t was
visible, but, on the other hand, no success was obtained. The knots had
been too cunningly tied. And then Mme. Rossignol touched a button at
her side in the leather of the carriage.

The touch turned on a tiny lamp in the roof of the carriage, and she
raised a warning hand to Celia.

"Now keep very quiet."

Right through the empty streets of Geneva the landau was quietly
driven. Adele had peeped from time to time under the blind. There were
few people in the streets. Once or twice a sergent-de-ville was seen
under the light of a lamp. Celia dared not cry out. Over against her,
persistently watching her, Adele Rossignol sat with the open flask
clenched in her hand, and from the vitriol Celia shrank with an
overwhelming terror. The carriage drove out from the town along the
western edge of the lake.

"Now listen," said Adele. "As soon as the landau stops the door of the
house opposite to which it stops will open. I shall open the carriage
door myself and you will get out. You must stand close by the carriage
door until I have got out. I shall hold this flask ready in my hand. As
soon as I am out you will run across the pavement into the house. You
won't speak or scream."

Adele Rossignol turned out the lamp and ten minutes later the carriage
passed down the little street and attracted Mme. Gobin's notice. Marthe
Gobin had lit no light in her room. Adele Rossignol peered out of the
carriage. She saw the houses in darkness. She could not see the
busybody's face watching the landau from a dark window. She cut the
cords which fastened the girl's hands. The carriage stopped. She opened
the door. Celia sprang out on to the pavement. She sprang so quickly
that Adele Rossignol caught and held the train of her dress. But it was
the fear of the vitriol which had made her spring so nimbly. It was
that, too, which made her run so lightly and quickly into the house.
The old woman who acted as servant, Jeanne Tace, received her. Celia
offered no resistance. The fear of vitriol had made her supple as a
glove. Jeanne hurried her down the stairs into the little parlour at
the back of the house, where supper was laid, and pushed her into a
chair. Celia let her arms fall forward on the table. She had no hope
now. She was friendless and alone in a den of murderers, who meant
first to torture, then to kill her. She would be held up to execration
as a murderess. No one would know how she had died or what she had
suffered. She was