. She had been wont to sail into the
room, distant, mystical. She had her audience already expectant of
mysteries, prepared for marvels. Her work was already half done. But
now of all that help she was deprived. She was no longer a person
aloof, a prophetess, a seer of visions; she was simply a
smartly-dressed girl of today, trussed up in a ridiculous and painful
position--that was all. The dignity was gone. And the more she realised
that, the more she was hindered from influencing her audience, the less
able she was to concentrate her mind upon them, to will them to favour
her. Mme. Dauvray's suspicions, she was sure, were still awake. She
could not quell them. There was a stronger personality than hers at
work in the room. The cord bit through her thin stockings into her
ankles. She dared not complain. It was savagely tied. She made no
remonstrance. And then Helene Vauquier raised her up from the chair and
lifted her easily off the ground. For a moment she held her so. If
Celia had felt ridiculous before, she knew that she was ten times more
so now. She could see herself as she hung in Helene Vauquier's arms,
with her delicate frock ludicrously swathed and swaddled about her
legs. But, again, of those who watched her no one smiled.

"We have had no such tests as these," Mme. Dauvray explained, half in
fear, half in hope.

Adele Rossignol looked the girl over and nodded her head with
satisfaction. She had no animosity towards Celia; she had really no
feeling of any kind for her or against her. Fortunately she was unaware
at this time that Harry Wethermill had been paying his court to her or
it would have gone worse with Mlle. Celie before the night was out.
Mlle. Celie was just a pawn in a very dangerous game which she happened
to be playing, and she had succeeded in engineering her pawn into the
desired condition of helplessness. She was content.

"Mademoiselle," she said, with a smile, "you wish me to believe. You
have now your opportunity."

Opportunity! And she was helpless. She knew very well that she could
never free herself from these cords without Helene's help. She would
fail, miserably and shamefully fail.

"It was madame who wished you to believe," she stammered.

And Adele Rossignol laughed suddenly--a short, loud, harsh laugh, which
jarred upon the quiet of the room. It turned Celia's vague alarm into a
definite terror. Some magnetic current brought her grave messages of
fear. The air about her seem