The "wee sma'" hours were beginning to lengthen once more when Céline was released from duty, and went wearily up to her room; wearily, yet with undimmed eyes, and the mischievous dimples still lurking about the corners of her mouth.
She muttered: "Bah! it is better than sleep, after all; if only the others were as easily duped as she!"
By which words, a listener might have been led to suppose that Céline Leroque had been practising deception upon some confiding individual.
CHAPTER XVII.
GATHERING CLUES.
Claire had been absent all the morning, had gone to make some call; at least she had said to Olive, at breakfast, "I think I will take the ponies, Olive, and drive into the city this morning. It is nice out of doors, and I have made no calls since I came here."
Olive Girard sat alone in her cosy drawing-room. She had been reading, but the book was somehow not in tune with her mind or mood. She had allowed it to fall at her feet, where it lay, half opened, while she drifted away from the present in sorrowful reverie. Lifting her eyes, she saw a cab drive away from the villa gate, and a form hurrying along the marble pathway. Springing up, Olive herself threw open the door, and clasped her arms about—Miss Arthur's French maid! who returned the caress with much enthusiasm.
"Madeline, my dear child, how glad I am to see you!"