"But, madame—did she not know her?"
Celeste merely shrugged.
"Wasn't she jealous of Mr. Wilford—and some one?"
Celeste regarded him a moment. Her quick mind seemed to race ahead toward the implication of the remark.
"No—no—no!" cried Celeste, vehemently. "She was not jealous. She would never have done such a thing. She might have left monsieur—but—violence—nevair!"
Kennedy continued with a few inconsequential questions. Then from a table in the room he picked up a magazine. As he ran over the pages he stopped before a picture of a dinner in a fashionable restaurant, such as delights the heart of the modern magazine illustrator to portray.
He turned the picture around and held it before Celeste for just a few instants, perhaps ten seconds. Then he closed the magazine quickly.
It seemed to me to be a purposeless action, but I was not surprised when Kennedy added, "Now tell me what you saw."
Celeste by this time was quite overwhelming in her desire to please on anything but the quizzing about her mistress. Quickly she enumerated the objects, gradually slowing down as the number became exhausted.
"Were there any flowers?" asked Kennedy.