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 "And you have kept your vow. I remember that day well—it was the first time you ever spoke an angry word to me. You have spoken many since, you hard-hearted Cartouche."

To this Cartouche made no answer but to bury his face in his lean, brown hands, that bore the marks of honest toil. Fifi continued briskly:

"Cartouche, open this lower door. It is fast."

Cartouche only shook his head.

Then Fifi, glancing about, saw a rickety old chair at the head of the stairs, and noiselessly fetching it, she put it against the door, stepped up on it; a second step on the little table by the door, and a third step on the floor, brought her in the room, and close to Cartouche. She laid one hand upon his shoulder—with the other she picked up Toto—and said, in a wheedling voice:

"Cartouche, shall we be married this day fortnight?"

Cartouche made a faint effort to push her away, but the passion in him rose up lion-like, and mastered him. He seized Fifi in his strong arms and devoured her rosy lips with kisses. Then, dropping her as suddenly, he cried wildly: