“Look!” cried Toto, screaming with laughter. “Three gendarmes are after him.”
“Oh, monsieur!” murmured the girl,—she had blue eyes and the air of a fluttered dove,—“how can I thank you for having saved me?”
“Let us hurry away,” said the Prince. “I see a gendarme shading his eyes at us over there. Let’s dodge away down the arcade. Look! he’s coming towards us. Run!”
They ran down the arcade hand in hand, to the wonder of the boys who were taking down the shop shutters. There was no earthly occasion for this flight. But Toto always embroidered upon a position; he could not behold a cat-fight without mentally suggesting betterments; besides, it was outré.
“Now we are safe,” said he, as they turned up a by-street. “Oh, what fun! Tell me, mademoiselle, may I not carry your little parcel? No? May I not accompany you, then, to your journey’s end?”
“Oh, yes!” said the girl. “My parcel is but a hat I am taking to M. Verral in the Rue St. Honoré. I do not live there, monsieur; I work for him at home. I live all alone in a little room near the Rue de Babylone—I and Dodor;” and she cast up her April-blue eyes as if through the rim of her hat she saw Dodor in the blue April skies, together with a vision of angels.
“Who is Dodor?” inquired Toto in a gruff and almost jealous voice.
“He is my lark,” said the girl; and Toto brightened.
“You have a lark?”
“Oh, yes, monsieur; and if you could hear him sing! He brings the green fields to Paris in his voice.”