She stared moodily before her. "That's where the devil comes in, Pierrot,--and mocks at all the saints in Heaven! ... Not that I wish to become a saint"--she shot him an amused glance with one of her old mocking smiles--"Dieu merci! I love life--an' pretty frocks and a good cuisine. You remember our last evening together? The--music? ... ah!" she clasped her hands and a curious look came into her eyes. "I am glad," she added beneath her breath--"that nothing spoilt that memory." Little she guessed that the man beside her caught the full meaning of the words: that his last rancour vanished with it as he guessed the truth underlying the speech. The face in the photograph rose up, with its evil eyes and its ruthless mouth; that "certain ... Monsieur" called "Gustave"--the treacherous master-mind. Poor little woman!--In such bad hands--deserted too in her hour of need... "What did you do?" he asked gently. "I'd no idea of all this worry. I'm really awfully sorry, Fantine," he laid a hand over hers. She gave him a sudden brilliant smile. "The same Pierrot..." her voice was tender. Then she drew herself together, her fingers lightly clasped in his, a faint colour in her thin cheeks. "You remember Archie Thesiger?" "Yes." He knew what was coming. "He offered me his ... protection." Fantine's eyes were enigmatic. "It seemed ... the best thing to do. I was very happy--for a time. He took a little flat in Brighton and--you will laugh!"--she smiled herself--"I am domestic in my tastes--But yes!--and excellent manager. I made Archie quite content. You think because I love my clothes I should be helpless in a kitchen? There you are wrong. One day I will come and make you," she paused--"_such_ an omelette! ... But of course I knew it couldn't last. That is the drawback to ... ce metier. He fell in love--with a young girl. Il faut se ranger--I understood. And there it was!--to begin again. The next time I was not so lucky. Rich, yes. But a 'mauvais sujet.' And then I find that he is married! Madame arrives ... Dieu, quelle scene! She seem to think I love her Reuben! Yes--a Jew ... _that too_! But I tell her, smiling, to her face, that it was purely business with me. My faith, she did not care for it. I agreed it was not suitable--ce menage--lowering for a woman such as I am, with brains and looks--that money is not everything! He drank too--and she knew that!" At her mischievous sidelong glance McTaggart gave a grim laugh, conjuring up the unequal duel between this strange, dissimilar pair.