At The Villa Rose
Page 124Adele looked fiercely up into the girl's face.
"Keep still, hein, la petite!" she cried. And the epithet--"little
one"--was a light to Celia. Till now, upon these occasions, with
her black ceremonial dress, her air of aloofness, her vague eyes,
and the dignity of her carriage, she had already produced some
part of their effect before the seance had begun. She had been
wont to sail into the room, distant, mystical. She had her
audience already expectant of mysteries, prepared for marvels. Her
work was already half done. But now of all that help she was
deprived. She was no longer a person aloof, a prophetess, a seer
of visions; she was simply a smartly-dressed girl of today,
trussed up in a ridiculous and painful position--that was all. The
dignity was gone. And the more she realised that, the more she was
hindered from influencing her audience, the less able she was to
Dauvray's suspicions, she was sure, were still awake. She could
not quell them. There was a stronger personality than hers at work
in the room. The cord bit through her thin stockings into her
ankles. She dared not complain. It was savagely tied. She made no
remonstrance. And then Helene Vauquier raised her up from the
chair and lifted her easily off the ground. For a moment she held
her so. If Celia had felt ridiculous before, she knew that she was
ten times more so now. She could see herself as she hung in Helene
Vauquier's arms, with her delicate frock ludicrously swathed and
swaddled about her legs. But, again, of those who watched her no
one smiled.
"We have had no such tests as these," Mme. Dauvray explained, half
in fear, half in hope.
satisfaction. She had no animosity towards Celia; she had really
no feeling of any kind for her or against her. Fortunately she was
unaware at this time that Harry Wethermill had been paying his
court to her or it would have gone worse with Mlle. Celie before
the night was out. Mlle. Celie was just a pawn in a very dangerous
game which she happened to be playing, and she had succeeded in
engineering her pawn into the desired condition of helplessness.
She was content.
"Mademoiselle," she said, with a smile, "you wish me to believe.
You have now your opportunity."
Opportunity! And she was helpless. She knew very well that she
could never free herself from these cords without Helene's help.
She would fail, miserably and shamefully fail.
And Adele Rossignol laughed suddenly--a short, loud, harsh laugh,
which jarred upon the quiet of the room. It turned Celia's vague
alarm into a definite terror. Some magnetic current brought her
grave messages of fear. The air about her seemed to tingle with
strange menaces. She looked at Adele. Did they emanate from her?
And her terror answered her "Yes." She made her mistake in that.
The strong personality in the room was not Adele Rossignol, but
Helene Vauquier, who held her like a child in her arms. But she
was definitely aware of danger, and too late aware of it. She
struggled vainly. From her head to her feet she was powerless. She
cried out hysterically to her patron: "Madame! Madame! There is something--a presence here--some one who
means harm! I know it!"