d these are the best treated of all. They are
asked no gruff, surly questions, but with a wink and a jest in they go.

On the outer edge of the crowd, among those who waited till the first
rush was over, stood a dark, wiry little woman with a face remarkable
alike for its resolution and its innocence. She could not have been more
than twenty-five years old. She looked as if she had seen much of the
world, but had illy learned the lessons of her experience. This
combination of strength and simplicity had wrought a curious effect upon
her manner. There was no timidity about her, but much gentleness. She
was modest and clothed with repose, and yet the outlines of her face
plainly informed you that in the presence of a sufficient emergency she
was quite prepared to go anywhere or do anything.

"I want to see Monsieur Tulitz," she said to the entry clerk, when her
opportunity came.

He gave her a ticket without asking any questions, except the formal
ones, and then turned her over to the matron.

The matron of the Tombs has been there many years, and she knows how to
read faces.

"Your ticket says you are Madame Tulitz?" said the matron.

"Yes."

"I must search you."

"Very well."

"It must be thorough."

"Very well."

[Illustration: "I WANT TO SEE MONSIEUR TULITZ," SHE SAID.]

"Please take off your hat and let down your hair."

She did as she was bidden, and a great mass of dark hair tumbled nearly
to her feet. The matron immediately and with practiced dexterity twisted
it up again. Then her shoes, dress, and corsets were removed, until the
matron was enabled to tell that nothing could by any possibility be
concealed about her.

"It's all right," said the matron. "I'm sorry to trouble you so much,
but I have to be very careful."

"You needn't apologize. Now can I go?"

"Yes."

She adjusted her hat and proceeded through the long corridors out into
the prison yard, and thence into the old prison where Tulitz was
confined. The guard who had sent her Tulitz's letter led her to his
cell, and brought a stool for her to sit upon outside his grated iron
door.

"My _ravissante_ Corinne!" cried Tulitz.

She put her fingers through the bars, and he bent to kiss them, coming,
as he did so, in contact with two little files of the hardest steel.

"_Diable!_" he said.

"I had them in my hat. I made them serve as the stems of these lilies."

"Ze woman she make ze wily t'ing. How young and _charmante_ she seem