"But I never begged, monsieur," interrupted the child,—"never!"
"Of course not,—of course not! No; you are too proud to beg. That's right. But you couldn't make a living picking rags, and the law doesn't permit a child to pick rags in the streets of Paris."
"I never did, monsieur, never!"
"Of course not,—you would be arrested. But outside the barriers the work is not lucrative. Charenton, for instance, is not as prolific of rags as it is of rascals."
At the mention of Charenton Fouchette started visibly; but her interlocutor did not seem to notice it.
"No; it does not even give as brave a child as you enough to eat,—not if you work ever so hard,—let alone to provide comfortably for Tar—for Tartar. Eh, my brave spaniel? We must get Tartar some breakfast. Has Tartar had any breakfast?"
"No, monsieur,—oh, no! And he is so hungry!"
She was all eagerness and softness when it came to her faithful companion. Tartar began to take a lively interest in the conversation of which he knew himself the subject.
"Exactly," said the Commissaire, suddenly getting up. He had reached his conclusion. "Now, remain here a few minutes, little one, while I see about it."
He disappeared into the outer office and remained closeted in a small cabinet with a telephone. Then, calling one of his men in plain clothes aside, he gave some instructions in a rapid manner.