CHAPTER XVI
THE FIRST MOVE
On the Friday before the crime was committed Mme. Dauvray and Celiadined at the Villa des Fleurs. While they were drinking their coffeeHarry Wethermill joined them. He stayed with them until Mme. Dauvraywas ready to move, and then all three walked into the baccarat roomstogether. But there, in the throng of people, they were separated.
Harry Wethermill was looking carefully after Celia, as a good lovershould. He had, it seemed, no eyes for any one else; and it was notuntil a minute or two had passed that the girl herself noticed thatMme. Dauvray was not with them.
"We will find her easily," said Harry.
"Of course," replied Celia.
"There is, after all, no hurry," said Wethermill, with a laugh; "andperhaps she was not unwilling to leave us together."
Celia dimpled to a smile.
"Mme. Dauvray is kind to me," she said, with a very pretty timidity.
"And yet more kind to me," said Wethermill in a low voice which broughtthe blood into Celia's cheeks.
But even while he spoke he soon caught sight of Mme. Dauvray standingby one of the tables; and near to her was Adele Tace. Adele had not yetmade Mme. Dauvray's acquaintance; that was evident. She was apparentlyunaware of her; but she was gradually edging towards her. Wethermillsmiled, and Celia caught the smile.
"What is it?" she asked, and her head began to turn in the direction ofMme. Dauvray.
"Why, I like your frock--that's all," said Wethermill at once; andCelia's eyes went down to it.
"Do you?" she said, with a pleased smile. It was a dress of dark bluewhich suited her well. "I am glad. I think it is pretty." And theypassed on.
Wethermill stayed by the girl's side throughout the evening. Once againhe saw Mme. Dauvray and Adele Tace. But now they were together; nowthey were talking. The first step had been taken. Adele Tace hadscraped acquaintance with Mme. Dauvray. Celia saw them almost at thesame moment.
"Oh, there is Mme. Dauvray," she cried, taking a step towards her.
Wethermill detained the girl.
"She seems quite happy," he said; and, indeed, Mme. Dauvray was talkingvolubly and with the utmost interest, the jewels sparkling about herneck. She raised her head, saw Celia, nodded to her affectionately, andthen pointed her out to her companion. Adele Tace looked the girl overwith interest and smiled contentedly. There was nothing to be fearedfrom her. Her youth, her very daintiness, seemed to offer her as theeasiest of victims.
"You see Mme. Dauvray does not want you," said Harry Wethermill. "Letus go and play CHEMIN-DE-FER"; and they did, moving off into one of thefurther rooms.
It was not until another hour had passed that Celia rose and went insearch of Mme. Dauvray. She found her still talking earnestly to AdeleTace. Mme. Dauvray got up at once.
"Are you ready to go, dear?" she asked, and she turned to Adele Tace."This is Celie, Mme. Rossignol," she said, and she spoke with a markedsignificance and a note of actual exultation in her voice.
Celia, however, was not unused to this tone. Mme. Dauvray was proud ofher companion, and had a habit of showing her off, to the girl'sdiscomfort. The three women spoke a few words, and then Mme. Dauvrayand Celia left the rooms and walked to the entrance-doors. But as theywalked Celia became alarmed.
She was by nature extraordinarily sensitive to impressions. It was tothat quick receptivity that the success of "The Great Fortinbras" hadbeen chiefly due. She had a gift of rapid comprehension. It was notthat she argued, or deducted, or inferred. But she felt. To take ametaphor from the work of the man she loved, she was a naturalreceiver. So now, although no word was spoken, she was aware that Mme.Dauvray was greatly excited--greatly disturbed; and she dreaded thereason of that excitement and disturbance.
While they were driving home in the motor-car she said apprehensively:
"You met a friend then, to-night, madame?"
"No," said Mme. Dauvray; "I made a friend. I had not met Mme. Rossignolbefore. A bracelet of hers came undone, and I helped her to fasten it.We talked afterwards. She lives in Geneva."
Mme. Dauvray was silent for a moment or two. Then she turnedimpulsively and spoke in a voice of appeal.
"Celie, we talked of things"; and the girl moved impatiently. Sheunderstood very well what were the things of which Mme. Dauvray and hernew friend had talked. "And she laughed. ... I could not bear it."
Celia was silent, and Mme. Dauvray went on in a voice of awe:
"I told her of the wonderful things which happened when I sat withHelene in the dark--how the room filled with strange sounds, howghostly fingers touched my forehead and my eyes. She laughed--AdeleRossignol laughed, Celie. I told her of the spirits with whom we heldconverse. She would not believe. Do you remember the evening, Celie,when Mme. de Castiglione came back an old, old woman, and told us how,when she had grown old and had lost her beauty and was very lonely, shewould no longer live in the great house which was so full of torturingmemories, but took a small APPARTEMENT near by, where no one knew her;and how she used to walk out late at night, and watch, with her eyesfull of tears, the dark windows which had been once so bright withlight? Adele Rossignol would not believe. I told her that I had foundthe story afterwards in a volume of memoirs. Adele Rossignol laughedand said no doubt you had read that volume yourself before the seance."
Celia stirred guiltily.
"She had no faith in you, Celie. It made me angry, dear. She said thatyou invented your own tests. She sneered at them. A string across acupboard! A child, she said, could manage that; much more, then, aclever young lady. Oh, she admitted that you were clever! Indeed, sheurged that you were far too clever to submit to the tests of some oneyou did not know. I replied that you would. I was right, Celie, was Inot?"
And again the appeal sounded rather piteously in Mme. Dauvray's voice.
"Tests!" said Celia, with a contemptuous laugh. And, in truth, she wasnot afraid of them. Mme. Dauvray's voice at once took courage.
"There!" she cried triumphantly. "I was sure. I told her so. Celie, Iarranged with her that next Tuesday--"
And Celia interrupted quickly.
"No! Oh, no!"
Again there was silence; and then Mme. Dauvray said gently, but veryseriously:
"Celie, you are not kind."
Celia was moved by the reproach.
"Oh, madame!" she cried eagerly. "Please don't think that. How could Ibe anything else to you who are so kind to me?"
"Then prove it, Celie. On Tuesday I have asked Mme. Rossignol to come;and--" The old woman's voice became tremulous with excitement. "Andperhaps--who knows?--perhaps SHE will appear to us."
Celia had no doubt who "she" was. She was Mme. de Montespan.
"Oh, no, madame!" she stammered. "Here, at Aix, we are not in thespirit for such things."
And then, in a voice of dread, Mme. Dauvray asked: "Is it true, then,what Adele said?"
And Celia started violently. Mme. Dauvray doubted.
"I believe it would break my heart, my dear, if I were to think that;if I were to know that you had tricked me," she said, with a tremblingvoice.
Celia covered her face with her hands. It would be true. She hadno doubt of it. Mme. Dauvray would never forgive herself--would neverforgive Celia. Her infatuation had grown so to engross her that therest of her life would surely be embittered. It was not merely apassion--it was a creed as well. Celia shrank from the renewal of theseseances. Every fibre in her was in revolt. They were so unworthy--sounworthy of Harry Wethermill, and of herself as she now herself wishedto be. But she had to pay now; the moment for payment had come.
"Celie," said Mme. Dauvray, "it isn't true! Surely it isn't true?"
Celia drew her hands away from her face.
"Let Mme. Rossignol come on Tuesday!" she cried, and the old womancaught the girl's hand and pressed it with affection.
"Oh, thank you! thank you!" she cried. "Adele Rossignol laughsto-night; we shall convince her on Tuesday, Celie! Celie, I am soglad!" And her voice sank into a s
olemn whisper, patheticallyludicrous. "It is not right that she should laugh! To bring people backthrough the gates of the spirit-world--that is wonderful."
To Celia the sound of the jargon learnt from her own lips, used byherself so thoughtlessly in past times, was odious. "For the lasttime," she pleaded to herself. All her life was going to change; thoughno word had yet been spoken by Harry Wethermill, she was sure of it.Just for this one last time, then, so that she might leave Mme. Dauvraythe colours of her belief, she would hold a seance at the Villa Rose.
Mme. Dauvray told the news to Helene Vauquier when they reached thevilla.
"You will be present, Helene," she cried excitedly. "It will beTuesday. There will be the three of us."
"Certainly, if madame wishes," said Helene submissively. She lookedround the room. "Mlle. Celie can be placed on a chair in that recessand the curtains drawn, whilst we--madame and madame's friend andI--can sit round this table under the side windows."
"Yes," said Celia, "that will do very well."
It was Madame Dauvray's habit when she was particularly pleased withCelia to dismiss her maid quickly, and to send her to brush the girl'shair at night; and in a little while on this night Helene went toCelia's room. While she brushed Celia's hair she told her thatServettaz's parents lived at Chambery, and that he would like to seethem.
"But the poor man is afraid to ask for a day," she said. "He has beenso short a time with madame."
"Of course madame will give him a holiday if he asks," replied Celiawith a smile. "I will speak to her myself to-morrow."
"It would be kind of mademoiselle," said Helene Vauquier. "Butperhaps--" She stopped.
"Well," said Celia.
"Perhaps mademoiselle would do better still to speak to Servattazhimself and encourage him to ask with his own lips. Madame has hermoods, is it not so? She does not always like it to be forgotten thatshe is the mistress."
On the next day accordingly Celia did speak to Servettaz, and Servettazasked for his holiday.
"But of course," Mme. Dauvray at once replied. "We must decide upon aday."
It was then that Helene Vauquier ventured humbly upon a suggestion.
"Since madame has a friend coming here on Tuesday, perhaps that wouldbe the best day for him to go. Madame would not be likely to take along drive that afternoon."
"No, indeed," replied Mme. Dauvray. "We shall all three dine togetherearly in Aix and return here."
"Then I will tell him he may go to-morrow," said Celia.
For this conversation took place on the Monday, and in the evening Mme.Dauvray and Celia went as usual to the Villa des Fleurs and dined there.
"I was in a bad mind," said Celia, when asked by the Juge d'Instructionto explain that attack of nerves in the garden which Ricardo hadwitnessed. "I hated more and more the thought of the seance which wasto take place on the morrow. I felt that I was disloyal to Harry. Mynerves were all tingling. I was not nice that night at all," she addedquaintly. "But at dinner I determined that if I met Harry after dinner,as I was sure to do, I would tell him the whole truth about myself.However, when I did meet him I was frightened. I knew how stern hecould suddenly look. I dreaded what he would think. I was too afraidthat I should lose him. No, I could not speak; I had not the courage.That made me still more angry with myself, and so I--I quarrelled atonce with Harry. He was surprised; but it was natural, wasn't it? Whatelse should one do under such circumstances, except quarrel with theman one loved? Yes, I really quarrelled with him, and said things whichI thought and hoped would hurt. Then I ran away from him lest I shouldbreak down and cry. I went to the tables and lost at once all the moneyI had except one note of five louis. But that did not console me. And Iran out into the garden, very unhappy. There I behaved like a child,and Mr. Ricardo saw me. But it was not the little money I had lostwhich troubled me; no, it was the thought of what a coward I was.Afterwards Harry and I made it up, and I thought, like the little foolI was, that he wanted to ask me to marry him. But I would not let himthat night. Oh! I wanted him to ask me--I was longing for him to askme--but not that night. Somehow I felt that the seance and the tricksmust be all over and done with before I could listen or answer."
The quiet and simple confession touched the magistrate who listened toit with profound pity. He shaded his eyes with his hand. The girl'ssense of her unworthiness, the love she had given so unstintingly toHarry Wethermill, the deep pride she had felt in the delusion that heloved her too, had in it an irony too bitter. But he was aroused toanger against the man.
"Go on, mademoiselle," he said. But in spite of himself his voicetrembled.
"So I arranged with him that we should meet on Wednesday, as Mr.Ricardo heard."
"You told him that you would 'want him' on Wednesday," said the Judgequoting Mr. Ricardo's words.
"Yes," replied Celia. "I meant that the last word of all thesedeceptions would have been spoken. I should be free to hear what he hadto say to me. You see, monsieur, I was so sure that I knew what it washe had to say to me--" and her voice broke upon the words. Sherecovered herself with an effort. "Then I went home with Mme. Dauvray."
On the morning of Tuesday, however, there came a letter from AdeleTace, of which no trace was afterwards discovered. The letter invitedMme. Dauvray and Celia to come out to Annecy and dine with her at anhotel there. They could then return together to Aix. The proposalfitted well with Mme. Dauvray's inclinations. She was in a feverishmood of excitement.
"Yes, it will be better that we dine quietly together in a place wherethere is no noise and no crowd, and where no one knows us," she said;and she looked up the time-table. "There is a train back which reachesAix at nine o'clock," she said, "so we need not spoil Servettaz'holiday."
"His parents will be expecting him," Helene Vauquier added.
Accordingly Servettaz left for Chambery by the 1.50 train from Aix; andlater on in the afternoon Mme. Dauvray and Celia went by train toAnnecy. In the one woman's mind was the queer longing that "she" shouldappear and speak to-night; in the girl's there was a wish passionate asa cry. "This shall be the last time," she said to herself again andagain--"the very last."
Meanwhile, Helene Vauquier, it must be held, burnt carefully AdeleTaces letter. She was left in the Villa Rose with the charwoman to keepher company. The charwoman bore testimony that Helene Vauquiercertainly did burn a letter in the kitchen-stove, and that after shehad burned it she sat for a long time rocking herself in a chair, witha smile of great pleasure upon her face, and now and then moisteningher lips with her tongue. But Helene Vauquier kept her mouth sealed.