knew well,—Cartouche is as obstinate as a donkey when he wishes to be,—'if you see me you will have a new struggle every time we part. Years from now, when you are fixed in another life, when you are suitably married, it will do you no harm to see me, but not now,'—and actually, Holy Father, that mean, cruel, heartless Cartouche has kept his word, and has not been near me, or even answered my letters."
"Cartouche is a sensible fellow," said the Holy Father, under his breath.
Luckily Fifi did not catch the words, or she would, in her own mind, have stigmatized the Holy Father as also mean, cruel and heartless, just like Cartouche.
"Very well," said the Pope aloud, "tell me about Julie Campionet. Why do you hate her?"
"Oh, Holy Father, Julie Campionet is a minx. She married the manager against his will, and has stolen all my best parts, and has made everybody at the theater forget there ever was a Mademoiselle Fifi. You can't imagine a person more evil than Julie Campionet."
"Wicked, wicked Julie Campionet," said the Holy Father softly; and Fifi knew he was laugh-
