"True enough, petite."
"Then why not say so to——"
"Not yet,—I prefer acts rather than words,—but in good time——"
It is more difficult for a man to bring himself to the acknowledgment of political errors than to confess to infractions of the moral law.
In the mean time Mlle. Fouchette had cleared away and washed the breakfast things and stood ready to deliver the missive of peace.
"It is very singular," he repeated to himself after she had departed upon this errand, "very singular, indeed, that this girl—really, I don't know just what to think of her."
So he ceased to think of her at all, which was, perhaps, after all, the easiest way out of the mental dilemma.
The fact was that Mlle. Fouchette was fast becoming necessary to him.
With a light heart and eager step she tripped down the Boulevard St. Michel towards the ancient Isle de la Cité. On the bridge she saw the dark shadow of the Préfecture loom up ahead of her, and her face, already beaming with pleasure, lighted with a fresher glow as she thought of her moral freedom.
The bridge was crowded as usual with vehicles and foot-passers, but this did not prevent a woman on the opposite side from catching a recognizing glance of Mlle. Fouchette.