battling with the current or paddling around in a circle, but turned at once and swam rapidly with the stream. He spent no breath in useless vociferation. All his canine strength was put forth to an end. And these instincts were quickly rewarded by the sight of a strange object floating ahead of him,—something a little higher, than the water.

The fiend who had packed the old rags into the bottom of the pannier with the double motive of indicating an accident and of carrying the child under beneath its weight had overdone the trick. For the rags, once soaked, proved so much heavier than the frail body that it turned turtle and threw the child face upward and partially above the surface. The load instead of sinking buoyed her up, and, being strapped securely to it, she could not fall off. Whereas if she had simply been thrown into the river without these precautions, she would have gone to the bottom.

With a succession of low whines now that were almost human sobs, the excited spaniel quickened his stroke, if, indeed, such a thing were possible, and redoubled his energies. He saw that it was the body of his beloved mate.

But when he reached the floating object and seized it with his teeth it was to find that he was powerless to drag it ashore. In vain he struggled and splashed and tugged at it. The load was too much for him. Almost frantic from disappointment, he soon became exhausted. He seemed to realize that he would not only be unable to save his little mistress, but was likely to perish with her. It was not long before his fight ceased. He hung on by his teeth now to keep from sinking.

Thus the combination, waterlogged basket, unconscious girl, and exhausted dog, floated silently along, under the National Bridge, past the bridge of Tolbiac, and came opposite the great freight-yards of the Orleans Railway on the left and the greater Entrepôts de Bercy on the right.

The homeless of both sexes that swarm the shelter of the bridges of the Seine were just awakening to life and a renewed sense of misery. The thin fog had begun to lift. The sharper eyes of the dog discovered the proximity of human beings before the latter could see him, and he let go of his floater long enough to utter a few sharp yelps of distress.

A tramp, wider awake or less benumbed by liquor than his fellows, heard the sounds from the river and called the attention of companions.

A dog in distress,—it was enough to rouse the sympathetic blood of any true Parisian. The more active of the men ran vociferously along the bank, raising the watchmen of either shore.

Numerous barges and tugs lay moored along the Quai de la Gare. From these lights began to show. Men sprang up as if by magic. Those on one side of the river shouted to those on the other side to find out what was the matter, and the other side shouted back that they didn't know,—but it was somebody or something in the river. As there is always "somebody" in the river, the idea did not attract so much attention as the possibility that it was "something."

When it was ascertained that it was a dog—which followed upon additional pathetic appeals from the water—there was wild excitement all along the line. Men tumbled over barrels and boxes, and ran plump up against walls, and fell into pits, and even into the river itself, in their anxiety to keep pace with the sounds from the fog.

Others began hastily to get out boats, and ran about with lanterns and oars and ends of rope and other life-saving paraphernalia. These boats put off simultaneously from either side, and contained police agents, bargemen, roustabouts, watchmen, watermen, and bums. As the inhabitants of the Long Island shore at the cry of "A whale!" man the boats and race to get in the first harpoon, so these rivermen of the Seine now pulled for a drowning dog.

The conflicting sounds of human voices, the grating of boats against the stones, the rattle of chains, the splash of oars, were plainly heard and as plainly understood by the intelligent animal now struggling with death. Through his set jaws, which still clung to the child's clothing, or, rather, through his nose, there came occasional whines of distress that were almost heart-rending in their intensity.

These last faint appeals for help directed the rescuers.

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed a waterman, nearing the spot and rowing alongside.

"It's a child!" screamed another.

"No, it's a dog," said a third.

The light was still uncertain and objects confusing.

"It's dog and child——"

"It's dead!"

"Not yet, monsieur."

"I mean the child."

"Dead?"

"No; the dog has held its face above water."

"The dog,—quick! he's sinking!"

"Here!"

"A rope!"

"There!"

"No, no! Catch him by the neck!"

"Save the child first!"

"I've got him!"

"And I've got her!"

"Hang on to the dog! Pull him into the boat, stupid!"

"Why, she's strapped down to something!"

"What is this, anyhow?"

"Pull the dog loose, man!—he'll drown her yet!"

"There!"

"Your knife, Pierre!"

"Hold!"

This was from the river policeman, who held up his bull's-eye lantern so that it threw a yellow glare on the white upturned face.

"She's dead, poor little thing!"

"We shall bring in the body just as it is," said the official.

"But——"

"That's the law!"

"Tonnerre! Is it the law to let a child drown in one's sight?"

"Oh, she's dead enough, I'm afraid."

"I don't know about that."

"Bring it in just as it is," repeated the official, adjusting a rope to the mysterious thing beneath the body.

"Sacré bleu! And if she's alive?"

"Poor doggie! He's about done for too."

And so it really seemed, for Tartar lay in the bottom of the boat, still breathing, but in convulsive gasps. In his teeth remained a portion of the child's clothing, torn away with him. He had hung to his charge to the last. His jaws had never relaxed.

In the mean time the whole fleet with its spoils had been floating steadily down with the powerful current. Amidst the wrangle of contending voices, and with some angry altercation, the police boat and its accompanying consorts were towing the yet unknown object and its silent burden towards the shore.

This was not an easy job, since the river becomes more narrow as it threads the city, and the current proportionately stronger, and the undertow caught at the low-hanging mass as if determined to bear it down to the morgue just below. They had been carried under the Pont de Bercy and were drawing near the Quai d'Austerlitz. Finally they got ashore at the Gare d'Orléans.

"Parbleu! it's a little chiffonnière!"

"Truly!"

"She has evidently fallen into the river with her basket on her back."

They had now, in the rapidly growing daylight, discovered the character of the object that held her in its embrace. In fact, when half a dozen stout fellows had attempted to lift the whole thing out of the water the rags had dropped out unseen and were borne away by the current, leaving the light empty pannier and the body of the child in their hands. And the men marvelled at the resistance they had encountered.

A messenger had been at once despatched for medical assistance. The great hospital of Salpêtrière was near at hand.

"May as well take her to the morgue," muttered one.

"Soon enough,—soon enough," replied the river policeman. "Follow the custom."

Notwithstanding the general opinion that it was too late, a rough boatman had torn off a section of his flannel shirt and was chafing the cold little hands, while another