And Claire had revenged her wrongs twofold.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE CURTAIN RISES ON THE MIMIC STAGE.
Always, in life, little events pave the way for great catastrophes. The mine burns slowly until the explosive point is reached, and then—
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. Indeed, considering how exceedingly probable it seemed that she would be turned adrift at any hour by her present mistress, Céline was very cheerful.
And Miss Arthur had cause to complain. Beyond a doubt her French maid was becoming careless, very careless. Sometimes Miss Arthur was inclined to think that her scant locks of well-dyed hair were pulled quite unnecessarily, while her head was under Céline's hands. But this she endured like a Spartan, only exclaiming when the torture became unbearable. And when she finally ventured a protest, disastrous was the outcome.
With many an apology, Céline fingered the curls and braids, inquiring with every touch of the hand or adjustment of a hair-pin: "Does that hurt, mademoiselle?"
Being assured, when the hair-dressing was done, that she had accomplished the task without inflicting so much as a single twinge of pain, she held open the door for her mistress, cooing her satisfaction and beaming with delight.