Mlle. Fouchette Part 7

"So much more reason we should find out who did it,--who has attempted to murder the child into the bargain."

"She has been cruelly beaten."

Fouchette nodded.

"I'll have to take you to the Commissariat, my child."

"I don't care where you take me,--that is, if Tartar goes along."

The dog regarded her inquiringly.

"Certainly," responded the agent,--"Tartar is a part of the case.

Allons!"

He would have picked her up in his powerful arms, but she rebelled vigorously, protesting that she could walk.

"Very well. Good! You're a plucky one. You're the right stuff."

The little official party--the agent, Fouchette, Tartar, a waterman carrying the basket, the stout bargewoman bearing the child's wet clothing--took up the march, followed by several idlers in search of sensation.

Having arrived at the Commissariat, it was necessary to await the hour when it pleased Monsieur le Commissaire to put in an appearance. In the mean time Fouchette was disposed of on a bench within a railed s.p.a.ce, her bare feet dangling, momentarily growing physically better and more mentally perplexed.

What would they do with her?

She dared not return to the Podvins. She knew of no other place to go.

She was desperately alone in the world. Only Tartar, who once more stretched himself at her feet, with his head in a position where he could keep a half-open eye on his mistress. Tartar needed rest, and was getting it.

The police! Next to the murderer of the barrier she hated and feared the police.

Would they send her to prison?

After all, she thought, one might as well have been drowned to a finish. It would have been an easy escape from this uncertainty and agony of mind.

She began to feel hungry. Gradually the thoughts of what she should do for something to eat, and where she would be able to get something for Tartar, drove out all other thoughts. If they could only get away now,--at this hour something might be found in the streets. She calculated the chances of escape by a sudden dash for the door. But there were several police agents lounging in the anteroom, and her conductor sat at the little gate of the enclosure. So the scheme was reluctantly dismissed. Anyhow, if they would let Tartar remain with her she didn't care much.

During this time several successive attempts were made by the police agents to get her to talk. She responded by "Yes" or "No" or a motion of the head to all questions not connected with her case. On this subject she was persistently silent.

An hour later the bargewoman, who had been in secret consultation with the police agents, went out and got Fouchette a roll and some cheese, which she ate eagerly. This woman was a coa.r.s.e, masculine-looking creature with hands as hard and rough as a fowl's foot, a distinct moustache and tufts of hair cropping out here and there on her neck and chin, but her voice a.s.sumed a kindly tone. She led Fouchette to the farther corner of the room.

"I must go back to my boat now, cherie. Cheer up! And promise me one thing,--don't try the river again. You were not born to be drowned, anyhow. If you really want to die you'll have to try something else."

"But I don't want to die," protested Fouchette.

"And they send people to prison who attempt suicide," continued the woman.

"But I didn't, madame."

"The bodies spoil the water. There are so many of them floating by.

I've seen hundreds of 'em in my time."

"No, indeed; I would rather live."

"That's right,--that's a dear! My barge is 'La Therese,'--named after me. We are in the coal trade. I want you to come and see me, pet.i.te.

You shall take a trip to Rouen. Yes,--would you like to----"

"Oh, very much, madame!" interrupted Fouchette, joyfully.

"You shall."

"And Tartar?"

"Shall go too. We'll have fine times, I promise you. You will find us at the Quai d'Austerlitz when in Paris."

"Thank you,--so much! I've seen the big boats go by lots of times and wished I was on one--one with flowers and vines and a dog--Tartar. And sometimes I've seen 'em in my sleep--yes."

Fouchette at once lost herself in this prospect. It would be the most delightful thing in her life.

"Yes, it is very nice," continued the bargewoman. "Remember, cherie,--'La Therese.' You can bring the clothes with you. Ask for me,--'Therese.' My husband named the barge after me long ago."

"It's a pretty name," said the child.

"You think so? A name is--what is your real name, pet.i.te?"

"I don't know, madame," replied Fouchette, promptly and truthfully.

"What! Don't know your own name? Impossible!"

The woman was vexed, and made no effort to conceal her vexation. To be outwitted by a mere child was too much to bear with equanimity. As kindly disposed as she was by nature, she lost her temper at once at what she considered a stupid falsehood.

"You're an obstinate little brute!" she exclaimed, in a pa.s.sion,--a state of mind aggravated by the laughter of the police agents in the room.

"Yes, and a little liar," she added.

"M--mad--madame!" stammered the trembling child, whose bright visions vanished in a twinkling.

"I don't wonder they threw you in the river,--not a bit!"

Fouchette's lips were now set in mute rage. She was up in arms at once. Her steely eyes shot fire. The honest bargewoman had almost won her childish confidence. Another word or two of kindness and she would have gained an easy victory. Now, however, everything was upset and the fat was in the fire.

Without a word Fouchette began to hurriedly divest herself of the clothing she wore and to throw the garments, piece by piece, on the floor.

So quickly was this accomplished that neither the astonished woman nor the puzzled police agents could interfere before the child stood there perfectly nude in the midst of them. Her frame, which was little more than a living skeleton covered with marks of violence, fairly quivered with anger. She choked so that she could not speak. In another minute she had resumed her wet rags.

"Voila!" she finally cried, pointing to the discarded garments. "At least you can never say that I asked for them or didn't return them!"

"Mon Dieu!" The woman was overwhelmed,--breathless.

To be misunderstood is often the bitterest thing to bear in this life.