ax of her troubles. She was only at the beginning of them.

"Helene!" cried Mme. Dauvray sharply. "What are you doing?"

The maid instantly slid back into the room.

"Mademoiselle has not moved," she said.

Celia heard the women settle in their chairs about the table.

"Is madame ready?" asked Helene; and then there was the sound of the
snap of a switch. In the salon darkness had come.

If only she had not been wearing her gloves, Celia thought, she might
possibly have just been able to free her fingers and her supple hands
from their bonds. But as it was she was helpless. She could only sit
and wait until the audience in the salon grew tired of waiting and came
to her. She closed her eyes, pondering if by any chance she could
excuse her failure. But her heart sank within her as she thought of
Mme. Rossignol's raillery. No, it was all over for her. ...

She opened her eyes, and she wondered. It seemed to her that there was
more light in the recess than there had been when she closed them. Very
likely her eyes were growing used to the darkness. Yet--yet--she ought
not to be able to distinguish quite so clearly the white pillar
opposite to her. She looked towards the glass doors and understood. The
wooden shutters outside the doors were not quite closed. They had been
carelessly left unbolted. A chink from lintel to floor let in a grey
thread of light. Celia heard the women whispering in the salon, and
turned her head to catch the words.

"Do you hear any sound?"

"No."

"Was that a hand which touched me?"

"No."

"We must wait."

And so silence came again, and suddenly there was quite a rush of light
into the recess. Celia was startled. She turned her head back again
towards the window. The wooden door had swung a little more open. There
was a wider chink to let the twilight of that starlit darkness through.
And as she looked, the chink slowly broadened and broadened, the door
swung slowly back on hinges which were strangely silent. Celia stared
at the widening panel of grey light with a vague terror. It was strange
that she could hear no whisper of wind in the garden. Why, oh, why was
that latticed door opening so noiselessly? Almost she believed that the
spirits after all... And suddenly the recess darkened again, and Celia
sat with her heart leaping and shivering in her breast. There was
something black against the glass doors--a man. He had appeared as
silently, as suddenly, as any apparition. He stoo