last resource they resolved to sink their pride and appeal to the
generosity of Monsieur and Madame. The woman's wistful eyes filled with
tears and the corners of her mouth quivered. The man with a great effort
choked a sob. Zora's generous heart melted at the tale. It rang so stupidly
true. The fragile creature's air was so pathetic. She opened her purse.

"Will a hundred francs be of any use to you?" she asked in her schoolgirl
French.

"Oh, Madame!"

"And I, too, will give a hundred to the baby," said Septimus. "I like
babies and I've also had the measles." He opened his pocketbook.

"Oh, Monsieur," said the man. "How can I ever be sufficiently grateful?"

He held out his hand for the note, when something hit him violently in the
back. It was the magazine hurled by the burly Englishman, who followed up
the assault by a torrent of abuse.

_"Allez-vous-ong! Cochons! Et plus vite que ça!"_ There was something
terrific in his awful British accent.

The pair turned in obvious dismay. He waved them off.

"Don't give them anything. The baby hasn't any red spots. There isn't a
baby. They daren't show their noses in the rooms. _Oh je vous connais. Vous
êtes George Polin et Celestine Macrou. Sales voleurs. Allez-vous-ong ou
j'appelle la police_."