Mrs. Lucien was clothed in a soft, clinging gown of white wool, from which her pure, oval face arose in statuesque grace and beauty.
The dark waves of her hair were brushed back from the rounded forehead and gleamed in shining ripples to her neck as the glare of the foot-lights fell upon her.
“What a striking face! A painter might have made a model of her for a Madonna. She is grace personified,� whispered Alice. “I can think of nothing but a statue of one of the graces.�
“Doesn’t she look more like a painting of St. Cecilia?� Mark replied.
“Yes, she does look like her. She is about to speak.�
The chairman of the psychical club led her forward and briefly introduced her as Madame Lucien, who would give exhibitions of psychometric reading and slate-writing. Mrs. Lucien bowed slightly for a moment to the vociferous clapping of hands which greeted her, and then spoke in a low, sympathetic voice, which thrilled her hearers.
“Dear Friends: I do not come to you to-night with any gift or knowledge of my own winning. For some inscrutable reason it has been given me to read that which my physical eyes cannot discern. By some psychic telepathy, or telegraphy, which is as mysterious to me as to any one here, I am made the bearer of messages and permitted to see and describe to you that which is not visible to our mortal eyes.�
She turned toward the gentleman by whom she had been presented, who now bound a handkerchief tightly over her eyes, and addressing the audience, requested that while Madame Lucien was passing under control an usher would gather up from the audience such articles as they would like to submit to the medium for psychic reading and identification.
Handkerchiefs, gloves, pocket knives, etcetera, were being collected, and Nathan was about to detach a charm from his watchguard with which to test her powers, when he chanced to glance up at Major Walden.
He was startled. The scene at the office seemed about to be reenacted. The Major’s face was livid and distorted.