n, and I will reply."

We began our conversation, but when he came to the word Sabato, Saturday,
which is a Sabo in Venetian, I discovered that he was a real Venetian,
but not from Venice itself. He said I was right, and that he judged from
my accent that I came from Venice.

"Quite so," said I.

"I thought Bernadi was the only Venetian besides myself in St.
Petersburg."

"You see you are mistaken."

"My name is Count Volpati di Treviso."

"Give me your address, and I will come and tell you who I am, for I
cannot do so here."

"Here it is."

After leaving the count I continued my progress through this wonderful
hall, and two or three hours after I was attracted by the voice of a
female masquer speaking Parisian French in a high falsetto, such as is
common at an opera ball.

I did not recognize the voice but I knew the style, and felt quite
certain that the masquer must be one of my old friends, for she spoke
with the intonations and phraseology which I had rendered popular in my
chief places of resort at Paris.

I was curious to see who it could be, and not wishing to speak before I
knew her, I had the patience to wait till she lifted her mask, and this
occurred at the end of an hour. What was my surprise to see Madame Baret,
the stocking-seller of the Rue St. Honor& My love awoke from its long
sleep, and coming up to her I said, in a falsetto voice,--

"I am your friend of the 'Hotel d'Elbeuf.'"

She was puzzled, and looked the picture of bewilderment. I whispered in
her ear, "Gilbert Baret, Rue des Prouveres," and certain other facts
which could only be known to herself and a fortunate lover.

She saw I knew her inmost secrets, and drawing me away she begged me to
tell her who I was.

"I was your lover, and a fortunate one, too," I replied; "but before I
tell you my name, with whom are you, and how are you?"

"Very well; but pray do not divulge what I tell you. I left Paris with M.
d'Anglade, counsellor in the Court of Rouen. I lived happily enough for
some time with him, and then left him to go with a theatrical manager,
who brought me here as an actress under the name of de l'Anglade, and now
I am kept by Count Rzewuski, the Polish ambassador. And now tell me who
you are?"

Feeling sure of enjoying her again, I lifted my mask. She gave a cry of
joy, and exclaimed,--

"My good angel has brought you to St. Petersburg."

"How do you mean?"

"Rzewuski is obliged to go back to Poland, and now I