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."
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.