There were some handkerchiefs in the bag, and some small toilet articles; a cake of soap in a case, a box of powder, a small purse containing some gold and silver, a postcard, two or three letters, and some trivial odds and ends such as every woman carries about with her. The searcher unfolded each of the handkerchiefs and held it against the light, he cut the cake of soap into minute fragments; he emptied the box of powder and ran an inquiring finger through its contents; he turned out the purse and looked at every coin it contained; then he sat down and read slowly and gravely the postcard and each of the letters and examined their postmarks, and finally he took one of the closely-written sheets, mounted on his chair, and held the sheet close against the chimney of the lamp until it was smoking with the heat, examining it with minute attention as though he rather expected to make some interesting discovery. As a finish to his researches, he ripped open the lining of the bag and turned it inside out. "Where did you buy this bag, madame?" he asked. "In Paris, a month ago." "These handkerchiefs are also French." "Certainly. French handkerchiefs are the best in the world." He compressed his lips and looked at her. "And that is a French hat," he went on. "Good heavens!" cried the girl. "One would think I was passing the customs at New York. Certainly it is French. So is my gown--so are my stockings--so is my underwear. For what else does an American woman come abroad?" He looked at her shoes. She saw his glance and understood it. "No; my shoes are American. The French do not know how to make shoes." "But the slippers are French." "Which slippers?" "The ones in your husband's bag." She turned laughingly to Stewart. "Have you been carrying a pair of my slippers all around Europe, Tommy?" she asked. "How did that happen?" "I don't know. I packed in rather a hurry," answered Stewart, sheepishly. "Where is the remainder of your baggage, madame?" asked the officer. "At Brussels--at least, I hope so. I sent it there direct from Spa." "Why did you do that?" "In order to avoid the examination at the frontier." "Why did not you yourself go direct to Brussels?" "I wished to see my husband. I had not seen him for almost a month," and she cast Stewart a fond smile. "Have you been recently married?" "We have been married four years," the girl informed him, with dignity. Stewart started to give some additional information about the family, but restrained himself. The inspector looked at them both keenly for a moment, scratching his bearded chin reflectively. Then he took a rapid turn up and down the shed, his brow furrowed in thought. "I shall have to ask you both to disrobe," he said, at last, and as Stewart started to his feet in hot protest, he added, quickly, "I have a woman who will disrobe Madame."