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 hoped he would return to Paris with her, but would by no means admit so much to him.

"I," said Fifi, with dignity, "also have business at Fontainebleau—with the Holy Father. You may walk with me to the palace."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," answered Duvernet, bowing; and Fifi could not tell whether he was laughing at her or not.

As they walked toward the vast old palace, gray and peaceful in the golden sun of springtime, Duvernet said:

"Well, Fi—"

"What?" asked Fifi coldly.

"Mademoiselle, I should say. Since we find ourselves together, we may as well resume our business conversation of yesterday afternoon. If you will take fifty francs the week, your old place at the Imperial Theater is open to you."

"And that minx, Julie Campionet—oh, I beg your pardon."

"Don't mention it," gloomily replied Julie Campionet's husband. "She has told me twenty times since yesterday that she means to get a divorce, just like the others. If she doesn't, I can, perhaps, get her to take her old parts by giving her an