As he spoke, he bent over, and, taking a magnifier from his pocket, examined the lace, which still fluttered where it was caught.

“It is fine lace, I think.  What say you, M. Flocon?  You may be more experienced in such matters.”

“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 debris 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 victim like a bird of prey.

“If you mean that I am to bribe you—­”

“Fie, the nasty word!  But just a small present, a pretty gift, one or two yellow bits, twenty, thirty, forty francs—­you’d better.”  She shook the soft arm she held roughly, and anything seemed preferable than to be touched by this horrible woman.

“Wait, wait!” cried the Countess, shivering all over, and, feeling hastily for her purse, she took out several napoleons.

“Aha! oho!  One, two, three,” said the searcher in a fat, wheedling voice.  “Four, yes, four, five;” and she clinked the coins together in her palm, while a covetous light came into her faded eyes at the joyous sound.  “Five—­make it five at once, d’ye hear me?—­or I’ll call them in and tell them.  That will go against you, my princess.  What, try to bribe a poor old woman, Mother Tontaine, honest and incorruptible Tontaine?  Five, then, five!”

With trembling haste the Countess emptied the whole contents of her purse in the old hag’s hand.

“Bon aubaine.  Nice pickings.  It is a misery what they pay me here.  I am, oh, so poor, and I have children, many babies.  You will not tell them—­the police—­you dare not.  No, no, no.”