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166 like it. No one can get anything like it; for I was assured in Paris the pattern was destroyed, and there never should be another like it."

"Does that make it any more valuable, mamma? asked Miss Ophelia, who happily was yet ignorant of the ludicrous ambitions and rivalries of the dressing world.

"Certainly, my dear," interposed Adéle. "I lived with one lady who would not wear nothing everybody else wore; and one time she burnt up one new pretty hat because she saw one just like it. Ah, madame, you must find that cape, so distingué—why not search your own house before you search the police?"

Mrs. Hartell shrugged her shoulders. "The servants will all be angry—and then Mr. Hartell will be angry."

"They cannot be angry with you, madame, for I make the proposition. I am one of the servants, and you shall search my trunk, my box, my bureau first." And, suiting the action to the word, she took her keys from her pocket and gave them to Ophelia, who, like all children, delighted with the idea of exploring, flew to Adéle's trunk; and, opening it, exposed a confused mass of clothes, finery, little boxes, knickknacks, and toys of every description, such as would naturally be accumulated by a French femme de chambre. Miss Ophelia was so much amused that she seemed to have forgotten the object of her quest, and Adéle came to her aid, and saying, "You will never find the cape this way, Miss Ophelia," she proceeded with the keen scent of a trained policeman to ransack boxes, unroll stockings, turn the sleeves of dresses, shake out