Mlle. Fouchette Part 75

"'Toi,'--it is good!" said the girl.

"Yes, it looks fair. And Henri always had the way of getting a world of meaning in a few words."

"It is as if there had occurred nothing."

"Yes,--to-night,--and we must prepare him a welcome of some kind. I will write him as to the hour. Let us say a supper, eh, Fouchette?"

"A supper? and here? to-night?"

Mlle. Fouchette recoiled with dismay written in every line of her countenance.

"I don't see anything so strange or horrible about that," said Jean.

"I did not propose to serve _you_ for supper."

"N-no; only----"

"Well?"

Mlle. Fouchette was greatly agitated. He looked at her curiously.

Monsieur Lerouge coming to see him and coming to supper--where she must be present--were widely different propositions according to Mlle.

Fouchette; for she had hailed the first with delight and the second in utter confusion.

"Fouchette, why don't you say at once that you don't want to do it!"

he brutally added.

"You do not understand. Would it be well for--for you, mon ami? It is not for myself. He probably does not know me."

"What if he does? It strikes me that you are growing mighty nice of late. I don't see what Lerouge has to do with you,--and you have pretended----"

"Pretended? Oh, monsieur! I beg----"

"Very well," he interrupted. "We can go out to a restaurant, I suppose, since you don't seem to want to take that trouble for me."

"Oh, monsieur!" she protested, earnestly, "it is not that; I would be glad, only--if it were not Lerouge."

"And why not Lerouge, pray?"

"But, mon ami, would he not tell his sister that----"

"Nonsense!"

"I know----" she hesitated.

"Pouf! Lerouge will not know you. And what if he did recognize the--the----"

"Savatiere----"

"Yes; what, then? But, say! Fouchette, you shall wear that pretty bonne costume I got you. Hein?"

"But, mon ami,--mon cher ami! I'd rather not do it," she faltered.

"If Mademoiselle Remy should hear of it----"

"Bah! I know Lerouge. He'd think you my servant, my model. And have you not your own private establishment to retire to in case--really, you must!"

"W-well, be it so, Monsieur Jean; but if harm comes of it----"

"It will be my fault, not yours. It goes!"

Thus Jean, having reduced the "Savatiere" to the condition of unsalaried servitude, now insisted upon her dressing the part.

He had paid her no empty compliment when he said that she looked her best as a maid. He had fitted her out for an evening at the Bullier for twenty-five francs. In the Quakerish garb of a French bonne she had never looked so demurely sweet in her life. The short skirt showed a pair of small feet and neat round ankles. Her spotless ap.r.o.n accentuated the delicacy of the slender waist. And with a cute white lace cap perched coquettishly over the drooping blonde hair--well, anybody could see that Mlle. Fouchette (become simply Fouchette by this metamorphosis) was really a pretty little woman.

And Jean kissed her on both cheeks and laughed at her because they reddened, and swore she was the sweetest little "bonne a toute faire"

in all the world.

No doubt Marie Antoinette and her court ladies looked most charming when they played peasant at Pet.i.t Trianon; for it is a curious fact that many women show to better physical advantage in the simple costume of a neat servant than in the silks and diamonds of the mistress.

As for Fouchette, she was truly artistic, and she knew it. The knowledge that Jean comprehended this and admired her caused her eyes to shine and her blood to circulate more quickly. And a woman would be more than mortal who is not to be consoled by the consciousness of a successful toilet.

Yet she had dressed with many misgivings, between many sighs and broken exclamations. A little time ago she would have cared nothing whether it were Lerouge or anybody else; but now,--ah! it was a cruel test of her.

True, she must meet Lerouge some time. Oh! surely. She must see Mlle.

Remy, too,--she must look into his sombre eyes,--feel the gentle touch of her hands! Often,--yes; often!

For if Jean married Mlle. Remy, perhaps she, Fouchette, might--why not? She would become their domestic, could she not?

Only, to meet Lerouge here,--in this way!

It was a bitter struggle, but love conquered.

Nevertheless, she felt that she required all of her natural courage, all the cleverness learned of rogues and the stoicism engrafted by suffering, to undergo the ordeal demanded of her and to follow the chosen path to the end.

"How charming you look, Fouchette!" he exclaimed, when she appeared in the evening.

"Thanks, monsieur."

She gave the short bob of the professional domestic. Her face was wreathed in smiles.

"But, I say, mon enfant, you are really pretty."

"Ah, ca!"

She was blushing,--painfully, because she knew that she was blushing.

He put his arm about her waist and attempted to kiss her.

"No, no, no!" she cried, with an air of vexation,--"go away!"

"But you are really artistic, Fouchette. I must have a sitting of you in that costume."