But the young sempstress did not yet understand of what crime she was accused. She soon discovered it, however, for the policeman, seizing the parcel which she had picked up and now held in her trembling hands, said to her rudely: “What is there in that bundle?”
“Sir—it is—I am going—” The unfortunate girl hesitated—unable, in her terror, to find the word.
“If that’s all you have to answer,” said the policeman, “it’s no great shakes. Come, make haste! turn your bundle inside out.”
So saying, the policeman snatched the parcel from her, half opened it, and repeated, as he enumerated the divers articles it contained: “The devil!—sheets—a spoon and fork—a silver mug—a shawl—a blanket—you’re a downy mot! it was not so bad a move. Dressed like a beggar, and with silver plate about you. Oh, yes! you’re a deep ‘un.”
“Those articles do not belong to you,” said the other officer.
“No, sir,” replied Mother Bunch, whose strength was failing her; “but—”
“Oh, vile hunchback! you have stolen more than you are big!”
“Stolen!” cried Mother Bunch, clasping her hands in horror, for she now understood it all. “Stolen!”
“The guard! make way for the lobsters!” cried several persons at once.
“Oh, ho! here’s the lobsters!”