The fortunes of Fifi

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Madame Bourcet returned punctually at two o’clock, and as the weather had become bad, she and Fifi spent the afternoon together in the snuff-colored drawing-room.

When eight o’clock in the evening arrived, Louis Bourcet, as usual, appeared. He had news to communicate, and gave a fearful and wonderful account of the proceedings at the banking-house, in which it was represented that a mysterious old lady, with a basket and a limp, had appeared, and had either stolen ninety thousand francs, or given ninety thousand francs to the fund for the soldiers’ orphans, nobody outside of the bank knew exactly which. The excitement in the neighborhood of the bank had been tremendous, and such a crowd had collected that the gens d’armes had been compelled to charge in order to clear the street. The basket had been found, but the limp, along with the old lady, had vanished.

All sorts of stories were flying about concerning the affair, some people declaring that the troops from the nearest barracks had been ordered out, a cordon placed around the banking-house, and the mysterious old lady was nothing less than a determined ruffian, who had disguised himself as an old woman, and was the leader of a gang of desperate robbers, determined on looting the bank. Louis Bourcet held firmly to this opinion.

“It is my belief,” he said solemnly, “that it was a scheme which involved not only robbery, but possibly assassination. The old woman was no old woman, but a reckless criminal, who, by a clever disguise, got into the bank, and was only prevented from carrying out some dreadful design by the coolness and decision of the bank employees. The basket, which is marked with the initials A. D., is held at the bureau of the arrondissement, and at the investigation to-morrow morning—mark my words, that basket will be the means of disclosing a terrible plot against the banking-house of Lafitte.”

Madame Bourcet listened to these words of wisdom with the profoundest respect—but Fifi uttered a convulsive sound which she smothered in her handkerchief and which, she explained, was caused by her agitation at the sensational story she had just heard.

Louis was so flattered by the tribute of attention to his powers of seeing farther into a millstone than any one else, that he harangued the whole evening upon this violent attempt on Lafitte’s banking-house in particular and the dangers of robbery in general. He even forgot the game of cribbage. When he rose to go, at ten o’clock, both Madame Bourcet and Fifi protested that they expected to be murdered in their beds by a gang of robbers before daylight. Louis promised to come to the déjeuner at eleven the next morning, to give them the latest particulars of this nefarious attempt to rob the bank.

Fifi alone in her own room went into spasms of delight. Her freedom was close at hand—and soon, soon, she could return to that happy life of hard work and deep affection she had once known. When she slipped into bed, the hard lump was not in her mattress.

“Think,” she said to herself, lying awake in the dark, “of the good that hateful money will do now—of the poor children warmed and fed and clothed. Giving it away like this is not half so difficult as spending it on hats and gowns and monkeys, and I think I may reckon on getting back to the dear street of the Black Cat soon—very soon.”

And so, she fell into a deep, sweet sleep, to dream of Cartouche, and Toto and all the people at the Imperial Theater, including Julie Campionet.

Next morning, Fifi awaited the déjeuner with feelings of entrancing pleasure. She loved to see Louis Bourcet make a fool of himself, and longed to make a fool of him—this naughty Fifi.