At The Villa Rose

There was a gentle and inviting irony in Hanaud's tone. M. Ricardo

was disappointed. Hanaud had after all not overlooked the

tambourine. Without Ricardo's reason to notice it, he had none the

less observed it and borne it in his memory.

"Well?" he asked.

"Oh, monsieur, the tambourines and the rapping on the table!"

cried Helene. "That was nothing--oh, but nothing at all.

Mademoiselle Celie would make spirits appear and speak!"

"Really! And she was never caught out! But Mlle. Celie must have

been a remarkably clever girl."

"Oh, she was of an address which was surprising. Sometimes madame

and I were alone. Sometimes there were others, whom madame in her

pride had invited. For she was very proud, monsieur, that her

companion could introduce her to the spirits of dead people. But

never was Mlle. Celie caught out. She told me that for many years,

even when quite a child, she had travelled through England giving

these exhibitions."

"Oho!" said Hanaud, and he turned to Wethermill. "Did you know

that?" he asked in English.

"I did not," he said. "I do not now."

Hanaud shook his head.

"To me this story does not seem invented," he replied. And then he

spoke again in French to Helene Vauquier. "Well, continue,

mademoiselle! Assume that the company is assembled for our

seance."

"Then Mlle. Celie, dressed in a long gown of black velvet, which

set off her white arms and shoulders well--oh, mademoiselle did

not forget those little trifles," Helene Vauquier interrupted her

story, with a return of her bitterness, to interpolate--

"mademoiselle would sail into the room with her velvet train

flowing behind her, and perhaps for a little while she would say

there was a force working against her, and she would sit silent in

a chair while madame gaped at her with open eyes. At last

mademoiselle would say that the powers were favourable and the

spirits would manifest themselves to night. Then she would be

placed in a cabinet, perhaps with a string tied across the door

outside--you will understand it was my business to see after the

string--and the lights would be turned down, or perhaps out

altogether. Or at other times we would sit holding hands round a

table, Mlle. Celie between Mme. Dauvray and myself. But in that

case the lights would be turned out first, and it would be really

my hand which held Mme. Dauvray's. And whether it was the cabinet

or the chairs, in a moment mademoiselle would be creeping silently

about the room in a little pair of soft-soled slippers without

heels, which she wore so that she might not be heard, and

tambourines would rattle as you say, and fingers touch the

forehead and the neck, and strange voices would sound from corners

of the room, and dim apparitions would appear--the spirits of

great ladies of the past, who would talk with Mme. Dauvray. Such

ladies as Mme. de Castiglione, Marie Antoinette, Mme. de Medici--I

do not remember all the names, and very likely I do not pronounce

them properly. Then the voices would cease and the lights be

turned up, and Mlle. Celie would be found in a trance just in the

same place and attitude as she had been when the lights were

turned out. Imagine, messieurs, the effect of such seances upon a

woman like Mme. Dauvray. She was made for them. She believed in

them implicitly. The words of the great ladies from the past--she

would remember and repeat them, and be very proud that such great

ladies had come back to the world merely to tell her--Mme.

Dauvray--about their lives. She would have had seances all day,

but Mlle. Celie pleaded that she was left exhausted at the end of

them. But Mlle. Celie was of an address! For instance--it will

seem very absurd and ridiculous to you, gentlemen, but you must

remember what Mme. Dauvray was--for instance, madame was

particularly anxious to speak with the spirit of Mme. de

Montespan. Yes, yes! She had read all the memoirs about that lady.

Very likely Mlle. Celie had put the notion into Mme. Dauvray's

head, for madame was not a scholar. But she was dying to hear that

famous woman's voice and to catch a dim glimpse of her face. Well,

she was never gratified. Always she hoped. Always Mlle. Celie

tantalised her with the hope. But she would not gratify it. She

would not spoil her fine affairs by making these treats too

common. And she acquired--how should she not?--a power over Mme.

Dauvray which was unassailable. The fortune-tellers had no more to

say to Mme. Dauvray. She did nothing but felicitate herself upon

the happy chance which had sent her Mlle. Celie. And now she lies

in her room murdered!"