money.”
“What money?” asked Jean.
“Why, the money for the things. You didn’t think I was going to steal them, did you?”
The young man laughed, and drew her into a quiet corner of the Gardens of the Tuileries.
“I will not have time to go with you to the Rue de Lille to-night,” he said.
“But you will come as usual to-morrow night?” she asked, anxiously.
“Certainly, certainly.” he replied, as he rapidly concealed the packages in his pockets.
The next night the girl waited patiently for her lover at the corner where they were in the habit of meeting, but he did not come. She stood under the glaring light of a lamp-post so that he would recognize her at once. Many people accosted her as she stood there, but she answered none, looking straight before her with clear honest eyes, and they passed on after a moment’s hesitation. At last she saw a man running rapidly down the street, and as he passed a brilliantly-lighted window she recognized Jean. He came quickly towards her.
“Here I am,” she cried, running forward. She caught him by the arm, saying, “Oh, Jean, what is the matter?”
He shook her rudely, and shouted at her—“Let me go, you fool!” But she clung to him, until he raised his fist and struck her squarely in the face. Lurine staggered against the wall, and Jean ran on. A stalwart man who had spoken to Lurine a few moments before, and, not understanding her silence, stood in a doorway near watching her, sprang out when he saw the assault, and thrust his stick between the feet of the flying man, flinging him face forward on the pavement. The next instant he placed his foot upon Jean’s neck holding him down as if he were a snake.
“You villain!” he cried. “Strike a woman, would you?”
Jean lay there as if stunned, and two gens d’armes came pantingly upon the scene.
“This scoundrel,” said the man, “has just assaulted a
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