"No, the pretty young lady, Miss Mainwaring, has it at present. There is
nothing to see in it. But that one opposite," and the valet advanced to
the door through which Madame Dalibard had disappeared,--"that is
curious; and as Madame is out, we may just take a peep." He opened the
door gently, and Beck looked in. "This, which is called the turret-
chamber, was Madame's when she was a girl, I have heard old Bessy say; so
Master pops her there now. For my part, I'd rather sleep in your little
crib than have those great gruff-looking figures staring at me by the
firelight, and shaking their heads with every wind on a winter's night."
And the valet took a pinch of snuff as he drew Beck's attention to the
faded tapestry on the walls. As they spoke, the draught between the door
and the window caused the gloomy arras to wave with a life-like motion;
and to those more superstitious than romantic, the chamber had certainly
no inviting aspect.

"I never sees these old tapestry rooms," said the valet, "without
thinking of the story of the lady who, coming from a ball and taking off
her jewels, happened to look up, and saw an eye in one of the figures
which she felt sure was no peeper in worsted."

"Vot vos it, then?" asked Beck, timidly lifting up the hangings, and
noticing that there was a considerable space between them and the wall,
which was filled up in part by closets and wardrobes set into the walls,
with intervals more than deep enough for the hiding-place of a man.

"Why," answered the valet, "it was a thief. He had come for the jewels;
but the lady had the presence of mind to say aloud, as if to herself,
that she had forgotten something, slipped out of the room, locked the
door, called up the servants, and the thief--who was no less a person
than the under-butler--was nabbed."