ay call himself Eugen Courvoisier; he
was once known by some name in a very different world to that he lives
in now. I know nothing about that, but I know this--that I believe in
him. I have lived more than three years with him; he is true and
honorable; fantastically, chivalrously honorable" (her eyes were
downcast and her cheeks burning). "He never did anything false or
dishonest--"

A slight, low, sneering laugh at my right hand caused me to look up.
That figure in a white domino with a black mask, and a crimson rosette
on the breast, stood leaning up against the foot of the organ, but other
figures were near; the laugh might have come from one of them; it might
have nothing to do with us or our remarks. I went on in a vehement and
eager tone:

"He is what we Germans call a _ganzer kerl_--thorough in all--out and
out good. Nothing will ever make me believe otherwise. Perhaps the
mystery will never be cleared up. It doesn't matter to me. It will make
no difference in my opinion of the only man I love."

A pause. Miss Wedderburn was looking at me; her eyes were full of tears;
her face strangely moved. Yes--she loved him. It stood confessed in the
very strength of the effort she made to be calm and composed. As she
opened her lips to speak, that domino that I mentioned glided from her
place and stooping down between us, whispered or murmured:

"You are a fool for your pains. Believe no one--least of all those who
look most worthy of belief. He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is
from shame and disgrace that he hides himself. Ask him if he remembers
the 20th of April five years ago; you will hear what he has to say about
it, and how brave and honorable he looks."

Swift as fire the words were said, and rapidly as the same she had
raised herself and disappeared. We were left gazing at each other. Miss
Wedderburn's face was blanched--she stared at me with large dilated
eyes, and at last in a low voice of anguish and apprehension said:

"Oh, what does it mean?"

Her voice recalled me to myself.

"It may mean what it likes," said I, calmly. "As I said, it makes no
difference to me. I do not and will not believe that he ever did
anything dishonorable."

"Do you not?" said she, tremulously. "But--but--Anna Sartorius does know
something of him."

"Who is Anna Sartorius?"

"Why, that domino who spoke to us just now. But I forgot. You will not
know her. She wanted long ago to tell me about him, and I would not