make a little gift of a hundred thousand francs to the fund for soldiers' orphans. Fifi, you are a goose, and there is no disguising it. I hope Monsieur Bourcet will use the strong hand on you, for your own good. Cartouche.
"P. S. I could tell you many interesting things about Toto, but I am so angry I can not write any more."
Fifi read this letter over, with a serene smile. Of course Cartouche was angry—but that was rather amusing.
She laid the letter down, and looked up at the patch of blue sky visible from her bedroom window. She seemed to see in that blue patch all her former life, so full of work, of makeshifts, of gaiety, of vivid interest—and compared with it the dull and spiritless existence before her—that is, which had lately been before her; because now the determination to return to the old life was as strong as the soul within her.
She took Cartouche's letter up and read it again, and a cry of joy came from her lips. Give the money to the soldiers' fund! She remembered having heard Madame Bourcet and Louis speaking of
