiny she felt but could not understand, grew visibly uneasy. She detected a sign from Mlle. Fouchette.