"I don't know, madame," replied Fouchette, promptly and truthfully.
"What! Don't know your own name? Impossible!"
The woman was vexed, and made no effort to conceal her vexation. To be outwitted by a mere child was too much to bear with equanimity. As kindly disposed as she was by nature, she lost her temper at once at what she considered a stupid falsehood.
"You're an obstinate little brute!" she exclaimed, in a passion,—a state of mind aggravated by the laughter of the police agents in the room.
"Yes, and a little liar," she added.
"M—mad—madame!" stammered the trembling child, whose bright visions vanished in a twinkling.
"I don't wonder they threw you in the river,—not a bit!"
Fouchette's lips were now set in mute rage. She was up in arms at once. Her steely eyes shot fire. The honest bargewoman had almost won her childish confidence. Another word or two of kindness and she would have gained an easy victory. Now, however, everything was upset and the fat was in the fire.
Without a word Fouchette began to hurriedly divest herself of the clothing she wore and to throw the garments, piece by piece, on the floor.
So quickly was this accomplished that neither the astonished woman nor the puzzled police agents could interfere before the child stood there perfectly nude in the midst of them. Her frame, which was little more than a living skeleton covered with marks of violence, fairly quivered with anger. She choked so that she could not speak. In another minute she had resumed her wet rags.