At The Villa Rose

But she had mastered herself. For opposite to her sat her

patroness, her good friend, the woman who had saved her. The flush

upon Mme. Dauvray's cheeks and the agitation of her manner warned

Celia how much hung upon the success of this last seance. How much

for both of them!

And in the fullness of that knowledge a great fear assailed her.

She began to be afraid, so strong was her reluctance, that she

would not bring her heart into the task. "Suppose I failed tonight

because I could not force myself to wish not to fail!" she

thought, and she steeled herself against the thought. Tonight she

must not fail. For apart altogether from Mme. Dauvray's happiness,

her own, it seemed, was at stake too.

"It must be from my lips that Harry learns what I have been," she

said to herself, and with the resolve she strengthened herself.

"I will wear what you please," she said, with a smile. "I only

wish Mme. Rossignol to be satisfied."

"And I shall be," said Adele, "if--" She leaned forward in

anxiety. She had come to the real necessity of Helene Vauquier's

plan. "If we abandon as quite laughable the cupboard door and the

string across it; if, in a word, mademoiselle consents that we tie

her hand and foot and fasten her securely in a chair. Such

restraints are usual in the experiments of which I have read. Was

there not a medium called Mlle. Cook who was secured in this way,

and then remarkable things, which I could not believe, were

supposed to have happened?"

"Certainly I permit it," said Celia, with indifference; and Mme.

Dauvray cried enthusiastically: "Ah, you shall believe tonight in those wonderful things!"

Adele Tace leaned back. She drew a breath. It was a breath of

relief.

"Then we will buy the cord in Aix," she said.

"We have some, no doubt, in the house," said Mme. Dauvray.

Adele shook her head and smiled.

"My dear madame, you are dealing with a sceptic. I should not be

content."

Celia shrugged her shoulders.

"Let us satisfy Mme. Rossignol," she said.

Celia, indeed, was not alarmed by this last precaution. For her it

was a test less difficult than the light-coloured rustling robe.

She had appeared upon so many platforms, had experienced too often

the bungling efforts of spectators called up from the audience, to

be in any fear. There were very few knots from which her small

hands and supple fingers had not learnt long since to extricate

themselves. She was aware how much in all these matters the

personal equation counted. Men who might, perhaps, have been able

to tie knots from which she could not get free were always too

uncomfortable and self-conscious, or too afraid of hurting her

white arms and wrists, to do it. Women, on the other hand, who had

no compunctions of that kind, did not know how.