one candle, before she could summon up courage to answer, in a quavering voice:
"I did not get the cloak, Cartouche. That is, not to-day."
"Why not?" demanded Cartouche.
"B-b-because I spent twenty francs of the money upon—upon something I wanted more than the cloak."
"What is it?" asked Cartouche in a tone that made little shivers run down Fifi's backbone. "More feathers? Or was it a fan to keep you cool, when the snow is on the ground, instead of a cloak to keep you warm?"
"N-no. It was not a fan. And it is something to keep me warm, too, it is as good as a stove, sometimes."
"What is it?"
There was no mistaking the note in Cartouche's voice. Fifi began:
"It is—don't be angry, dear Cartouche—it is a little black—it is a little black—it is something alive!"
"Is it a little black ostrich? Or is it a little black giraffe?"
Cartouche came toward Fifi then, looking ex-
