and leaned back to laugh with these. The
passing maskers looked that way, with a certain instinct that there was
beauty under those two costumes. As they did so, they saw the _Fille a
la Cassette_ join in this over-shoulder conversation. A moment later,
they saw the old gentleman protector and the _Fille a la Cassette_
rising to the dance. And when presently the distant passers took a final
backward glance, that same Lieutenant of Dragoons had returned and he
and the little Monk were once more upon the floor, waiting for
the music.

"But your late companion?" said the voice in the cowl.

"My Indian Queen?" asked the Creole Epaminondas.

"Say, rather, your Medicine-Man," archly replied the Monk.

"In these times," responded the Cavalier, "a medicine-man cannot dance
long without professional interruption, even when he dances for a
charitable object. He has been called to two relapsed patients." The
music struck up; the speaker addressed himself to the dance; but the
lady did not respond.

"Do dragoons ever moralize?" she asked.

"They do more," replied her partner; "sometimes, when beauty's enjoyment
of the ball is drawing toward its twilight, they catch its pleasant
melancholy, and confess; will the good father sit in the confessional?"

The pair turned slowly about and moved toward the box from which they
had come, the lady remaining silent; but just as they were entering she
half withdrew her arm from his, and, confronting him with a rich sparkle
of the eyes within the immobile mask of the monk, said:

"Why should the conscience of one poor little monk carry all the
frivolity of this ball? I have a right to dance, if I wish. I give you
my word, Monsieur Dragoon, I dance only for the benefit of the sick and
the destitute. It is you men--you dragoons and others--who will not help
them without a compensation in this sort of nonsense. Why should we
shrive you when you ought to burn?"

"Then lead us to the altar," said the Dragoon.

"Pardon, sir," she retorted, her words entangled with a musical,
open-hearted laugh, "I am not going in that direction." She cast her
glance around the ball-room. "As you say, it is the twilight of the
ball; I am looking for the evening star,--that is, my little
Huguenotte."

"Then you are well mated."

"How?"

"For you are Aurora."

The lady gave a displeased start.

"Sir!"

"Pardon," said the Cavalier, "if by accident I have hit upon your real
name--"

She laughed agai