"Because, first, you have not once said 'I told you so,'--not reproached me for disregarding your advice."

"No? But that would be unnecessary. You are punished. Next?"

"Well, you let me remain here."

"Why not?"

She opened the steel-blue eyes on him sharply,--so sharply, in fact, that Jean Marot either could not just then remember why not or that he did not care to say. But she relieved him of that embarra.s.sment very quickly.

"If you mean that I should be afraid of you, monsieur, or that I would have thought for a moment----"

"Oh! no, no, no! I do not mean that, of course. It was the fear women have of others----"

"What do I care for 'others'!" she snapped, scornfully. "Pray, Monsieur Jean, are there, then, 'others' who care anything about me?

No! Ask them. No! I do what I please. And I account to n.o.body.

Understand? n.o.body!"

Mlle. Fouchette brought the small, thin white hand down upon the table with a slap that gave sufficient a.s.surance of her sincerity, at the same time giving a happy idea of her immeasurable contempt for society.

"But, my dear Mademoiselle Fouchette, I, at least, care for you,--only----"

"La, la, la! Only you don't care quite enough, Monsieur Jean, to take my advice," she interrupted. "Is not that it?"

"If I don't I shall be the loser, I'm afraid," he replied, lugubriously.

"And then I should be sorry."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because I am not worthy of it. Now answer me."

"Well, because it pleases me," she responded, with a smile. "You know what I said but a moment ago? I do what I please and account to n.o.body."

"Very well. Now, does it please your Supreme Highness to continue to shower the blessing of your royal favor upon me?"

"For to-day, perhaps; if you obey my imperious will, monsieur."

He prolonged the comedy by kneeling on one knee and saying humbly, "I am your most obedient subject. Command!"

"Bring me my clothes, monsieur."

"Er--wha-at? clothes?" he stammered.

"I said clothes,--on the bed there. Lay them out on the couch, please."

He found her simple wardrobe of the previous day on the bed--the skirt, the little bolero, the hat with the feather--and laid them out on the couch one by one with mock care and ceremony.

"There!"

"Shake them out, monsieur."

"Yes, your Highness."

She was putting away the last breakfast things when she heard an exclamation.

"Red!" said he. "And beard, too, as I'm a sinner!"

He had found a tuft of red beard twisted in the fastening of the bolero. The expression on his face would have defied words. As for Mlle. Fouchette, she was for a moment of the same color of the telltale hair. For some reason she did not wish Jean to know of her part in the riot. At the same time she was angry with herself for the womanly feeling of delicacy that surged into her cheeks.

"Where did you get it?" he asked, quizzically.

"Monsieur! Go away!"

"I didn't know you'd been decorated, mademoiselle,--really,--Legion of Honor, too!"

"Bah! I must have given some man a good pull in the crowd," said she.

"How provoking!"

"For him, doubtless, yes."

"To return to your affairs, Monsieur Jean," she said, grabbing the garments and proceeding to put them on with that insouciance begotten of studio life. "Have you any money?"

"With me? Not a sou!"

She slipped her hand down her neck and drew forth a small bag held there by a string and took from it a coin, which she tendered him.

"Here is a louis,--you may repay it when you can."

"Thank you, my child. But it is not necessary. I can get some money at the Credit Lyonnais."

"But, monsieur, you can't walk there! And we will be busy to-day."

"Oh, we will be busy, will we?"

"Yes,--unless you rebel," she replied, significantly.

"At least, your Highness will let me know----"

"First, we must go and find out how Lerouge is----"

"Good!"

"Next, see an agent about your place. You are to sell your lease, you know, and furniture----"

"And furniture,--very well. After?"