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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Céline Leroque, at your service; maid-in-waiting to Miss Arthur, of Oakley." Doctor Vaughan laughed. "Well, won't you shake hands with an American of no special importance, Céline Leroque?" She placed her hand in his and then drew forward a chair. "I hope you found no difficulty in getting out to-night?" he said, sitting down and looking at her with a half-amused, half-grave countenance.
In short, she loved herself too well to find any piquancy in personal danger. Since the loss of the papers and the flight of Céline Leroque had shaken her feeling of security, Cora had been restive and anxious to bring this plot to a climax. She had found it not at all to her taste to have Percy holding over her head a sword, be it ever so slender.
So it transpired that nearly three days had elapsed since the flitting of Céline Leroque, when Dr. Vaughan entered the train that should deposit him at dusk in the village of Bellair.
What her soul clamored for, was the opera, the contact of kindred spirits, the rush and whirl, the smoke and champagne, and giddiness of the city; the card-won gold, and painted folly that made the be-all and end-all of life to such as she. She did not lose sight of the usefulness she trusted to find in Céline Leroque, however.
During these days of ennui and quietude, the two came to a very good understanding; not all at once, and not at all definite. Only, by degrees, Cora became convinced that Céline Leroque cherished a very laudable contempt for her would-be-girlish mistress, and that she was becoming rather weary in her service.
Cora, in a state of wild deshabille; John Arthur, ditto, and armed with a cane; Susan and Mary, half in the room and half out; then Céline Leroque, apparently much frightened, without knowing at what. A volley of questions from the master of the house, and a return of courage to the mistress.
Céline's eyes were riveted upon the coming figure, as it appeared and disappeared among the trees and shrubbery along the winding walk. At length he emerged into open space and approached nearer. Céline Leroque suppressed a cry of astonishment as she anticipated his ring and ushered him in.
He smiled at the sudden change of tone and subject. "Half-past nine," he said. While the words were on his lips, Old Hagar entered. Clearly it was time to end the interview. Doctor Vaughan must be ready for the return train, which flew cityward soon, and Céline Leroque must not be too long absent.
No train shall leave the city on which he would, by any possibility, set out for Bellair accompanied by this sham physician, without the knowledge of our man, or men, of skill. All discoveries made are to be reported, through you, to Mademoiselle Céline Leroque, who will receive said reports in propria persone, at the Bellair post-office.
You have heard of these ladies in society, no doubt, Mr. Davlin?" "Oh, certainly," aloud, "not," aside. "And the name of the maid?" pursued Lucian. "Her name," referring to the letter, "Céline Leroque French, I presume." "No doubt," dryly. "Stop him, Miss Arthur," interrupted Cora, prettily; "he will certainly ask if she is handsome, if you let him open his mouth again."
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