new life which robbed her of one of her chief weapons—ignorance of convention.
"And Monsieur Bourcet is worthy?" she heard the Holy Father saying, and she replied mechanically:
"Quite worthy."
"And you do not dislike him?"
"No," said Fifi, after a moment's pause. There was not enough in Louis Bourcet to dislike.
Fifi rose. She could not bear any more on this subject. The Holy Father, smiling at Fifi's taking the initiative in closing the interview, said to her:
"Then you agree to marry Louis Bourcet?"
"I agree to marry Louis Bourcet," replied Fifi, in a voice that sounded strange in her own ears. She did not know what else to say. Two months ago she would have replied briskly, "No, indeed; I shall marry Cartouche, and nobody but Cartouche." Now, however, she seemed to be under a spell. It appeared to be arranged for her that she should marry Louis Bourcet, and Cartouche would not lift a finger to help her. And, strangest of all, in saying she would marry Louis Bourcet she
