Mlle. Fouchette Part 28

Jean Marot was the son of a rich silk manufacturer of Lyon, and therefore lived in more comfortable quarters than most students, in a fashionable neighborhood on the right bank of the Seine. He had reached his lodgings scarcely three-quarters of an hour before Inspector Loup. But in that time he had stampeded the venerable concierge, got his still unconscious burden to bed and fetched a surgeon. The concierge had protested against turning the house into a hospital for vagrant women; but Jean was of an impetuous nature, and wilful besides, and when he was told that the last vacant chamber had been taken that day, he boldly carried the girl to his own rooms and placed her in his own bed. And when the concierge had reported this fact to Madame Goutran, that excellent lady, who had officiated as Jean's landlady for the past four years, shrugged her shoulders in such an equivocal way that the concierge concluded that her best interests lay in a.s.sisting the young man as much as possible.

Dr. Cardiac was not only one of the best surgeon-professors of the ecole de Medecine but Jean's father's personal friend. The young man felt that he could turn to the great surgeon in this emergency, though the latter was an expert not in regular practice.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HIS STILL UNCONSCIOUS BURDEN]

The appearance of Inspector Loup threw the Goutran establishment into a fever of excitement. The wrinkled old concierge who had declined to admit the stranger was ready to fall upon her knees before the director of the Secret Service. Madame Goutran hastened to explain why she had not reported the affair to the police department as the law required. She had not had time. It was so short a time ago that the case had been brought into her house,--in a few minutes she would have sent in the facts,--then, they expected every moment to ascertain the name of the young woman, which would be necessary to make the report complete.

Madame Goutran hoped that it would not involve her lodger, Monsieur Jean Marot, who was an excellent young man, though impulsive. He should have had the girl sent to the hospital. It was so absurd to bring her there, where she might die, and in any case would involve everybody in no end of difficulties, anyhow.

To a flood of such excuses and running observations Inspector Loup listened with immobile face, tightly closed lips, and wandering fishy eyes, standing in the corridor of the concierge lodge. He had not uttered a word, nor had he hurried the good landlady in her explanations and excuses. It was Inspector Loup's custom. He a.s.sumed the att.i.tude of a professional listener. Seldom any one had ever resisted the subtle power of that silent interrogation. Even the most stubborn and recalcitrant were compelled to yield after a time; and those who had sullenly withstood the most searching and brutal interrogatories had broken down under the calm, patient, philosophical, crushing contemplation. Questions too often merely serve to put people on their guard,--to furnish a cue to what should be withheld.

"And your lodger, madame?" he inquired, after Madame Goutran had run down, "can I see him?"

"Certainly, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Pardon! I have detained you too long."

"Not at all, madame. One does not think of time in the presence of a charming conversationalist."

"Oh, thank you, monsieur! This way, Monsieur l'Inspecteur."

Inspector Loup gained the apartment of Jean Marot shortly after the united efforts of Dr. Cardiac and his amateur a.s.sistants had succeeded in producing decided signs of returning consciousness. The patient was breathing irregularly.

The police official entered the chamber, and, after a silent recognition of those present, looked long and steadily at the slight figure on the bed.

He then retired, beckoning Jean to follow him. Once in the pet.i.t salon, the inspector motioned the young man to a chair and looked him over for about half a minute. Whereupon Jean made a clean breast of what his listener practically already knew, and what he did not know had guessed.

"Bring me her clothing," said the inspector, when Jean had finished.

The young man brought the torn and soiled garments which had been removed from the girl.

Inspector Loup examined them in a perfunctory way, but apparently discovered nothing beyond the fact that they were typical charity clothes, which Jean had already decided for himself.

"Be good enough to ask Monsieur le Docteur to step in here a few moments at his leisure," he finally said.

As soon as Jean had his back turned the inspector whipped out a knife, slit the lining of the bosom of the little dress, and taking therefrom the letter addressed to himself, noted at a glance that the seal was intact, tore it open, saw its contents and as quickly transferred the missive to his pocket.

"Well, doctor," he gravely inquired, "how about your young patient?"

"Uncertain, monsieur, but hopeful."

"She will recover, then?"

"I think so, but it will be some time. She must be removed to a hospital."

"Yes, of course,--of course. But you will report to me where she is taken from here, Monsieur le Docteur?"

"Oh, yes,--certainly. Though perhaps the girl's friends----"

"She has no friends," said the inspector.

"What! You know her, then?"

"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."

"A n.o.body's child, eh?" asked the doctor.

"Mademoiselle Fouchette is the child of the police," said Inspector Loup.

He slowly retired down-stairs, through the court and pa.s.sage-way, reaching the street. Then as he walked away he drew from his pocket the letter he had extracted from the little dress.

"So! Sister Agnes is prompt and to the point. These Jesuitical a.s.sociations are hotbeds of treason and intrigue! They are inconsistent with civil and religious liberty. We'll see!"

CHAPTER VII

When Fouchette opened her eyes it was to see three strange faces at her bedside,--the faces of Dr. Cardiac, Jean Marot, and a professional nurse.

But she had regained consciousness long before she could see, her eyes being in bandages, and had pa.s.sively listened to the soft goings and comings and low conversations and whispered directions, without saying anything herself or betraying her growing curiosity.

These sounds came to her vaguely and brokenly at first, then forced themselves on her attention connectedly. Surely she was not at Le Bon Pasteur! Then where was she? And finally the recollection of recent events rushed upon her, and her poor little head seemed to be on the point of bursting.

Things finally appeared quite clear, until her eyes were free and she saw for the first time her new surroundings, when she involuntarily manifested her surprise.

It certainly was not a hospital, as she had imagined the place. The sunny chamber, with its tastefully decorated walls hung with pictures, the foils over the door,--through which she saw a still more lovely room,--the voluptuous divan and its soft cushions, the heavy Turkish rugs, the rich damask hangings of her bed,--no; it certainly was not a hospital.

It was the most beautiful room Fouchette had ever seen,--such as her fancy had allotted to royal blood,--at least to the n.o.bility. To awaken in such a place was like the fairy tales Sister Agnes had read to her long ago.

"Well, mademoiselle," said the old surgeon, cheerily, "we're getting along,--getting along, eh, Monsieur Marot?"

"Admirably!" said Jean.

Fouchette glanced from one to the other. The doctor she had long recognized by voice and touch; but this young man, was he the prince of this palace?

The eyes of the pair rested upon each other for the moment inquiringly.

Both Fouchette and Jean concluded this examination with a sigh.

Fouchette had recognized in him the young man who marched by her side in the Place de la Concorde,--only a rioter. He could not live here.

Jean Marot, who thought he had seen something in this girl besides her hair to remind him of the woman he loved, acknowledged himself in error. It had been a mere fancy,--he dismissed it.

He turned away and stood looking gloomily into the street. But the young man saw nothing. He was thinking of the unfortunate turn of political events in France that had arrayed friend against friend, brother against brother.

It was social revolution--anarchy!