"Yes; but le Cochon said it was worth a thousand francs to hear the man squeal."

"So!"

"Yes. And then Monsieur Podvin wanted to take it out of his share."

"So?"

"Yes; and so they quarrelled dreadfully."

"And Madame Podvin,--she heard this?"

"Madame is not deaf, monsieur."

"Ah!"

"She was at the zinc."

"Truly, Madame Podvin may become of value," muttered Inspector Loup.

"Monsieur?"

"Oh! And so you've kept this to your little self all this time. Why?"

"I was afraid; then----"

"I understand. But you got bravely over all this as soon as this miscreant undertook to put you out of the way, eh?"

"It was not that, monsieur, for what I would be avenged."

"So you confess to the motive?"

"I would surely be revenged, monsieur," she avowed, frankly.

"A mighty small woman, but still a woman, and sure Francaise,"

observed the inspector.

"He killed my only friend, monsieur."

"What! Another murder? Le Cochon?"

"Yes."

"Tres bien! Go on, mon enfant; you grow more and more interesting!"

"It was only this morning, monsieur," said the child, again reminded of her irreparable loss.

"This morning, eh? The report is not yet in.--There, now, don't blubber, little one.--Another murder for le Cochon! Pardieu! we shall have his head!"

"Truly?" Fouchette brightened up immediately at this prospect.

"The infamous wretch!"

"Yes; go on, monsieur. You grow more interesting!"

"What an infernally impudent child!" observed the inspector to himself, yet aloud.

"Monsieur?"

"What--how about this morning's murder?"

"Le Cochon's dreadful knife! Oh! I would love to see him strapped to the plank and his head in the basket! Yes, ten thousand curses on----"

"La! la! la! Mon Dieu! will you never get on? Who was le Cochon's victim this time?"

"Tartar, monsieur,--yes! Ah! Oh!"

"Tartar? Tartar? Why, that's the name of----"

"Yes, monsieur, the dog! Poor Tartar!"

"So le Cochon killed your dog, eh?"

"Yes, monsieur," sobbed Fouchette.

Monsieur l'Inspecteur was silent for a while, thoughtfully regarding the grieving child with his fishy eyes.

"After all, it was murder," he said. "Had this man committed no other crime, he deserves death for having killed such a n.o.ble beast."

"Ah! thank you, monsieur! Thank you very much!"

Having established this happy entente, Inspector Loup and Fouchette entered into a long and interesting conversation,--interesting especially to the chief of the Secret System.

When the interview was over Fouchette was led away almost quite happy.

Happier, at least, than she had ever been,--far happier than she had ever hoped to be. First, she had been promised her revenge; second, she was neither to go back to the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers nor to be turned into the street; third, she was to be sent to a beautiful retreat outside of Paris, where she would be taught to read and write and be brought up as a lady.

It seemed to the child that this was too good to be true. The country, in her imagination, was the source and foundation of all real happiness. There was nothing in cities,--nothing but dust and crowds, and human selfishness and universal hardness of heart, and toil and misery.

In the country was freedom and independence. She had tasted it in her furtive morning excursions in the wood of Vincennes. Tartar had loved the country. The woods, the fields, and the flowers,--to range among them daily, openly and without fear, would be heaven!

To the Parisian all outside of Paris is country.

And to learn to read and to write and understand the newspapers and what was in books!

Yes, it seemed really too much, all at once. For of all other things coveted in this world, Fouchette deemed such a knowledge most desirable. Up to this moment it had been beyond the ordinary flight of her youthful imagination. It was one of the impossibilities,--like flying and finding a million of money. But now it had come to her. She might know something she had never seen, or of which she had never heard.

To accomplish all of this and to be in the country at the same time, what more could anybody wish?

Yet she was to have more. The inspector,--what was this wonderful man, anyhow, who knew everything and could do anything?--he, the inspector, had promised it. She was to have human kindness and love!