Thus muttering to herself, she shambled across the room to a corner, where she stowed the money safely away.  Then she came back, showed the bit of lace, and pressed it into the Countess’s hands.

“Do you know this, little one?  Where it comes from, where there is much more?  I was told to look for it, to search for it on you;” and with a quick gesture she lifted the edge of the Countess’s skirt, dropping it next moment with a low, chuckling laugh.

“Oho! aha!  You were right, my pretty, to pay me, my pretty—­right.  And some day, to-day, to-morrow, whenever I ask you, you will remember Mother Tontaine.”

The Countess listened with dismay.  What had she done?  Put herself into the power of this greedy and unscrupulous old beldame?

“And this, my princess?  What have we here, aha?”

Mere Tontaine held up next the broken bit of jet ornament for inspection, and as the Countess leaned forward to examine it more closely, gave it into her hand.

“You recognize it, of course.  But be careful, my pretty!  Beware!  If any one were looking, it would ruin you.  I could not save you then.  Sh! say nothing, only look, and quick, give it me back.  I must have it to show.”

All this time the Countess was turning the jet over and over in her open palm, with a perplexed, disturbed, but hardly a terrified air.

Yes, she knew it, or thought she knew it.  It had been—­But how had it come here, into the possession of this base myrmidon of the French police?

“Give it me, quick!” There was a loud knock at the door.  “They are coming.  Remember!” Mother Tontaine put her long finger to her lip.  “Not a word!  I have found nothing, of course.  Nothing, I can swear to that, and you will not forget Mother Tontaine?”

Now M. Flocon stood at the open door awaiting the searcher’s report.  He looked much disconcerted when the old woman took him on one side and briefly explained that the search had been altogether fruitless.

There was nothing to justify suspicion, nothing, so far as she could find.

The detective looked from one to the other—­from the hag he had employed in this unpleasant quest, to the lady on whom it had been tried.  The Countess, to his surprise, did not complain.  He had expected further and strong upbraidings.  Strange to say, she took it very quietly.  There was no indignation in her face.  She was still pale, and her hands trembled, but she said nothing, made no reference, at least, to what she had just gone through.

Again he took counsel with his colleague, while the Countess was kept apart.

“What next, M. Flocon?” asked the Judge.  “What shall we do with her?”

“Let her go,” answered the detective, briefly.

“What! do you suggest this, sir,” said the Judge, slyly.  “After your strong and well-grounded suspicions?”

“They are as strong as ever, stronger:  and I feel sure I shall yet justify them.  But what I wish now is to let her go at large, under surveillance.”