aid
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 loved? Yes, I really quarrelled with him, and said things which
I thought and hoped would hurt. Then I ran away from him lest I should
break down and cry. I went to the tables and lost at once all the money
I had except one note of five louis. But that did not console me. And I
ran 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 lost
which 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 fool
I was, that he wanted to ask me to marry him. But I would not let him
that night. Oh! I wanted him to ask me--I was longing for him to ask
me--but not that night. Somehow I felt that the seance and the tricks
must be all over and done with before I could listen or answer."

The quiet and simple confession touched the magistrate who listened to
it with profound pity. He shaded his eyes with his hand. The girl's
sense of her unworthiness, the love she had given so unstintingly to
Harry Wethermill, the deep pride she had felt in the delusion that he
loved her too, had in it an irony too bitter. But he was aroused to
anger against the man.

"Go on, mademoiselle," he said. But in spite of himself his voice
trembled.

"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 Judge
quoting Mr. Ricardo's words.

"Yes," replied Celia. "I meant that the last word of all these
deceptions would have been spoken. I should be free to hear what he had
to say to me. You see, monsieur, I was so sure that I knew what it was
he had to say to me--" and her voice broke upon the words. She
recovered herself with an effort. "Then I went home with Mme. Dauvray."

On the morning of Tuesday, however, there came a letter from Adele
Tace, of which no trace was afterwards discovered. The letter invited
Mme. Dauvray and Celia to come out to Annecy and dine with her at an
hotel there. They could then return together to Aix. The proposal
fitted well with Mme. Dauvray's inclinations. She was in a feverish
mood of excitement.

"Ye