- sessed nothing more interesting than babies, were
furiously jealous.
But at last the play was over, and Fifi and Cartouche were in Fifi's garret, with a good fire in the stove, made with Cartouche's fagots, the cabbage-soup, the onions, the wine, and the sausage, and the chocolate on the table, and Toto to make the trio complete. Cartouche had sneaked the cloak in, without Fifi's seeing it, and just as they were sitting down to the table he said carelessly, as if thirty-franc cloaks were the most ordinary incidents in life:
"Fifi, if you will open that bundle on the chair, you will find a little gift from me."
Fifi ran and tore the parcel open, and there was the beautiful, warm, crimson cloak. She flew to Cartouche, and with dewy eyes, although her lips were smiling, gave him one of those hearty kisses she had given him when she was a little, black-eyed damsel ten years old. Cartouche did not return the kiss, but sat, first pale and then red, and with such a strange look on his face that Fifi was puzzled.
"Never mind," she said to herself. "The next
