She heard the door open again and shut again.  Then steps approached the recess.  The curtains were flung back, and the two women stood in front of her—­the tall Adele Rossignol with her red hair and her coarse good looks and her sapphire dress, and the hard-featured, sallow maid.  The maid was carrying Celia’s white coat.  They did not mean to murder her, then.  They meant to take her away, and even then a spark of hope lit up in the girl’s bosom.  For even with her illusions crushed she still clung to life with all the passion of her young soul.

The two women stood and looked at her; and then Adele Rossignol burst out laughing.  Vauquier approached the girl, and Celia had a moment’s hope that she meant to free her altogether, but she only loosed the cords which fixed her to the pillar and the high stool.

“Mademoiselle will pardon me for laughing,” said Adele Rossignol politely; “but it was mademoiselle who invited me to try my hand.  And really, for so smart a young lady, mademoiselle looks too ridiculous.”

She lifted the girl up and carried her back writhing and struggling into the salon.  The whole of the pretty room was within view, but in the embrasure of a window something lay dreadfully still and quiet.  Celia held her head averted.  But it was there, and, though it was there, all the while the women joked and laughed, Adele Rossignol feverishly, Helene Vauquier with a real glee most horrible to see.

“I beg mademoiselle not to listen to what Adele is saying,” exclaimed Helene.  And she began to ape in a mincing, extravagant fashion the manner of a saleswoman in a shop.  “Mademoiselle has never looked so ravishing.  This style is the last word of fashion.  It is what there is of most chic.  Of course, mademoiselle understands that the costume is not intended for playing the piano.  Nor, indeed, for the ballroom.  It leaps to one’s eyes that dancing would be difficult.  Nor is it intended for much conversation.  It is a costume for a mood of quiet reflection.  But I assure mademoiselle that for pretty young ladies who are the favourites of rich old women it is the style most recommended by the criminal classes.”

All the woman’s bitter rancour against Celia, hidden for months beneath a mask of humility, burst out and ran riot now.  She went to Adele Rossignol’s help, and they flung the girl face downwards upon the sofa.  Her face struck the cushion at one end, her feet the cushion at the other.  The breath was struck out of her body.  She lay with her bosom heaving.

Helene Vauquier watched her for a moment with a grin, paying herself now for her respectful speeches and attendance.

“Yes, lie quietly and reflect, little fool!” she said savagely.  “Were you wise to come here and interfere with Helene Vauquier?  Hadn’t you better have stayed and danced in your rags at Montmartre?  Are the smart frocks and the pretty hats and the good dinners worth the price?  Ask yourself these questions, my dainty little friend!”