"But," said Celia, "without jewels and fine clothes and chic these
go for nothing in Paris. At last, however, Mme. Dauvray came in
with a party of friends from a theatre, and saw how unhappy I was,
and gave me some supper. She asked me about myself, and I told
her. She was very kind, and took me home with her, and I cried all
the way in the carriage. She kept me a few days, and then she told
me that I was to live with her, for often she was lonely too, and
that if I would she would some day find me a nice, comfortable
husband and give me a marriage portion. So all my troubles seemed
to be at an end," said Celia, with a smile.
Within a fortnight Mme. Dauvray confided to Celia that there was a
new fortune-teller come to Paris, who, by looking into a crystal,
could tell the most wonderful things about the future. The old
woman's eyes kindled as she spoke. She took Celia to the fortune-
teller's rooms next day, and the girl quickly understood the
ruling passion of the woman who had befriended her. It took very
little time then for Celia to notice how easily Mme. Dauvray was
duped, how perpetually she was robbed. Celia turned the problem
over in her mind.
"Madame had been very good to me. She was kind and simple," said
Celia, with a very genuine affection in her voice. "The people
whom we knew laughed at her, and were ungenerous. But there are
many women whom the world respects who are worse than ever was
poor Mme. Dauvray. I was very fond of her, so I proposed to her
that we should hold a seance, and I would bring people from the
spirit world I knew that I could amuse her with something much
more clever and more interesting than the fortune-tellers. And at
the same time I could save her from being plundered. That was all
I thought about."
That was all she thought about, yes. She left Helene Vauquier out
of her calculations, and she did not foresee the effect of her
stances upon Mme. Dauvray. Celia had no suspicions of Helene
Vauquier. She would have laughed if any one had told her that this
respectable and respectful middle-aged woman, who was so
attentive, so neat, so grateful for any kindness, was really
nursing a rancorous hatred against her. Celia had sprung from
Montmartre suddenly; therefore Helene Vauquier despised her. Celia
had taken her place in Mme. Dauvray's confidence, had deposed her
unwittingly, had turned the confidential friend into a mere
servant; therefore Helene Vauquier hated her. And her hatred
reached out beyond the girl, and embraced the old, superstitious,
foolish woman, whom a young and pretty face could so easily
beguile. Helene Vauquier despised them both, hated them both, and
yet must nurse her rancour in silence and futility. Then came the
seances, and at once, to add fuel to her hatred, she found herself
stripped of those gifts and commissions which she had exacted from
the herd of common tricksters who had been wont to make their
harvest out of Mme. Dauvray. Helene Vauquier was avaricious and
greedy, like so many of her class. Her hatred of Celia, her
contempt for Mme. Dauvray, grew into a very delirium. But it was a
delirium she had the cunning to conceal. She lived at white heat,
but to all the world she had lost nothing of her calm.