Mlle. Fouchette Part 34

Meanwhile, the object of this raillery was busily extracting bits of colored paper from his eyebrows and neck,--a wholly useless proceeding, for both girls immediately deluged him with a fresh avalanche.

Madeleine was in her costume a la bicyclette, her sailor hat tipped forward to such a degree that it was necessary for her to elevate her stout chin in order to see anything on a level. Mlle. Fouchette affected the clinging, fluffy style of costume best suited to her figure, while her rare blonde hair a la Merode was her distinguishing feature. She dominated the older and stouter girl as if the latter were an irresponsible junior.

Jean Marot knew very well the type of grisette indigenous to the Quartier Latin.

The day justified all sorts of familiarity, and his black velvet beret and flowing black scarf were an invitation to fraternity, good fellowship, and confidence.

Both young women were in high spirits and carried in bags of fancy netting with tricolor draw-strings their surplus stock of confetti, and an enormous quant.i.ty of the surplus stock of other manifestants in their hair and clothing. As fast as Jean picked out the confetti from his neck Mlle. Madeleine playfully squandered other handfuls on him, winding up by covering the young man with the entire contents of her bag at a single coup.

"Ah! Madeleine!"

"Monsieur will buy us some more," replied that young woman.

"How foolish!" said Mlle. Fouchette, affecting a charming modesty. She had a way of c.o.c.king her fair head to one side like a bird.

"Never mind, mes enfants," said Jean. "Come along."

The three linked arms and pa.s.sed off the bridge and up the Rue Dauphine and Rue de Monsieur le Prince for Boulevard St. Michel, the lively young women distributing confetti in liberal doses and taking similar punishment in utmost good humor, Jean not sorry for the time being at finding this temporary distraction. He had generously replenished the pretty bags from the first baraque, though they were quickly emptied again in the narrow Rue de Monsieur le Prince, where a hot engagement between students and "filles du quartier" was in progress.

Mlle. Madeleine was fairly choking with laughter. She had just caught a young man with his mouth open, by a trick of the elbow; and as he mutely sputtered confetti her pet.i.te blonde companion caught her long skirt aside and kicked his hat off. This "coup de pied" was administered with such marvellous grace and dexterity that even the victim joined in the roar of laughter that followed it. A thin smile spread over her pale face as Jean looked at her.

"La Savatiere,--bravo!" cried a youth.

"C'est le lapin du Luxembourg," said another.

"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."

"There, monsieur," remarked Fouchette, slyly, "you see I'm getting known in the quarter."

"I don't wonder," said Jean, laughing.

They found seats beneath the awnings at the Taverne du Pantheon. The rain of confetti was getting to be a deluge. He asked them what they would have.

"Un ballon, garcon," said Mlle. Fouchette, promptly.

This designated a small gla.s.s of beer, served in a balloon-shaped gla.s.s like a large claret gla.s.s.

Madeleine also would take "un ballon," Jean contenting himself with the usual "bock,"--an ordinary gla.s.s of beer.

Each covered the beer with the little saucer, to protect it from the occasional gust of confetti that even found its way to the extreme rear of the half a hundred sidewalk sitters.

Mlle. Fouchette had been studying the young man from the corners of her eyes. She saw him greatly changed. His handsome face betrayed marks of worry or dissipation,--she decided on the latter. What could a young man in his enviable position have to worry about? Was it possible that----

"Monsieur," she began at once, with the air of an ingenue, "they say you strongly resemble one Lerouge,--that you are often taken one for the other. Is it so?"

He glanced at her inquiringly, while Madeleine patted the ground with her foot.

"Have you ever seen Henri Lerouge?" he asked.

"No, never," replied Fouchette.

"Does he look like me, Madeleine?"

"Not much, monsieur," responded that damsel. "Have you seen him,--have you seen Lerouge lately?"

"No,--no," said he.

"From what I learn," remarked Mlle. Fouchette, with a precision and nonchalance that defied suspicion, "Monsieur Lerouge is probably off in some sweet solitude unknown to vulgar eye enjoying his honeymoon."

Madeleine shot one furious glance at the speaker; but not daring to trust her tongue, she suddenly excused herself and disappeared in the throng.

Jean saw that she had been cut to the quick, and her abrupt action served for the moment to dull the pain at his own heart. He concealed his resentment at this malicious--but, after all, this "child of the police" could not know. He shifted the talk to Madeleine.

"You seem to have offended her, mademoiselle."

"Bah! Madeleine is that jealous----"

"What? Lerouge?"

"Of Lerouge. Can't you see?"

"No,--that is, I didn't know that she had anything in common with Lerouge."

"Ah, ca! When she flies into a rage at the mention of him and another woman? Monsieur is not gifted with surprising penetration."

"But Mademoiselle Madeleine is rather a handsome girl," he observed, tentatively. While he mentally resolved not to be robbed of his own secret he was not averse to gaining any information this girl might possess.

"Perhaps," said she,--"for those who admire the robust style. But you should see the other; she's an angel!"

"Indeed?"

It was hard to put this in a tone of indifference, and he felt her eyes upon him.

"Yes, monsieur."

"I'd like to see her. You know angels are not to be seen every day."

"Monsieur Lerouge can be trusted, I suppose, to render these visions as fleeting and rare as possible."

He winced perceptibly.

"But Madeleine has magnificent eyes," he suggested.

"This other has the eyes of heaven, monsieur."

"And as for figure----"

"Chut! monsieur is joking,--the form of a Normandie nurse!