"The finest, or nearly so; I believe it is Valenciennes--the trimming of
some underclothing, I should think. That surely is sufficient, M. le
Juge?"

M. Beaumont le Hardi gave a reluctant consent, and the Chief went back
himself to see that the searching was undertaken without loss of time.

The Countess protested, but vainly, against this new indignity. What
could she do? A prisoner, practically friendless,--for the General was
not within reach,--to resist was out of the question. Indeed, she was
plainly told that force would be employed unless she submitted with a
good grace. There was nothing for it but to obey.

Mother Tontaine, as the female searcher called herself, was an
evil-visaged, corpulent old creature, with a sickly, soft, insinuating
voice, and a greasy, familiar manner that was most offensive. They had
given her the scrap of torn lace and the débris of the jet as a guide,
with very particular directions to see if they corresponded with any
part of the lady's apparel.

She soon showed her quality.

"Aha! oho! What is this, my pretty princess? How comes so great a lady
into the hands of Mother Tontaine? But I will not harm you, my beauty,
my pretty, my little one. Oh, no, no, I will not trouble you, dearie.
No, trust to me;" and she held out one skinny claw, and looked the other
way. The Countess did not or would not understand.

"Madame has money?" went on the old hag in a half-threatening,
half-coaxing whisper, as she came up quite close, and fastened on her