"Wha-at? Never! Why----"

"Not for the woman you love?"

"But, Fouchette, you don't understand, mon enfant. A gentleman can't change his politics as he does his coat."

"Men do, monsieur,--men do,--yes, every day."

"But----"

"What does it amount to, anyhow?--politics? Bah! One side is just like the other side."

"Oh! oh!"

"Half of them don't know. It's only the difference between celui-ci and celui-la. You must quit ci and join la, n'est-ce pas?"

Mlle. Fouchette laid this down as if it were merely a choice between mutton and lamb chops for dinner. But Jean Marot walked impatiently up and down.

"You overlook the possible existence of such a thing as principle,--as honor, mademoiselle," he observed, somewhat coldly.

"Rubbish!" said Mlle. Fouchette.

"Oh! oh! what political morals!" he laughingly exclaimed, with an affectation of horror.

"There are no morals in politics."

"Precious little, truly!"

"Principles are a matter of belief,--political principles. You change your belief,--the principles go with it; you can't desert 'em,--they follow you. It is the rest of them, those who disagree with you, who never have any principles. Is it not so, monsieur?"

He laughed the more as he saw that she was serious. And yet there was a nipping satire in her words that tickled his fancy.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted this political argument. A peculiar, diffident, apologetic knock, like the forerunner of the man come to borrow money. There was a red bell-cord hanging outside, too, but the rap came from somebody too timid to make a noise.

Mlle. Fouchette started up as if it were the signal for execution. She turned pale, and placed her finger on her lips. Then, with a significant glance at Jean, she gathered herself together and tiptoed to a closet in the wall.

She entered the closet and closed the door softly upon herself.

Jean had regarded her with surprise, then with astonishment. He saw no reason for this singular development of timidity. As soon as he had recovered sufficiently he opened the door.

A tall, thin man quietly stepped into the room, as quietly shut the door behind him, and addressed the young man briskly,--

"Monsieur Marot?"

"Yes, monsieur, at your service."

"So."

"And this is--ah! I remember--this is----"

"Inspector Loup."

The fishy eyes of Monsieur l'Inspecteur had been swimming about in their fringed pools, taking in every detail of the chamber. They penetrated the remotest corners, plunged at the curtains of the bed, and finally rested for a wee little moment upon the two cups and saucers, the two empty gla.s.ses, the two spoons, which still remained on the table. And yet had not Inspector Loup called attention to the fact one would never have suspected that he had seen anything.

"Pardon, Monsieur Marot," he said, half behind his hand, "but I am not disturbing any quiet little--er----"

"Not yet, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," replied the young man, suggestively.

"Go on, I beg."

"Ah! not yet? Good! Very well,--then I will try not to do so."

Whereupon Monsieur l'Inspecteur dived down into a deep pocket and brought up a package neatly wrapped in pink paper and sealed with a red seal.

The package bore the address of "M. Jean Marot."

"May I ask if Monsieur Marot can divine the contents of this parcel?"

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur will pardon me,--I'm not good at guessing."

"Monsieur missed some personal property after his arrest----"

"If that is my property," Jean interrupted, brusquely, "it ought to be a gold watch, hunting case, chronometer, Geneva make, with eighteen-carat gold chain, dragon-head design for hook; a bunch of keys, seven in number, and a door-key, and about one hundred and eighty francs in paper, gold, and silver."

"Very good. Excellent memory, monsieur. It ought to serve you well enough to keep out of such brawls hereafter. Here,--examine!"

Hastily opening the package, Jean found his watch and chain and everything else intact, so far as he could recollect. He expressed his delight,--and when his grasp left the thin hand of the police official it was to leave a twenty-franc gold piece there.

"Will monsieur kindly sign this receipt?" inquired Monsieur l'Inspecteur, whose hand had closed upon the coin with true official instinct.

"But how and where did they get the things back?" inquired Jean, having complied with this reasonable request.

"I know nothing about that," said the man.

"And how did they know I had lost them? I never complained."

"Then perhaps somebody else did, eh?"

The bright little fishy right eye partially closed to indicate a roguish expression.

"Bon soir, monsieur."

And with another wink which meant "You can't fool me, young man," he was gone.

"Well, this is luck!" muttered Jean aloud. He examined the watch lovingly. It was a present from his father. "But how did they get these? how did they know they were mine? and how did they know where I lived? Who asked----"

He went back to the closet and told Mlle. Fouchette the coast was clear. There was no answer. He tried the door. It was locked. She had turned the key on the inside.

"Mademoiselle! Come!"