Neither tears nor entreaties had any effect upon the brigadier, and a little later the van of the Tamby family, with a gendarme at either side, was on its way to the court-house.

Nalla, his trunk hanging down despondently, and giving vent to groanings that strongly resembled sobs, followed in the rear, apparently understanding and sharing in the overwhelming trouble of his young owners.

The sous-prÉfet was a stern old man, having a high sense of his own importance, and of the dignity of the law which he represented.

He listened gravely to the report of the brigadier, who added many embellishments to the actual facts in making it, and, deciding that the case was one which would require careful investigation, directed that the children should be kept in confinement until he was at leisure to give their matter due attention.

And so behold the three of them without having done the slightest harm, but on the contrary been the victims of the cruelest wrong, put in prison just as if they were malefactors!

Poor old Nalla, sorely perplexed at the whole proceeding, followed them to the prison, and would have liked to enter with them. But as that, of course, was not possible, he took up his station beside the door, swaying his trunk and groaning in a piteous fashion.

Thus it came about, through the irony of fate, that the money which the well-meaning Madame PradÈre had, in the goodness of her heart, given the Tamby children to be a help to them at some critical time, had only served to add to their trouble. Because of its possession they were imprisoned as thieves.

The brigadier, on finding such an amount as two hundred francs in the hands of Nadine after the girl had complained to him of having been robbed of all her money, suspected that there was something wrong. Her explanation that it was a gift from a charitable lady seemed to him very fishy, to say the least.

"These young vagabonds," he reasoned, "have stolen that money, and we shall presently find out the truth about it. When the sous-prÉfet examines them they will be made to tell everything."

It is needless to say that that was a dreadful night for the poor young Tambys. They spent it in weeping and lamenting their cruel fate, which they could not understand that they had in any way deserved, although Nadine, the dear innocent, seemed to think that she was in some way to blame.

"Didn't I promise," she wailed, "when our father died, that, being the eldest, I would take such care of you, and yet I have allowed Lydia, our little one, who has so much need of a mother, to be carried off, the good God only knows where!"

"Don't blame yourself, Nadine," said CÆsar soothingly, putting his arm affectionately around her. "We shall find her again, never fear. If it costs my life I shall get her back again."

He was a sturdy high-spirited chap, CÆsar, and although younger than Nadine, now that she was so overcome with grief, he took upon himself the part of comforter and champion.

But poor little Abel buried his head in her lap, sobbing piteously, and murmuring "Lydia—Lydia—where is my sister, Lydia?"

It was not until ten o'clock in the morning that the key grated in the lock of the massive door, which on opening disclosed the portly figure of the brigadier.

"Now, then," he said in his deep rough voice, "come along with me. The sous-prÉfet has arrived, and is awaiting you, and he will attend to your affair. I give you warning beforehand that it will be useless for you to attempt to deceive him. The sous-prÉfet is a very clever man, and has no pity for tramps who boldly tell lies."

These cruel words stung Nadine and CÆsar so that they found it hard to keep back a retort, but they looked at each other in a significant way, and in silence followed the bullying brigadier.

Patiently awaiting them at the door of the prison were Vigilant and Nalla. The former, as soon as he perceived his young owners, set up a joyous barking and gamboling about them, showing his affection and delight. Nalla, on his part, waved his trunk up and down, and indulged in funny rumblings which were expressive of his gladness at seeing them again.

"Stay there!" commanded the brigadier sternly, but the elephant took no notice of him, and ambled along behind the children.

It was Sunday morning, and the streets of the town of Beaulieu were full of people, many of them being farming folk from the neighborhood, who had come in to attend church, and through the midst of this curious crowd the unfortunate Tamby children, their faces crimsoned with shame, were compelled to pass in charge of two gendarmes, just as if they were criminals.

When they reached the entrance of the court-house, Nadine turned to Nalla, and, patting his trunk tenderly, said:

"Dear old friend, you must be very wise now, very wise indeed, lest some fresh trouble come upon us."

And while Nalla responded with his queer grunting, Nadine saw that he too had his anxieties. He turned his huge head from right to left, looking at the children with his bright little eyes in an inquiring way. The fact of the matter was that the old fellow was seeking for his little pet, Lydia. He could not understand her absence from the group, and he wanted the others to explain it to him. But that was just what they could not do.

The sous-prÉfet at Beaulieu was a retired army officer, who had brought with him from the service a very stern and imperious manner. He had a white mustache and beard, and bushy white eyebrows, which gave him such a cross look, one could not expect to receive much courtesy or consideration at his hands.

He was busy at a desk littered with papers when the brigadier brought the Tambys before him. At first sight of him the children were filled with fear, his whole appearance was so severe.

"Your Honor," said the brigadier, "I bring the prisoners before you."

"Very well, wait there!" was the sharp reply, given without looking up from the paper, at which he continued to write.

"Wait here!" the brigadier repeated to the children, who certainly had no thought of stirring, however glad they would have been to do so.

For several minutes there was no sound save the scratching of the magistrate's pen as he wrote busily without taking any notice whatever of the Tambys.

After a little he began to question the brigadier, and to put down his answers in writing. The brigadier told his story at length, and with many big words, being evidently anxious to make as much of it as possible.

When he had at last finished, the magistrate turned his fierce eyes upon the children, and scrutinized them sharply:

"But where are their parents?" he demanded sternly.

"The little vagabonds insist upon it that they have none," replied the gendarme.

"That they have none!" exclaimed the magistrate. "Are they traveling about alone?"

"The young rascals pretend that they have lost their father and mother," continued the brigadier.

The magistrate gave the children a piercing glance. He evidently was not disposed to credit their ability to take care of themselves.

"Come here, young girl!" he commanded Nadine, and when she had stepped up to his desk he went on: "And so you declare that somebody has taken away your sister at the Beaulieu fair?"

"Yes, sir," Nadine replied.

"And what is your sister's age?" he inquired.

"She is six years old, sir."

"Could it not be on account of your unkind treatment of her that your sister ran away?" was the next query.

Poor Nadine flushed to the roots of her hair, and her eye flashed indignantly at this contemptible insinuation from the magistrate.

"Unkind treatment!" she cried, her voice quivering with anger. "I never treated Lydia unkindly, as any one who knows about us can tell you. I have always done my best to be as tender with her as our dear mother would have been. I can assure you, sir, that Lydia is as fond of us as we are of her. We all four love each other dearly, and we are very happy together, and the idea of her leaving us of her own accord is absurd. She must have been taken away by some evil person—and only the good God knows what they will do with her." Here her indignation changed to grief, and covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.

The stern old magistrate, instead of being convinced by the manifest sincerity and truthfulness of the young girl, shook his head, as though to say:

"That's all very fine, but I don't put much faith in it," and after a pause put another question.

"Was not your sister of a very headstrong nature?"

"Indeed she was not," sobbed Nadine, "she was always most affectionate and gentle, and perfectly obedient."

"We will see about that," grunted the magistrate, looking rather dissatisfied at the result of his examination thus far.

He was silent for a time while he fiddled with the papers on his desk, and then he recommenced his questions.

"You pretend also that you have been robbed of all the money you possessed while you were asleep, and you add that that sleep was not natural, but was caused by being drugged? Is that the case?"

"That is what I have told, sir, and it is the very truth," answered Nadine firmly, for she had now recovered herself.

"A pretty story, truly," retorted the magistrate, harshly, "and one that speaks volumes for your imagination. But there is another part of your story which is even more preposterous. You assert that a kind-hearted lady gave you two hundred francs about a month ago?"

"I swear to you that this is true!" exclaimed Nadine. "When Madame PradÈre gave me the envelope I did not know what was in it, because she impressed upon me that I must not open it until I was in very great trouble. So I kept it carefully, and did not open it, as we were doing very well with our performances, and had no trouble until this came to us. Then I thought of what she had told me, and opened the envelope when the gendarmes were present."

"Young girl," said the magistrate solemnly, "in your interest I enjoin you to make a full confession of the real truth without any longer attempting to mislead the law. Take my word for it, you must not try to speak falsely as to things which sooner or later must be found out, if you would hope for the consideration of the authorities before whom you are brought. So now, my child, think well, and be perfectly frank with me. This is no doubt only a temporary giving away to wrong. You were strongly tempted, and you succumbed to the temptation by taking money which was not your own. Tell me all, my child. Where did you get that money?"