"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.