of masks. It is a strange scene, stranger than dreams. But where
is the park?--I ought to be near it. In the midst of this glare the
park must be shadowy and calm--_there_, at least, are neither torches,
lamps, nor crowd?

I was asking this question when an open carriage passed me filled with
known faces. Through the deep throng it could pass but slowly; the
spirited horses fretted in their curbed ardour. I saw the occupants of
that carriage well: me they could not see, or, at least, not know,
folded close in my large shawl, screened with my straw hat (in that
motley crowd no dress was noticeably strange). I saw the Count de
Bassompierre; I saw my godmother, handsomely apparelled, comely and
cheerful; I saw, too, Paulina Mary, compassed with the triple halo of
her beauty, her youth, and her happiness. In looking on her countenance
of joy, and eyes of festal light, one scarce remembered to note the
gala elegance of what she wore; I know only that the drapery floating
about her was all white and light and bridal; seated opposite to her I
saw Graham Bretton; it was in looking up at him her aspect had caught
its lustre--the light repeated in _her_ eyes beamed first out of his.

It gave me strange pleasure to follow these friends viewlessly, and I
_did_ follow them, as I thought, to the park. I watched them alight
(carriages were inadmissible) amidst new and unanticipated splendours.
Lo! the iron gateway, between the stone columns, was spanned by a
flaming arch built of massed stars; and, following them cautiously
beneath that arch, where were they, and where was I?

In a land of enchantment, a garden most gorgeous, a plain sprinkled
with coloured meteors, a forest with sparks of purple and ruby and
golden fire gemming the foliage; a region, not of trees and shadow, but
of strangest architectural wealth--of altar and of temple, of pyramid,
obelisk, and sphinx: incredible to say, the wonders and the symbols of
Egypt teemed throughout the park of Villette.

No matter that in five minutes the secret was mine--the key of the
mystery picked up, and its illusion unveiled--no matter that I quickly
recognised the material of these solemn fragments--the timber, the
paint, and the pasteboard--these inevitable discoveries failed to quite
destroy the charm, or undermine the marvel of that night. No matter
that I now seized the explanation of the whole great fete--a fete of
which the conventual Rue Fossette had not tasted, though it h