A tap of the bell,--a push of an electric button,--and Mlle. Fouchette would be in prison.
There were five distinct counts against her, set forth in ponderous and damning legal phraseology and briefed alphabetically with a precision that carried conviction:
"A.--Vagrant--no home--supposed to have come from Nantes.
"B.--Consort of thieves--confession of life convict called 'le Cochon,' drawer 379, R.M.L. 29.
"C.--Go-between of robbers of the wood of Vincennes and receivers of stolen goods. Confession of M. Podvin, wine merchant, now serving term of twenty-one years for highway robbery, drawer 1210, R.M.L. 70.
"D.--Fugitive from State institution, where sent by lawful authority. See Le Bon Pasteur, Nancy. R.I. 2734.
"E.--Lost or destroyed public document addressed to the Préfecture and confided to her care under her false representation of being an authorized agent of that department of the government."
The service of this dreadful order of arrest, behind which crouched these crimes ready to rise and spring upon her, was suspended by Inspector Loup. For which tenderness and mercy Fouchette was merely to report to the Secret Service bureau in accordance with a preconcerted arrangement.
Mlle. Fouchette had scarcely ceased to bless Inspector Loup for his forbearance and kind consideration and was crossing the Pont au Change towards the right bank when she encountered a familiar face. She was somewhat startled at first. Her catalogue of familiar faces was so limited that it was a sensation.
It was the face she had seen through the iron gate on the road to Charenton long, long ago!
Somewhat fuller, somewhat redder, with suspicious circles under the lustrous eyes, yet, unmistakably, the same face. The plump figure looked still more robust, and the athletic limbs showed through the scant bloomer bicycle suit.
The owner of this face and figure did not recognize in the other the petite chiffonnière de Charenton. That would have been too much to expect.
Fouchette boldly accosted her nevertheless.
"Pardon! You don't remember me? I'm Fouchette!"
"Yes, mademoiselle. You do not remember the poor little ragpicker of Charenton? But of course not,--it was long ago, and I have changed."
The other stared at her with her big black eyes.