CELESTE TRIES TO FATHOM RENÉE'S SECRET
Early in the evening as Céleste was going upstairs to dress for
dinner--a proceeding which entailed a very great expenditure of both
thought and time on the part of this particular young lady--she
encountered her adopted sister, Renée, on the landing.
"Oh, Renée, ma chérie," she called out, "whatever is the matter with
you? I went to your room yesterday afternoon, and found you moaning and
sobbing, and you were so cross with me, and asked to be left alone just
because you had a headache. I know there was some other reason, now
wasn't there?"
"It was quite true, I did feel upset, and really, dear, my head was
aching terribly."
"Oh, but, Renée dear, you ought to tell me, your little sister; you
know that I can keep a secret. I am sure that you had something horrid
on your mind, because as soon as I had gone you rose and locked the
door; you cannot deny it, can you?"
"Well, if I did, it was to prevent anyone from disturbing me."
"No, Renée, that won't do. People with headaches do not bury their
faces in their hands and cry their eyes out, as you were doing. You
have some trouble," she continued, "and I want to help you to bear it,
may I? Won't you, let me?"
"Céleste, you are just a darling. If you will promise me faithfully not
to let a living soul know, I will tell you my secret."
"Of course I won't, you know I always tell the truth. I never tell
lies--except sometimes to mamma," she added after a pause.
"Well then, Céleste dear, Henri--I mean, Professor Delapine--has asked
me to be his wife, you cannot think how happy I am," and while she
spoke, a look of joy came over her face.
"Oh, Renée, I am so glad," cried Céleste, clapping her hands and
throwing her arms around her sister's neck, while half sobbing and half
laughing she breathlessly whispered, "I have often wondered if that
would happen, I know that you two are exactly suited to each other, and
Renée--he is such a clever darling. Oh, I am so delighted to hear it."
"Don't I know that he is as you say 'such a darling,'" said Renée
smiling. "I have loved him from the very first moment that I met him,
without being aware of it, if you can understand my meaning."
"Oh, Renée, you are so good, you deserve to be rewarded with every
happiness."
"Thank you so much, Céleste, and look here, dear, when we are married
you must come and stay weeks and weeks with us, won't you?"
"That would be just too lovely altogether. But you have not told me why
you locked the door, and why you were sobbing and crying. Was it for
joy?"
"No, dear, not for joy, but for grief," answered Renée.
"For grief! Whatever do you mean?" and as she spoke, Céleste's eyes
fairly stood out with astonishment. "You are talking in riddles. What
do you mean? surely you are not sorry that you accepted him?"
"Oh, you dear little goose, of course not, it was only to-day that
Henri and I confessed our love for each other. You have not seen me
crying to-day, have you?"
"No, certainly not, but I want to know all about yesterday's trouble."
"What an inquisitive little girl it is," said Renée smiling.
"Do please tell me," pleaded Céleste, "I am dying to find out, and you
know how faithfully I can keep a secret."
Céleste's curiosity amounted almost to a mania, and this fencing on the
part of Renée made the young girl fairly boil over with eagerness to
probe what seemed to her some dreadful mystery.
"So can I keep a secret," replied Renée, half sadly. "But please,
chérie, do not ask me any more questions. I dare not tell. And, Céleste
dearie, please, please, promise me that you will not tell anybody about
my engagement. You cannot understand what terrible harm it might do me
if it were known. It must be kept a dead secret at present, you do not
know how much I have suffered, and how frightened I am sometimes of my
life and Henri's. Oh dear, oh dear, it is really too dreadful," and she
threw her arms around Céleste and sobbed again.
"Renée, ma mie, it is terrible to see you like this, what can the
mystery be? I must know," and in her excitement she seized her sister's
hands, and pulled the girl to her and shook her.
"No, Céleste dearest," sobbed Renée, "help me with your love and
sympathy to bear it, but do not ask me any more. Hush, I hear someone
coming, remember not a word to anyone," and she rushed off into her own
room.
"H'm," muttered Céleste to herself as she heard Renée locking the door
of her room, "there's a heap of trouble brewing somewhere in all this.
The mystery seems to become more and more obscure. I shall die if I
don't get to the bottom of it, I know I shall. Where can I find out
all about it? Let me think. There's mamma, but she's too stupid to
have noticed anything. Then there's papa, but he's far too secretive
and cautious, he's of no use, he will only joke with me and turn the
question; that is unless I humour him properly. That is the only way
to deal with him. I certainly might get it out of him by kissing him
and playing on his vanity. It is worth trying, anyhow. Then there's
Delapine himself. He, of course, is sure to know. But then I am rather
frightened of him, I confess. He stands on his dignity a little too
much for my purpose. Let me see, now what about Marcel? He is more my
style, but he has not taken much notice of me. When he is not planning
some new creation in waistcoats, or neckties, or composing a poem, he
is trying to say something witty. I suppose the things he says are
really clever, although I don't understand a word of them. No, I can't
very well confide in him."
Then, as she still meditated, a soft unconscious colour flooded her
face, and her voice took on a more tender tone as she continued, "Yes,
he will help me. I know he will. Alphonse Riche is a real, true friend.
He's more, he's what Renée called her Henri--just a darling--and
besides I think he is a little bit fond of me, just a little. Yes, I
will make him my confidant." And she clapped her hands, danced round
the landing, and actually whistled, which worthy Madame Villebois would
have considered a most incomprehensible, if not highly indelicate
proceeding on the part of a young lady of nineteen.
On entering her room she stood before the long cheval mirror of the
wardrobe, and surveyed herself a little more carefully than usual, then
turning away as if half-ashamed of the growing admiration for her own
slender but beautifully-curved figure, she murmured pensively,
"Yes, evidently the first thing to do is to make one-self look as
charming as possible," and acting on the impulse, she ran across the
room and rang for her maid.
In answer to her summons, the door opened and Mimi appeared.
"Mademoiselle requires that I dress her?"
"Yes, Mimi, pick out my most becoming frock as I want to look my very
best this evening."
"Would mademoiselle like the blue trimmed with black velvet? Or perhaps
the lovely pink gown that Madame Louise said fitted you à merveille?"
"Wait, let me think a moment. Yes, I remember now, Dr. Riche said that
his favourite flower was the rose,"--this softly to herself--"Yes,
Mimi, let me have the pink by all means; and oh, Mimi, do you think you
could get me some dark red roses to match it?"
A few minutes later Mimi returned bearing some freshly cut damask roses.
"Oh, how lovely they are," cried Céleste, "I am sure the doctor cannot
refuse to tell me anything I like to ask him when he sees me in this
dress. Now, Mimi, a few drops of Parma Violet--so, that will do."
At the foot of the stair-case, just as she was about to enter the
drawing-room, she caught sight of Dr. Riche.
"Ah, Mademoiselle Céleste, how charming you look--just like my
favourite flower, a budding rose."
Céleste blushed almost as red as the roses she was wearing, and shyly
tripping up to him whispered something in his ear.
"Certainly, my dear mademoiselle. Nothing would give me greater
pleasure than a little chat tête-a-tête. Let us sit cosily at the shady
end of the verandah where we can talk at our ease without fear of
interruption."
As soon as they were comfortably seated Céleste's impatience and
curiosity could no longer be restrained.
"Oh, doctor," she began impatiently, "I do so want you to find out for
me whatever is the matter with Renée. She was weeping her heart out
yesterday, and when I asked her what was the matter she put me off with
some lame excuse about a headache, and then the moment that I left her
she jumped up from her bed and locked the door. Of course she may have
had a real headache, but people don't go into violent fits of weeping
on that account, do they?"--and Céleste looked very wise (and very,
very sweet, as Riche thought) while putting her question.
"Perhaps we might be able to look for some other cause," began Riche,
when his companion broke in--
"I cannot help thinking that young Duval is mixed up in it, but then
again what has it to do with Renée?"
Riche tapped the arm of the long verandah chair in which he was
reclining, and remained in deep thought for a moment.
"Yes, I have it. Do you remember pinning the orchid in my button-hole
to-day?" he asked at length.
"You know very well I do," replied Céleste, blushing in spite of
herself.
"Did you notice anything peculiar about Pierre Duval's manner?"
"Let me see," said Céleste, trying to recall the events of the morning.
"Yes, I remember seeing him put something in a cup of coffee, I think
it was sugar or cream, but I was too excited over the race to notice
exactly what it was he did."
"Was he finishing his coffee, or what?" asked Riche, watching her face
carefully.
"No, it was not that. I am certain that he was not drinking it, as he
certainly did not raise the cup to his lips."
"Are you perfectly sure of that?"
"Certain," said Céleste convincingly, "I told you that I was not
observing him very carefully, but I feel sure I should have noticed if
he had been drinking it, because he stood right in front of me at the
other end of the lawn."
"Oh! Oh!" said Riche, "Please stay here, mademoiselle, I will be back
in a few minutes. In the meantime please do not breathe a word of our
conversation to anyone."
"Is it so serious then?" asked Céleste.
"I can't say yet, but please do as I ask you."
Riche looked very grave, and without another word to his companion
walked slowly away into the house, with his hands clasped behind his
back.
Meeting one of the servants, Riche enquired if he could tell him where
his master was to be found.
"Yes, sir, he has just gone into the library."
"Ah, here you are, Villebois. I have been looking for you in order to
have a little serious talk before dinner."
"Certainly, my dear fellow, but why the word 'serious'?"
"Well, as a matter of fact," said Riche gravely, "there are several
mysterious things happening here, and I thought that a talk about them
between us alone might help to clear them up."
"For example?"
"In the first place something has happened to Renée."
"What, something happened to Renée?" ejaculated Villebois.
"No, no, there is no need for anxiety. I do not mean there is anything
physically the matter. But Céleste has been confiding in me, and has
told me that she found Renée weeping violently, and when Céleste asked
the cause of such intense grief, it seems that Renée refused to give
any explanation or even reply, and immediately locked herself in her
room."
"Oh, you are referring to her not coming down to dinner?"
"Yes, I cannot imagine what is the reason for it all, but there is more
besides. Young Duval's conduct has been so peculiar. Of course I have
no right to criticise your guest, but I am rather uneasy in my mind.
It seems to me that there is some mystery or some plot on foot. I have
no proof of anything definite, but I confess that I do not like the
present state of affairs."
"Tut, tut, my dear Riche, something has evidently upset your digestion.
All you want is a good dinner, and then you will regard the world
through less jaundiced spectacles. I saw Renée myself about an hour
ago, and she was as happy as possible."
"My dear Villebois," replied Riche, "we are both clear-headed
professional men, and we know that when the thermometer rises to 40 C.
our patient is in danger, and so we at once set to work to discover the
seat of the mischief."
"Quite so, my dear Riche."
"Now, please, just come along with me and have a talk with your
daughter."
So saying, Riche placed his arm in that of his friend, and together
they strolled out on to the verandah where they found Céleste patiently
waiting for the return of Riche.
"Oh, papa, I am so glad that you are here, come and sit down and do
tell me what has come over Renée."
"My dear child, there is nothing the matter with your sister that I
know of," said Villebois with surprise. "Why do you ask?"
"Now, papa, there is something wrong with her. She was crying all
yesterday afternoon, and refused to give me any reason for it. Is it
possible that her father or young Pierre could have said anything to
her?"
"My dear little girl, why do you worry your pretty head over such
things? Renée is as happy as she can be."
"She may be now, papa; but she certainly was not so yesterday."
"Do not trouble yourself about what happened yesterday. Sufficient for
the day is the--you know--headache thereof, as our friend Marcel would
say."
"Oh, papa, it is nothing to joke about and make fun of" replied Céleste
pouting.
"I am not joking, my child, I assure you I have not been so deadly
serious since my last evening at one of the English comic theatres.
Now, Riche, I have something important to write, so I will leave this
child in your care till dinner; just see that she gets some of those
silly ideas about Renée out of her head."
So saying he leaned over and gently kissed his daughter on the
forehead, and smilingly excusing himself, walked off to the library. As
soon as her father had left, Céleste feeling that she had been treated
as if she were still a child, turned to her companion.
"Now, Dr. Riche, you can see for yourself that papa will not tell me
anything, and is only trifling with me. I want your confidence. I am
sure that there is some trouble brewing for Renée. Is not that your
opinion?"
"I must confess that it is, mademoiselle, now that you ask me in
confidence, but I have no evidence, nothing definite to go on."
"But what can have upset Renée so much as to make her cry like that?"
"What time was it when you found her crying?" asked Riche.
"About half-past five in the afternoon."
"Do you know if anyone called to see her before that hour?"
"Yes, her father called. I remember her maid saying that M. Payot had
been to see her and had stayed quite a long time."
"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed Riche as a sudden thought flashed through his mind.
"Now we are getting at facts. I wonder whether Renée's strange conduct
had anything to do with his coming? But no, I confess that for the
moment I cannot see any connection. Still, who knows?"
"Oh, please, doctor, do keep an eye on Pierre. I do not really know why
I ask this, but I feel sure that he means mischief."
"I can't help thinking that you may be right after all. Let us be
allies in ferreting out this mystery. Will you help me, Mademoiselle
Céleste? Only mind, you must be very discreet."
"Can I depend on you?" asked Céleste, looking up eagerly into his face.
"Like my own soul, mademoiselle," answered Riche solemnly. "We will
both keep a watch on Pierre Duval, and on M. Payot as well."
"Oh, thank you, thank you ever so much. It will be just lovely if we
can work together. I will do everything you ask me."
After this compact Céleste felt more at ease than she had done for
some time previously, for she knew that Riche was a strong man who
went to work and did everything calmly, and would not allow himself
to be hurried or put out in the least, and that he would carry out
religiously whatever he undertook.
The doctor smiled at her impetuosity, and kissing her hand put his
fingers to his lips with a wink.
"Allies and silence," said Riche.
"That is agreed," replied Céleste as she walked quietly away towards
the drawing-room to join the others.
Céleste now felt herself in the seventh heaven of delight at the
thought that she had become a joint partner with so great a man as
Dr. Riche, and she accordingly felt herself bursting with pride and
importance.
After his companion had left him, Riche remained thoughtful for a
moment or two, and then slowly walked to the drawing-room.
"I am quite looking forward to the treat Delapine is going to give us
this evening," said Villebois to Riche as the latter joined the group.
"Ah, I am very sorry, mon cher Villebois, to be compelled to disappoint
you, but I shall have to postpone the séance until another occasion,"
said Delapine.
"Oh, professor, what a pity. We shall all be so disappointed, as we
were looking forward to the treat. But why have you changed your mind
at the last moment?"
"I assure you, mon cher docteur, I am as anxious as anyone to please
the guests, but it is impossible for me to succeed unless all the
members of the circle are in complete harmony with each other. If you
turn to the Acts of the Apostles you will read that when the disciples
were met together in an upper room to witness certain spiritualistic
phenomena, that the narrator was careful to mention that they were all
of one accord. This was the essential condition for the success of all
the wonderful phenomena which followed. Spiritualism is governed by
precisely the same laws now as obtained in those days. Do you remember
the passage I have just quoted?"
"Perfectly," answered Riche, who in reality knew as much about the Acts
of the Apostles as he did about Chinese. "I am quite as disappointed as
Villebois that our séance has to be postponed."
At this moment a servant entered the room and handed a note on a silver
tray to Villebois.
"Excuse me a moment, professor, while I read this."
"I am pleased to say," interrupted Delapine, as Villebois took the
letter off the tray, "that I have changed my mind. The obstruction is
now removed, and our séance will be conducted in perfect harmony."
"What has made you change your mind so quickly?" said Villebois.
"The note you have in your hand, of course."
"But I have not opened it yet."
"That is immaterial. Let me read it to you before you open it," said
Delapine smiling:--
"Mon cher Docteur,
"Pray give my best compliments to Madame, and apologise for me, as I
just recollect I have a very important meeting to attend to in town,
which had quite escaped my memory. If I can possibly return later in
the evening, it will afford me infinite pleasure to join your circle,
but pray do not wait for me.
"Accept, my dear doctor, the expressions of my most sincere friendship.
"Toujours à vous,
"PIERRE."
"It is word for word correct," said Villebois as he handed the note to
Riche after reading it.
"Professor, you are a wonder, but how in the name of all that is
marvellous did you manage to read it? Do you see with Röntgen Rays?"
they both exclaimed almost in the same breath.
"It is quite simple. My mind's eye penetrates every kind of substance
where neither light nor "X" rays can find an entrance. But you will
agree with me that a thing ceases to be wonderful the moment one learns
how it is done."
"But tell us how you manage to do it," they both exclaimed.
"It is a power which is only vouchsafed to a few," replied Delapine. "I
cannot explain it to you, and if I were able to do so perhaps you would
be none the wiser. Some day one or other of you may receive the power."
"How do you do, Payot?" said Villebois, as the former gentleman entered
the room and joined the group.
"Eh, what was that I heard about a letter that the professor managed to
read without seeing it?" said Payot in a tone of command, as if he were
questioning a prisoner at a court martial.
"It was merely a note from your comrade's son, Pierre, regretting that
he has been suddenly called away on urgent business," and Villebois
showed him the letter.
"Urgent business! urgent fiddlesticks I should say. And what, pray, is
the nature of this urgent business that calls him away at this time of
day I should like to know?"
As no one ventured to supply that information, the financier cleared
his throat and replied for the doctor.
"These young men are beginning to assume airs that their fathers would
never dream of doing. They have lost all sense of discipline, sir. If I
had written a letter like that to my chief when I was a lieutenant in
the army I should have been put in the cells--put in the cells, sir; do
you hear me?--for fourteen days on bread and water, and by God, sir, I
should have deserved it. I must see Pierre, and look into this matter.
By the way, Villebois, how is the General getting on?"
"Oh, quite as well as can be expected. I sewed the ends of the nerve
together some days ago, and he is already out of bed. He should be able
to go out soon."