At The Villa Rose

All the woman's bitter rancour against Celia, hidden for months

beneath a mask of humility, burst out and ran riot now. She went

to Adele Rossignol's help, and they flung the girl face downwards

upon the sofa. Her face struck the cushion at one end, her feet

the cushion at the other. The breath was struck out of her body.

She lay with her bosom heaving.

Helene Vauquier watched her for a moment with a grin, paying

herself now for her respectful speeches and attendance.

"Yes, lie quietly and reflect, little fool!" she said savagely.

"Were you wise to come here and interfere with Helene Vauquier?

Hadn't you better have stayed and danced in your rags at

Montmartre? Are the smart frocks and the pretty hats and the good

dinners worth the price? Ask yourself these questions, my dainty

little friend!"

She drew up a chair to Celia's side, and sat down upon it

comfortably.

"I will tell you what we are going to do with you, Mlle. Celie.

Adele Rossignol and that kind gentleman, M. Wethermill, are going

to take you away with them. You will be glad to go, won't you,

dearie? For you love M. Wethermill, don't you? Oh, they won't keep

you long enough for you to get tired of them. Do not fear! But you

will not come back, Mile. Celie. No; you have seen too much

to-night. And every one will think that Mlle. Celie helped to murder

and rob her benefactress. They are certain to suspect some one,

so why not you, pretty one?"

Celia made no movement. She lay trying to believe that no crime

had been committed, that that lifeless body did not lie against

the wall. And then she heard in the room above a bed wheeled

roughly from its place.

The two women heard it too, and looked at one another.

"He should look in the safe," said Vauquier. "Go and see what he

is doing."

And Adele Rossignol ran from the room.

As soon as she was gone Vauquier followed to the door, listened,

closed it gently, and came back. She stooped down.

"Mlle. Celie," she said, in a smooth, silky voice, which terrified

the girl more than her harsh tones, "there is just one little

thing wrong in your appearance, one tiny little piece of bad

taste, if mademoiselle will pardon a poor servant the expression.

I did not mention it before Adele Rossignol; she is so severe in

her criticism, is she not? But since we are alone, I will presume

to point out to mademoiselle that those diamond eardrops which I

see peeping out under the scarf are a little ostentatious in her

present predicament. They are a provocation to thieves. Will

mademoiselle permit me to remove them?"

She caught her by the neck and lifted her up. She pushed the lace

scarf up at the side of Celia's head. Celia began to struggle

furiously, convulsively. She kicked and writhed, and a little

tearing sound was heard. One of her shoe-buckles had caught in the

thin silk covering of the cushion and slit it. Helene Vauquier let

her fall. She felt composedly in her pocket, and drew from it an

aluminium flask--the same flask which Lemerre was afterward to

snatch up in the bedroom in Geneva. Celia stared at her in dread.

She saw the flask flashing in the light. She shrank from it. She

wondered what new horror was to grip her. Helene unscrewed the top

and laughed pleasantly.