He thanked Heaven that she understood at least a little of the language. Shaken, he got to his own feet; but Chitta, instead of rising, surprisingly knelt at his. She spouted a long speech of infinite emotion. She wept. She clasped and unclasped her hands. She pointed to the room of her mistress; then to her mouth, and then rubbed that portion of her figure over the spot where the appetite is appeased. "Do you mean," gasped Cartaret--"do you mean that you and your mistress"--this was terrible!--"have been poor?" Chitta had come to the room without her head-dress, and the subsequent battle had sent her hair in dank coils about her shoulders. She nodded; the shaken coils were like so many serpents. "And that she has been hungry?--Hungry?" A violent negative. Chitta bobbed toward Cartaret's rifled stores and then toward the street, as if to include other stores in the same circle of depredation. She was also plainly indignant at the idea that she would permit her mistress to be hungry. "Oh," said Cartaret, "I see! You are a consistent thief." This time Chitta's nod was a proud one; but she pointed again to the other room and shook her head violently; then to herself and nodded once more. Words could not more plainly have said that, although she had been supplementing her provisions by petty thefts, her employer knew nothing about them. And she must not be told. Again Chitta began to bob and moan and weep. She pointed across the hallway, put a finger to her lips, shook her old head and finally held out her clasped hands in supplication. Cartaret emptied his pockets. He wished he had not been so extravagant as to buy that necktie. He handed to Chitta all the money left from the price that Fourget had paid him, to the last five-centime piece. "Take this," he said, "and be sure you don't ever let your mistress know where it came from. I shan't tell anybody about you. When you want more, come direct to me." He knew that he could paint marketable pot-boilers now. She wanted to kiss his hand, but he hurried from the woman and left her groveling behind him.... "M. Refrogné," he said to the concierge, "I owe you an apology. I am sorry for the way I spoke to you a while ago. I have found those strawberries." "Bah!" said Refrogné. He added, when Cartaret had passed: "In his stomach, most likely."