At The Villa Rose

Once more Helene's voice broke upon the words. But Hanaud poured

her out a glass of water and held it to her lips. Helene drank it

eagerly.

"There, that is better, is it not?" he said.

"Yes, monsieur," said Helene Vauquier, recovering herself.

"Sometimes, too," she resumed, "messages from the spirits would

flutter down in writing on the table."

"In writing?" exclaimed Hanaud quickly.

"Yes; answers to questions. Mlle. Celie had them ready. Oh, but

she was of an address altogether surprising.

"I see," said Hanaud slowly; and he added, "But sometimes, I

suppose, the questions were questions which Mlle. Celie could not

answer?"

"Sometimes," Helene Vauquier admitted, "when visitors were

present. When Mme. Dauvray was alone--well, she was an ignorant

woman, and any answer would serve. But it was not so when there

were visitors whom Mlle. Celie did not know, or only knew

slightly. These visitors might be putting questions to test her,

of which they knew the answers, while Mlle. Celie did not."

"Exactly," said Hanaud. "What happened then?"

All who were listening understood to what point he was leading

Helene Vauquier. All waited intently for her answer.

She smiled.

"It was all one to Mlle. Celie."

"She was prepared with an escape from the difficulty?"

"Perfectly prepared."

Hanaud looked puzzled.

"I can think of no way out of it except the one," and he looked

round to the Commissaire and to Ricardo as though he would inquire

of them how many ways they had discovered. "I can think of no

escape except that a message in writing should flutter down from

the spirit appealed to saying frankly," and Hanaud shrugged his

shoulders, "'I do not know.'"

"Oh no no, monsieur," replied Helene Vauquier in pity for Hanaud's

misconception, "I see that you are not in the habit of attending

seances. It would never do for a spirit to admit that it did not

know. At once its authority would be gone, and with it Mlle.

Celie's as well. But on the other hand, for inscrutable reasons

the spirit might not be allowed to answer."

"I understand," said Hanaud, meekly accepting the correction. "The

spirit might reply that it was forbidden to answer, but never that

it did not know."

"No, never that," [agreed] Helene. So it seemed that Hanaud must

look elsewhere for the explanation of that sentence. "I do not

know." Helene continued: "Oh, Mlle. Celie--it was not easy to

baffle her, I can tell you. She carried a lace scarf which she

could drape about her head, and in a moment she would be, in the

dim light, an old, old woman, with a voice so altered that no one

could know it. Indeed, you said rightly, monsieur--she was

clever."

To all who listened Helene Vauquier's story carried its

conviction. Mme. Dauvray rose vividly before their minds as a

living woman. Celie's trickeries were so glibly described that

they could hardly have been invented, and certainly not by this

poor peasant-woman whose lips so bravely struggled with Medici,

and Montespan, and the names of the other great ladies. How,

indeed, should she know of them at all? She could never have had

the inspiration to concoct the most convincing item of her story--

the queer craze of Mme. Dauvray for an interview with Mme. de

Montespan. These details were assuredly the truth.