“Have the kindness to follow me, madame,” repeated the inspector, without raising his voice.
Her face was full of anguish, she threw a rapid glance around her. Then she resigned herself all at once, resumed her haughty look, and walked by his side like a queen who deigns to accept the services of an aide-de-camp. Not one of the customers had observed the scene, and Deloche, on returning to the counter, looked at her being walked off, his mouth wide open with astonishment What! this one as well! this noble-looking lady! Really it was time to have them all searched! And Blanche, who was left free, followed her mother at a distance, lingering amidst the sea of faces, livid, divided between the duty of not deserting her mother and the terror of being detained with her. She saw her enter Bourdoncle's office, but she contented herself with waiting near the door. Bourdoncle, whom Mouret had just got rid of, happened to be there. As a rule, he dealt with these sorts of robberies committed by persons of distinction. Jouve had long been watching this lady, and had informed him of it, so that he was not astonished when the inspector briefly explained the matter to him; in fact, such extraordinary cases passed through his hands that he declared the women capable of anything once the rage for dress had seized them. As he was aware of Mouret's acquaintance with the thief, he treated her with the utmost politeness.
“We excuse these moments of weakness, madame. But pray consider the consequences of such a thing. Suppose some one else had seen you slip this lace——”
But she interrupted him in great indignation. She a thief! Who did he take her for? She was the Countess de Boves, her husband, Inspector-General of the Stud, was received at Court.
“I know, I know, madame,” repeated Bourdoncle, quietly. “I have the honour of knowing you. In the first place, will you kindly give up the lace you have on you?”
She again protested, not allowing him to say another word, handsome in her violence, going as far as tears. Any one else but he would have been shaken and feared some deplorable mistake, for she threatened to go to law to avenge herself for such an insult.
“Take care, sir, my husband will certainly appeal to the Minister.”
“Come, you are not more reasonable than the others,” declared Bourdoncle, losing patience. “We must search you.”
Still she did not yield, but said with her superb assurance, “Very good, search me. But I warn you, you are risking your house.”
Jouve went to fetch two saleswomen from the corset department. When he returned, he informed Bourdoncle that the lady's daughter, left at liberty, had not quitted the doorway, and asked if she should also be detained, although he had not seen her take anything. The manager, always correct, decided that she should not be brought in, for the sake of morality, and in order not to force a mother to blush before her daughter. The two men retired into a neighbouring room, whilst the saleswomen searched the countess, even taking off her dress to search her bosom and hips. Besides the twelve yards of Alençon point at a thousand francs the yard concealed in her sleeve, they found in her bosom a handkerchief, a fan, and a cravat, making a total of about fourteen thousand francs' worth of lace. She had been stealing like this for the last year, ravaged by a furious, irresistible passion for dress. These fits got worse, growing daily, sweeping away all the reasonings of prudence, and the enjoyment she felt in the indulgence of this passion was all the more violent from the fact that she was risking before the eyes of a crowd her name, her pride, and her husband's high position. Now that the latter allowed her to empty his drawers, she stole although she had her pockets full of money, she stole for the pleasure of stealing, as one loves for the pleasure of loving, goaded on by desire, urged on by the species of kleptomania that her unsatisfied luxurious tastes had developed in her formerly at sight of the enormous and brutal temptation of the big shops.