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Perhaps Céline Leroque knew by instinct that the master of Oakley cherished an aversion to French maids in particular; or perhaps she was an exceptional French maid, and craved neither the smiles nor slyly administered caresses, that fell to the lot of pretty femmes de chambre, at least in novels.
Olive had been informed of all that Madeline herself knew, of the doings at Bellair, at the time when the girl went down, disguised as Céline Leroque. Now, therefore, Madeline lost no time in making Olive acquainted with, at least a part of, the events that had transpired during her sojourn in the Oakley mansion, in the capacity of maid.
Madeline had not confided to Hagar the story of Olive, and the old woman knew no more of Edward Percy than that he was, as she termed it, "a handsome hypocrite." Clarence questioned Hagar closely. Had they made any attempt to find the one who took the papers? "No," Hagar replied; "they had said that Céline Leroque had stolen money and jewels, but they had not said one word about any papers."
Fate was taking a leisurely gait, seemingly, and moving affairs at Oakley with a deliberation that was almost hesitating. Nevertheless, things were moving, and in the wake of little events, great ones could already be discerned by the plotters and counter-plotters, who waited and watched. Céline Leroque was in better spirits than usual, in these days.
As Céline Leroque opened the door and disappeared one might have fancied, had they been gazing at that not-very-interesting object, that the high-backed chair moved ever so little. Céline flew along the hall and down the stairway, tearing viciously at something as she went.
The hall facing the front entrance to Oakley was deserted now, save for the figure of Céline Leroque, who was ensconsed in one of the windows thereof. She had been watching there for more than an hour, and Cora had promenaded the terrace half that time, when a gentleman approached the mansion from the front gate-way.
Arthur at present. Well, I don't want to see him; but I hold the clue to your little game, my fair second wife." Lucian Davlin went to the city, but he did not set a detective on the track of Céline Leroque. He chose his man, one who had served him before, and set him about something quite different. Then he returned, feeling quite satisfied and confident of success.
A very blonde man, with the lower half of his face covered with a mass of yellow waving beard; pale blue, searching, unfathomable eyes; pale yellow hair; a handsome face, the face she had seen pictured in Claire's souvenir! Céline Leroque led the way toward the little parlor with a heart beating rapidly. "Miss Arthur is in the grounds," she said, in answer to his inquiry.
The girl listened with a face indicative of some secret source of amusement. Noting her look of evident unconcern, and the laughter she seemed vainly striving to keep under, Miss Arthur brought her tirade to an abrupt termination, and demanded to know what Miss Céline Leroque saw, in her appearance, that was so very ludicrous.
And now came a time of comparative dullness at Oakley. Even eventful lives do not always pace onward to the inspiring clang of trumpet and drum. There is the bivouac and the time of rest, even though sleeping upon their arms, for all the hosts that were ever marshalled to battle. Céline Leroque found life rather more dreary than she had expected during these days of inaction.
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