Mlle. Fouchette Part 6

"All right, Monsieur le Docteur!"

Fouchette heard and brightened perceptibly. The doctor increased the effect by observing that the dog was coming around all right.

"But he's had a pretty close call."

"So it was Tartar, after all," whispered Fouchette. "Dear Tartar!"

"A brave dog, Tartar,--stuck to you to the last," put in the policeman.

"Truly!"

Half a dozen men cried at once, "Vive Tartar!" with the enthusiasm of true Frenchmen.

And if a dog ever did deserve the encomiums that were showered upon him Tartar certainly was that dog.

As soon as Fouchette began to revive, a stalwart bargewoman, awakened in her little cubby by the cries of the men in the vicinity, and who had hastily turned out to see for herself, had disappeared for a moment in her floating home, and shortly afterwards returned with some substantial clothing borrowed from her family wardrobe.

"How thin the child is!" she remarked, as she subst.i.tuted the dry clothing on the spot.

"Thin!" growled a bystander; "she had to be mighty thin to come down the river on an empty basket!"

"You see, she must have fallen in with the basket on her back----"

"I was pushed in," corrected Fouchette.

"Pushed into the river?"

"What's that?"

"Who did it, child?"

"Impossible!"

"There is some devilish crime here."

"It's a case for the police."

This last observation came from the policeman as he brought out his note-book, while a buzz of indignation ran through the crowd.

Fouchette heard these mutterings and saw the inquisitorial pencil of the official in uniform. He had shut off his light with a snap.

At this moment Tartar, having heard the voice of his mistress, had struggled to his feet, and now dragged himself over to where she lay.

The crowd separated for him.

"Ah! Tartar!" exclaimed Fouchette, affectionately, raising her hand to his head.

With a whimper of joy the n.o.ble animal licked her hand, her face and neck, wagging his bedraggled tail with intense satisfaction, winding up this demonstration by lying down by her side as closely as he could get, and giving a long breath, which in a human being would be called a sigh.

The act moved the coa.r.s.e bargewoman to tears, while the men turned away to hide their emotion.

The silence was profound,--the testimony of a sentiment too deep for mere words.

The police agent was the first to come to the practical point in the situation. The violence phase of the case made him consequential. It would invite the attention of his superiors. It would get his name in the daily journals.

"What is your name, child?"

The intended victim of police interrogatory closed her eyes without answering.

"You were thrown into the river. It is necessary for us to know the name of the person who committed this outrage. If you do not know, it is our business to find out. The miscreant must be arrested and punished. Where do you live?"

No answer.

"Speak, my child! Speak up!"

She had reopened her eyes and now looked at him steadily, stonily, but without a word. He was nonplussed.

As Fouchette began rapidly to recover her strength she also recovered her self-possession, also the results of her training. Foremost among these were her suspicions of the police, whom she had come to believe were organized by society to restrain and hara.s.s the poor; that the informer was the lowest grade of humanity.

In addition to these precepts of the barriers, Fouchette was afraid.

She knew the character of those whom she had left behind. She felt certain that if she betrayed them to the police she would be put out of the way.

Nor was this fear at all unreasonable. Without her recent terrible experience she would have been fully aware of the danger that attended a too loquacious tongue. The question of putting this one or that one "out of the way" had frequently been discussed openly and seriously at the Rendez-Vous pour Cochers. A word from her now would send the police down on that resort. Just a little while ago she was nervous and unstrung, but, while she had at first formed the intention of bringing le Cochon to book, the very first question brought her face to face with the consequences. The second query increased her obstinacy. The peremptory command to speak out left her mute. By saying nothing she could compromise n.o.body.

"Only a street waif," suggested the doctor,--"probably has no home."

Fouchette, who had now risen to a sitting posture, nodded vivaciously.

"Then why didn't you say so?" growled the police agent. "Have you any parents?"

"No."

"Whom were you living with, and where?"

"Nowhere."

"Now, again,--what is your name?"

Silence.

"Why don't you answer?"

"Because it's none of your business," snapped Fouchette.

"We'll see about that before the Commissaire," retorted the agent.

"He'll take the sulk out of you."

"Hold on," put in the bargewoman; "don't be harsh with her, monsieur.

She has been abused dreadfully. Her body is covered with bruises."