"Ah, well," she exclaimed brightly, sitting up, "another time! Give me my dress, monsieur le curé." He got up and handed it to her. "Tell me," he said, "do you like this sort of life?" She shrugged her white shoulders indifferently. "Sometimes," she said--"sometimes not. There are good boys and bad boys. Some are rough, cruel, mean; some are kind, and remember that it costs much to live these days, and one must dress nicely. See," she said deliberately, showing him, "it is lace, fine lace; I pay fifty francs in Paris!" "I will give you that," said Peter, and he placed the note on the bed. She stared at it and at him. "Oh, I love you!" she cried. "You are kind! Ah, now, if I could but love you always!" "Always?" he demanded. "Yes, always, always, while you are here, in Le Havre. I would have no other boy but you. Ah, if you would! You do not know how one tires of the music-hall, the drinks, the smiles! I would do just all you please--be gay, be solemn, talk, be silent, just as you please! Oh, if you would!" Half in and half out of her dress, she stood there, pleading. Peter looked closely at the little face with its rouge and powder. "You hate that!" she exclaimed, with quick intuition. "See, it is gone. I use it no more, only a leetle, leetle, for the night." And she ran across to the basin, dipped a little sponge in water, passed it over her face, and turned to him triumphantly. Peter sighed. "Little girl," he said sadly, hardly knowing that he spoke. "I cannot save myself: how can I save you?" "Pouf!" she cried. "Save! What do you mean?" She drew herself up with an absurd gesture. "You think me a bad girl? No, I am not bad; I go to church. Le bon Dieu made us as we are; it is nécessaire." They stood before each other, a strange pair, the product of a strange age. God knows what the angels made of it. But at any rate Peter was honest. He thought of Julie, and he would not cast a stone. There came a light knock at the door. The girl disregarded it, and ran to him. "You will come again?" she said in low tones. "Promise me that you will! I will not ask you for anything; you can do as you please; but come again! Do come again!" Peter passed his hand over her hair. "I will come if I can," he said; "but the Lord knows why." The knock came again, a little louder. The girl smiled and held her face up. "Kiss me," she demanded. He complied, and she darted away, fumbling with her dress. "I come," she called, and opened the door. Lucienne and Pennell came in, and the two men exchanged glances. Then Pennell looked away. Lucienne glanced at them and shrugged her shoulders. "Come, Graham," said Pennell; "let's get out! Good-bye, you two." The pair of them went down and out in silence. No one had seen them come, and there was no one to see them go. Peter glanced at the number and made a mental note of it, and they set off down the street. Presently Pennell laughed, "I played you a dirty trick, Graham," he said, "I'm sorry."