"What have you done with the locket you took from my casket yesterday afternoon?" asked the Lady Clotilde harshly.
The girl, who was pretty, and timid as a fawn of the wildwood, opened wide her eyes, and, gazing at the questioner in surprise, made no reply.
"I say," went on her tormentor in a louder tone, "what did you do with the ornament you took from my box yesterday? You slipped it out, you know, while I was sipping the wine you brought me."
"I, lady? I do not know of what you are speaking," replied Cimburga, in amazement.
"You know perfectly well of what I am speaking. You took it from my casket, I heard you, though you may think I did not, and now where is it?"
"I know nothing of it, Madame."
"Come now, that kind of a reply will not do. You have my moonstone in your possession and you must restore it to me at once."
"Madame, I am telling you the truth; I never have taken the smallest thing that did not belong to me, and of that my lady mistress will assure you."
"I can attest the truth of that statement, Cimburga," said her mistress gently, "but if you have been tempted by the sparkle of gems,—and you have a girl's love for things that glitter, even though you are in a lowly walk in life,—if you have taken the lady's ornament, as she seems certain that you have done, restore it to her. And this being your first offense, I promise you that your punishment shall be light."
"But, my mistress, how can I restore what I have not taken?" asked the girl simply.