Meanwhile, in the hall Helene Vauquier locked and bolted the front
door. Then she stood motionless, with a smile upon her face and a
heart beating high. All through that afternoon she had been afraid
that some accident at the last moment would spoil her plan, that
Adele Tace had not learned her lesson, that Celie would take
fright, that she would not return. Now all those fears were over.
She had her victims safe within the villa. The charwoman had been
sent home. She had them to herself. She was still standing in the
hall when Mme. Dauvray called aloud impatiently: "Helene! Helene!"
And when she entered the salon there was still, as Celia was able
to recall, some trace of her smile lingering upon her face.
Adele Rossignol had removed her hat and was taking off her gloves.
Mme. Dauvray was speaking impatiently to Celia.
"We will arrange the room, dear, while Helene helps you to dress.
It will be quite easy. We shall use the recess."
And Celia, as she ran up the stairs, heard Mme. Dauvray discussing
with her maid what frock she should wear. She was hot, and she
took a hurried bath. When she came from her bathroom she saw with
dismay that it was her new pale-green evening gown which had been
laid out. It was the last which she would have chosen. But she
dared not refuse it. She must still any suspicion. She must
succeed. She gave herself into Helene's hands. Celia remembered
afterwards one or two points which passed barely heeded at the
time. Once while Helene was dressing her hair she looked up at the
maid in the mirror and noticed a strange and rather horrible grin
upon her face, which disappeared the moment their eyes met. Then
again, Helene was extraordinarily slow and extraordinarily
fastidious that evening. Nothing satisfied her, neither the hang
of the girl's skirt, the folds of her sash, nor the arrangement of
her hair.
"Come, Helene, be quick," said Celia. "You know how madame hates
to be kept waiting at these times. You might be dressing me to go
to meet my lover," she added, with a blush and a smile at her own
pretty reflection in the glass; and a queer look came upon Helene
Vauquier's face. For it was at creating just this very impression
that she aimed.
"Very well, mademoiselle," said Helene. And even as she spoke Mme.
Dauvray's voice rang shrill and irritable up the stairs.
"Celie! Celie!"
"Quick, Helene," said Celia. For she herself was now anxious to
have the seance over and done with.
But Helene did not hurry. The more irritable Mme. Dauvray became,
the more impatient with Mlle. Celie, the less would Mlle. Celie
dare to refuse the tests Adele wished to impose upon her. But that
was not all. She took a subtle and ironic pleasure to-night in
decking out her victim's natural loveliness. Her face, her slender
throat, her white shoulders, should look their prettiest, her
grace of limb and figure should be more alluring than ever before.
The same words, indeed, were running through both women's minds.