hing
him again, from the opposite end of the lane formed by the gentlemen on
one side and the ladies on the other, he saw the Yellow Mask.

He moved abruptly back, toward another row of dancers, placed at right
angles to the first row; and there again; at the opposite end of the gay
lane of brightly-dressed figures, was the Yellow Mask. He slipped into
the middle of the room, but it was only to find her occupying his former
position near the wall, and still, in spite of his disguise, watching
him through row after row of dancers. The persecution began to grow
intolerable; he felt a kind of angry curiosity mingling now with the
vague dread that had hitherto oppressed him. Finello's advice recurred
to his memory; and he determined to make the woman unmask at all
hazards. With this intention he returned to the supper-room in which he
had left his friends.

They were gone, probably to the ballroom, to look for him. Plenty of
wine was still left on the sideboard, and he poured himself out a glass.
Finding that his hand trembled as he did so, he drank several more
glasses in quick succession, to nerve himself for the approaching
encounter with the Yellow Mask. While he was drinking he expected
every moment to see her in the looking-glass again; but she never
appeared--and yet he felt almost certain that he had detected her
gliding out after him when he left the ballroom.

He thought it possible that she might be waiting for him in one of the
smaller apartments, and, taking off his mask, walked through several
of them without meeting her, until he came to the door of the
refreshment-room in which Nanina and he had recognized each other. The
waiting-woman behind the table, who had first spoken to him, caught
sight of him now, and ran round to the door.

"Don't come in and speak to Nanina again," she said, mistaking the
purpose which had brought him to the door. "What with frightening her
first, and making her cry afterward, you have rendered her quite unfit
for her work. The steward is in there at this moment, very good-natured,
but not very sober. He says she is pale and red-eyed, and not fit to be
a shepherdess any longer, and that, as she will not be missed now, she
may go home if she likes. We have got her an old cloak, and she is going
to try and slip through the rooms unobserved, to get downstairs and
change her dress. Don't speak to her, pray, or you will only make her
cry again; and what is worse, make the steward f