“Your ladyship!” exclaimed Sartines, hugging the casket to his bosom in his terror.
“How do you do, Sartines?” she said, with her gay smile.
“And how are you, count?” she added to Fenix, holding out her hand.
He bowed familiarly over it and pressed his lips where the King had so often laid his. In this movement he had time to speak four words to her which the Chief of Police did not hear.
“Oh, here is my casket,” she said.
“Your casket,” stammered the Lieutenant of Police.
“Mine, of course. Oh, you have opened it—do not be nice about what does not belong to you! How delightful this is. This box was stolen from me, and I had the idea of going to Sartines to get it back. You found it, did you, oh, thank you.”
“With all respect to your ladyship,” said Sartines, “I am afraid you are letting yourself be imposed upon.”
“Impose? do you use such a word to me, my lord?” cried Balsamo. “This casket was confided to me by her ladyship a few days ago with all its contents.”
“I know what I know,” persisted the magistrate.