At The Villa Rose

"Keep your hands so, please, mademoiselle," said Adele; "your

fingers loose."

And the next moment Celia winced and had to bite her lip to

prevent a cry. The thin cord was wound twice about her wrists,

drawn cruelly tight and then cunningly knotted. For one second

Celia was thankful for her gloves; the next, more than ever she

regretted that she wore them. It would have been difficult enough

for her to free her hands now, even without them. And upon that a

worse thing befell her.

"I beg mademoiselle's pardon if I hurt her," said Adele.

And she tied the girl's thumbs and little fingers. To slacken the

knots she must have the use of her fingers, even though her gloves

made them fumble. Now she had lost the use of them altogether. She

began to feel that she was in master-hands. She was sure of it the

next instant. For Adele stood up, and, passing a cord round the

upper part of her arms, drew her elbows back. To bring any

strength to help her in wriggling her hands free she must be able

to raise her elbows. With them trussed in the small of her back

she was robbed entirely of her strength. And all the time her

strange uneasiness grew. She made a movement of revolt, and at

once the cord was loosened.

"Mlle. Celie objects to my tests," said Adele, with a laugh, to

Mme. Dauvray. "And I do not wonder."

Celia saw upon the old woman's foolish and excited face a look of

veritable consternation.

"Are you afraid, Celie?" she asked.

There was anger, there was menace in the voice, but above all

these there was fear--fear that her illusions were to tumble about

her. Celia heard that note and was quelled by it. This folly of

belief, these seances, were the one touch of colour in Mme.

Dauvray's life. And it was just that instinctive need of colour

which had made her so easy to delude. How strong the need is, how

seductive the proposal to supply it, Celia knew well. She knew it

from the experience of her life when the Great Fortinbras was at

the climax of his fortunes. She had travelled much amongst

monotonous, drab towns without character or amusements. She had

kept her eyes open. She had seen that it was from the denizens of

the dull streets in these towns that the quack religions won their

recruits. Mme. Dauvray's life had been a featureless sort of

affair until these experiments had come to colour it. Madame

Dauvray must at any rate preserve the memory of that colour.

"No," she said boldly; "I am not afraid," and after that she moved

no more.

Her elbows were drawn firmly back and tightly bound. She was sure

she could not free them. She glanced in despair at Helene

Vauquier, and then some glimmer of hope sprang up. For Helene

Vauquier gave her a look, a smile of reassurance. It was as if she

said, "I will come to your help." Then, to make security still

more sure, Adele turned the girl about as unceremoniously as if

she had been a doll, and, passing a cord at the back of her arms,

drew both ends round in front and knotted them at her waist.