Celia did not foresee the hatred she was arousing; nor, on the
other hand, did she foresee the overwhelming effect of these
spiritualistic seances on Mme. Dauvray. Celia had never been
brought quite close to the credulous before.
"There had always been the row of footlights," she said. "I was on
the platform; the audience was in the hall; or, if it was at a
house, my father made the arrangements. I only came in at the last
moment, played my part, and went away. It was never brought home
to me that some amongst these people really and truly believed. I
did not think about it. Now, however, when I saw Mme. Dauvray so
feverish, so excited, so firmly convinced that great ladies from
the spirit world came and spoke to her, I became terrified. I had
aroused a passion which I had not suspected. I tried to stop the
seances, but I was not allowed. I had aroused a passion which I
could not control. I was afraid that Mme. Dauvray's whole life--it
seems absurd to those who did not know her, but those who did will
understand--yes, her whole life and happiness would be spoilt if
she discovered that what she believed in was all a trick."
She spoke with a simplicity and a remorse which it was difficult
to disbelieve. M. Fleuriot, the judge, now at last convinced that
the Dreyfus affair was for nothing in the history of this crime,
listened to her with sympathy.
"That is your explanation, mademoiselle," he said gently. "But I
must tell you that we have another."
"Yes, monsieur?" Celia asked.
"Given by Helene Vauquier," said Fleuriot.
Even after these days Celia could not hear that woman's name
without a shudder of fear and a flinching of her whole body. Her
face grew white, her lips dry.
"I know, monsieur, that Helene Vauquier is not my friend," she
said. "I was taught that very cruelly."
"Listen, mademoiselle, to what she says," said the judge, and he
read out to Celia an extract or two from Hanaud's report of his
first interview with Helene Vauquier in her bedroom at the Villa
Rose.
"You hear what she says. 'Mme. Dauvray 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.' And again,
speaking of Mme. Dauvray's queer craze that the spirit of Mme. de
Montespan should be called up, Helene Vauquier says: 'She was
never gratified. Always she hoped. Always Mlle. Celie tantalised
her with the hope. She would not spoil her fine affairs by making
these treats too common.' Thus she attributes your reluctance to
multiply your experiments to a desire to make the most profit
possible out of your wares, like a good business woman."