Part 10 (1/2)

”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! a.s.sume that the company is a.s.sembled 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 p.r.o.nounce 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 att.i.tude 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 una.s.sailable. 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!”

Once more Helene's voice broke upon the words. But Hanaud poured her out a gla.s.s 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?”