At The Villa Rose

"Now, Celie," said Adele, with a vibration in her voice which

Celia had not remarked before.

Excitement was gaining upon her, as upon Mme. Dauvray. Her face

was flushed and shiny, her manner peremptory and quick. Celia's

uneasiness grew into fear. She could have used the words which

Hanaud spoke the next day in that very room--"There is something

here which I do not understand." The touch of Adele Tact's hands

communicated something to her--something which filled her with a

vague alarm. She could not have formulated it if she would; she

dared not if she could. She had but to stand and submit.

"Now," said Adele.

She took the girl by the shoulders and set her in a clear space in

the middle of the room, her back to the recess, her face to the

mirror, where all could see her.

"Now, Celie"--she had dropped the "Mlle." and the ironic suavity

of her manner--"try to free yourself."

For a moment the girl's shoulders worked, her hands fluttered. But

they remained helplessly bound.

"Ah, you will be content, Adele, to-night," cried Mme. Dauvray

eagerly.

But even in the midst of her eagerness--so thoroughly had she been

prepared--there lingered a flavour of doubt, of suspicion. In

Celia's mind there was still the one desperate resolve.

"I must succeed to-night," she said to herself--"I must!"

Adele Rossignol kneeled on the floor behind her. She gathered in

carefully the girl's frock. Then she picked up the long train,

wound it tightly round her limbs, pinioning and swathing them in

the folds of satin, and secured the folds with a cord about the

knees.

She stood up again.

"Can you walk, Celie?" she asked. "Try!"

With Helene Vauquier to support her if she fell, Celia took a tiny

shuffling step forward, feeling supremely ridiculous. No one,

however, of her audience was inclined to laugh. To Mme. Dauvray

the whole business was as serious as the most solemn ceremonial.

Adele was intent upon making her knots secure. Helene Vauquier was

the well-bred servant who knew her place. It was not for her to

laugh at her young mistress, in however ludicrous a situation she

might be.

"Now," said Adele, "we will tie mademoiselle's ankles, and then we

shall be ready for Mme. de Montespan."

The raillery in her voice had a note of savagery in it now.

Celia's vague terror grew. She had a feeling that a beast was

waking in the woman, and with it came a growing premonition of

failure. Vainly she cried to herself, "I must not fail to-night."

But she felt instinctively that there was a stronger personality

than her own in that room, taming her, condemning her to failure,

influencing the others.

She was placed in a chair. Adele passed a cord round her ankles,

and the mere touch of it quickened Celia to a spasm of revolt. Her

last little remnant of liberty was being taken from her. She

raised herself, or rather would have raised herself. But Helene

with gentle hands held her in the chair, and whispered under her

breath: "Have no fear! Madame is watching."