“Certainly, if madame wishes,” said Helene submissively.  She looked round the room.  “Mlle. Celie can be placed on a chair in that recess and the curtains drawn, whilst we—­madame and madame’s friend and I—­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 with Celia to dismiss her maid quickly, and to send her to brush the girl’s hair at night; and in a little while on this night Helene went to Celia’s room.  While she brushed Celia’s hair she told her that Servettaz’s parents lived at Chambery, and that he would like to see them.

“But the poor man is afraid to ask for a day,” she said.  “He has been so short a time with madame.”

“Of course madame will give him a holiday if he asks,” replied Celia with a smile.  “I will speak to her myself to-morrow.”

“It would be kind of mademoiselle,” said Helene Vauquier.  “But perhaps—­” She stopped.

“Well,” said Celia.

“Perhaps mademoiselle would do better still to speak to Servattaz himself and encourage him to ask with his own lips.  Madame has her moods, is it not so?  She does not always like it to be forgotten that she is the mistress.”

On the next day accordingly Celia did speak to Servettaz, and Servettaz asked for his holiday.

“But of course,” Mme. Dauvray at once replied.  “We must decide upon a day.”

It was then that Helene Vauquier ventured humbly upon a suggestion.

“Since madame has a friend coming here on Tuesday, perhaps that would be the best day for him to go.  Madame would not be likely to take a long drive that afternoon.”

“No, indeed,” replied Mme. Dauvray.  “We shall all three dine together early 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’Instruction to explain that attack of nerves in the garden which Ricardo had witnessed.  “I hated more and more the thought of the seance which was to take place on the morrow.  I felt that I was disloyal to Harry.  My nerves were all tingling.  I was not nice that night at all,” she added quaintly.  “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 he could suddenly look.  I dreaded what he would think.  I was too afraid that 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 at once with Harry.  He was surprised; but it was natural, wasn’t it?  What else should one do under such circumstances. except quarrel with the man one