n these
cards come. Ladies who have not received call-outs, and gentlemen who
are not members of the societies, are packed into the boxes and seats
above the parquet floor, and do not go upon the dancing floor until very
late in the evening. Throughout each ball the members of the society
giving the ball continue to wear their costumes and their masks, so that
ladies, called from their seats to dance, often find themselves treading
a measure with some gallant who speaks in a strange assumed voice,
striving to maintain the mystery of his identity. The ladies, upon the
other hand, are not in costume and are not masked; about them, there is
no more mystery than women always have about them. After each dance the
masker produces a present for his partner--usually a pretty bit of
jewelry. Etiquette not only allows, but insists, that a woman accept any
gift offered to her at a carnival ball, and it is said that by this
means many a young gentleman has succeeded in bestowing upon the lady of
his heart a piece of jewelry the value of which would make acceptance of
the gift impossible under other than carnival conditions.

After the balls many of the younger couples go to the Louisiane and
Antoine's, to continue the dance, and as my room at Antoine's was
directly over one of the dancing rooms of the establishment, I might
make a shrewd guess as to how long they stayed up, after my companion
and I retired.

Let it not be supposed that we retired early. I remember well the look
of the pale blue dawn of Ash Wednesday morning, and no less do I
remember a conversation with a gentleman I met at the Louisiane, just
before the dawn broke. I never saw him before and I have never seen him
since; nor do I know his name, or where he came from. I only know that
he was an agreeable, friendly person who did not wish to go to bed.

When I said that I was going home he protested.

"Don't do that!" he urged. "There's a nice French restaurant in this
town. I can't think of the name of it. Let's go there."

"Well, how can we go if you don't know what place it is?" I asked,
intending to be discouraging.

The young man looked dazed at this. Then his face brightened suddenly.

"Oh, yes!" he cried. "I remember the name now! It's the Louisiane! Come
on! Let's get our coats an' go there!"

"But," I said, "this is the Louisiane right here."

The thought seemed to stagger him, for he swayed ever so slightly.

"All right," he said, regarding me wi