ely turned from the door. The story of her trickery and her
exposure would run through Aix. And she had not told Harry! It would
reach his ears from others. He would never forgive her. To face the
old, difficult life of poverty and perhaps starvation again, and again
alone, would be hard enough; but to face it with Harry Wethermill's
contempt added to its burdens--as the poor girl believed she surely
would have to do--no, that would be impossible! Not this time would she
turn away from the Seine, because it was so terrible and cold. If she
had had the courage to tell him yesterday, he would have forgiven,
surely he would! The tears gathered in her eyes and rolled down her
cheeks. What would become of her now? She was in pain besides. The
cords about her arms and ankles tortured her. And she feared--yes,
desperately she feared the effect of the exposure upon Mme. Dauvray.
She had been treated as a daughter; now she was in return to rob Mme.
Dauvray of the belief which had become the passion of her life.

"Let us take our seats at the table," she heard Mme. Dauvray say.
"Helene, you are by the switch of the electric light. Will you turn it
off?" And upon that Helene whispered, yet so that the whisper reached
to Celia and awakened hope:

"Wait! I will see what she is doing."

The curtains opened, and Helene Vauquier slipped to the girl's side.

Celia checked her tears. She smiled imploringly, gratefully.

"What shall I do?" asked Helene, in a voice so low that the movement of
her mouth rather than the words made the question clear.

Celia raised her head to answer. And then a thing incomprehensible to
her happened. As she opened her lips Helene Vauquier swiftly forced a
handkerchief in between the girl's teeth, and lifting the scarf from
her shoulders wound it tightly twice across her mouth, binding her
lips, and made it fast under the brim of her hat behind her head. Celia
tried to scream; she could not utter a sound. She stared at Helene with
incredulous, horror-stricken eyes. Helene nodded at her with a cruel
grin of satisfaction, and Celia realised, though she did not
understand, something of the rancour and the hatred which seethed
against her in the heart of the woman whom she had supplanted. Helene
Vauquier meant to expose her to-night; Celia had not a doubt of it.
That was her explanation of Helene Vauquier's treachery; and believing
that error, she believed yet another--that she had reached the terrible
clim