She was well aware who had her; for the man gave out his characteristic grunt with every misstep, and there was no one else in the world likely to do her serious physical injury. She knew that it was still dark, both from the way the man walked and from the cool dampness of the atmosphere with which she was familiar. Yes, it was le Cochon. She knew him for an escaped convict, for a murderer as well as a robber, and that he would slit a throat for twenty sous if there were fair promise of immunity. She felt instinctively that she was lost. All at once the man stopped, went on, paused again. Then she heard other footsteps. They grew louder. They were evidently approaching. They were the heavy, hob-nailed shoes of some laborer on his way to work. Her heart stood still for a few moments as she listened, then beat wildly with renewed hope. If she could only cry out; but the rag that filled her mouth made giving the alarm impossible. Finally, after some hesitation, her abductor moved on as if to meet the coming footsteps, slowly, and leaning far over now and then, in apparent attempt to counterfeit the occupation of a rag-picker. And at such moments the child felt that she was standing on the back of her neck. The heavy tramp of the stranger grew nearer--was upon them. "Bonjour!" called out a cheerful, manly voice. "Bonjour, monsieur!" replied le Cochon, humbly. "You are abroad early this morning." "It is necessary, if an honest chiffonnier would live these times." "Possible. Good luck to you." "Thanks, monsieur." The steps had never paused and were quickly growing fainter down the road, while the young heart within the basket grew fainter and fainter with the fading sounds. This temporary hope thus crushed was more cruel than her former despair. Her bearer uttered a low volley of horrible imprecations directed towards the unknown. He stopped suddenly, and, unstrapping the basket from his shoulders, placed it on the ground. Fouchette smelled the morning vapors of the river; discerned now the distinct gurgle of the flood. As the robber took the rags from the basket and pulled her roughly forth, the full significance of her perilous situation rushed upon her. She trembled so that she could scarcely stand,--would have toppled over the edge of the quai but for the strong arm of le Cochon, who restrained her. "Not yet, petite," said he. And he began to strap the basket upon her young shoulders. "Pardieu! we must regard conventionalities," he added, with devilish malignity. It was early gray of morning, and a mist hung over the dark waters of the Seine. No attempt had been made to obstruct her vision, which, long habituated to the hour, took in the road, the stone quai, the boats moored not far away, the human monster at her side, all at a single sweeping glance. Her feet and arms were bound, the gag was still in her mouth,--there was no escape, no succor. There was the river; there was le Cochon. Nothing more.