u come, until I
promised not to allow you out of my sight."

"It was lovely of you to take me," she said, "and I don't mind about
the military gentlemen."

"My dear, if all women were like you, we poor civilians would not be
relegated to the background! I wish, though, I had worn some other
costume. This--ahem, dress!--has a tendency to get between my legs and
disconcert my philosophical dignity. I can understand why Diogenes
didn't care about walking abroad. My only wonder is that everybody
didn't stay in his tub in those days. Don't talk to me about the
'noble Roman!' Why, he wore skirts!"

"And Monsieur Intaglio lectured to us for an hour to-day about the
wonderful drapery of the ancients!" laughed the girl. "The poetry of
dress, he called it!"

"Then I prefer prose. Hello!"--pausing and raising his lantern, as
they drew near the officer who had fallen under the observation of the
_fille a la cassette_. "Colonel Saint-Prosper, or set me down for an
ass--or Plato, which is the same thing!"

"Straws!" said the soldier, as the bard frankly lifted his mask and
tilted it back over his forehead.

"Glad to see you!" continued the poet, extending his hand. "I haven't
run across you before since the night of the banquet; the debut of
Barnes' company you remember? You must have left town shortly
afterward. Returned this morning, of course! By the way, there's one
of your old friends here to-night."

Saint-Prosper felt the color mount to his face, and even Straws noted
the change. "Who is that?" asked the soldier, awkwardly.

"Mrs. Service--Miss Duran that was--now one of our most dashing--I
should say, charitable, ladies. Plenty of men at Service's church now.
She's dressed in Watteau-fashion to-night, so if you see any one
skipping around, looking as though she had just stepped from the
Embarkation for the Island of Venus, set her down for the minister's
pretty wife!"

"And the minister?" asked Saint-Prosper, mechanically.

"He brought her; he compromised on a Roundhead costume, himself! But
we must be off. _Au revoir_; don't be backward; the ladies are all
military-mad. It may be a field of arms"--casting his glance over the
assemblage of fashionably dressed ladies, with a quizzical smile--"but
not hostile arms! Come, Celestina--Nydia, I mean!"

And Straws' arm stole about the waist of his companion, as Saint-Prosper
watched them disappearing in the throng of dancers. It was Celestina's
first ball, and after h