teen
months of detention on suspicion. And Putois remained undiscoverable.
Madame Cornouiller was the victim of another robbery, more audacious
than the first. Three small silver spoons were taken from her sideboard.
She recognized in this the hand of Putois, had a chain put on the door
of her bedroom, and was unable to sleep....

About ten o'clock in the evening, Pauline having gone to her room,
Mademoiselle Bergeret said to her brother: "Do not forget to relate how
Putois betrayed Madame Cornouiller's cook."--"I was thinking of it, my
sister," answered Monsieur Bergeret. "To omit it would be to lose the
best of the story. But everything must be done in order. Putois was
carefully searched for by the police, who could not find him. When it
was known that he could not be found, each one considered it his duty to
find him; the shrewd ones succeeded. And as there were many shrewd ones
at Saint-Omer and in the suburbs, Putois was seen simultaneously in the
streets, in the fields, and in the woods. Another trait was thus added
to his character. He was accorded the gift of ubiquity, the attribute
of many popular heroes. A being capable of leaping long distances in
a moment, and suddenly showing himself at the place where he was least
expected, was honestly frightening. Putois was the terror of Saint-Omer.
Madame Cornouiller, convinced that Putois had stolen from her three
melons and three little spoons, lived in a state of fear, barricaded at
Montplaisir. Bolts, bars, and locks did not reassure her. Putois was
for her a frightfully subtle being who could pass through doors. Trouble
with her servants redoubled her fear. Her cook having been betrayed,
the time came when she could no longer hide her misfortune. But she
obstinately refused to name her betrayer."--"Her name was Gudule," said
Mademoiselle Zoe.--"Her name was Gudule, and she believed that she was
protected from danger by a long, forked bead that she wore on her chin.
The sudden appearance of a beard protected the innocence of that holy
daughter of the king that Prague venerates. A beard, no longer youthful,
did not suffice to protect the virtue of Gudule. Madame Cornouiller
urged Gudule to tell her the man. Gudule burst into tears, but kept
silent. Prayers and menaces had no effect. Madame Cornouiller made a
long and circumstantial inquiry. She adroitly questioned her neighbors
and tradespeople, the gardener, the street-sweeper, the gendarmes;
nothing put her on th