relish for sarcasm. Do you think Messaline
and Lelie had much admiration for La Bruyere's periods, however well
turned or justly pointed? but those whom the caps did not fit probably
enjoyed them as you and I do. All satirists, from Martial downwards,
most likely gain an enemy for each truth they utter, for in this bal
masque of life it is not permitted to tear the masks off our
companions."

"Do you wear one?" asked Valerie, quickly. "I fancy, like Monte Cristo,
your pleasure is to 'usurper les vices que vous n'avez pas, et de cacher
les vertus que vous avez.'"

"Virtues? If you knew me better, you would know that I never pretend to
any. If you compare me to Monte Cristo, say rather that I 'preche
loyalement l'egoisme,'" laughed Falkenstein. "Upon my word, we are
talking very seriously for a ball-room. I ought to be admiring your
bouquet, Miss L'Estrange, or petitioning for another waltz."

"Don't trouble yourself. I like this best," said Valerie, playing with
the flowers round her. "And I ought to have my own way, for this is my
birthday."

"New Year's-day? Indeed! Then I am sure I wish you most sincerely the
realisation of all your ideals and desires, which, to the imaginative
author of the proverbs, will be as good as wishing her Aladdin's lamp,"
smiled Falkenstein.

She smiled too, and sighed.

"And about as improbable as Aladdin's lamp. Did you see the Old Year out
last night?"

"Yes," he answered, briefly; for the remembrance of what he had lost
watching it out was not agreeable to him.

"There was a musical party here," continued Valerie, "but I got away
from it, for I like to be alone when the past and the future meet--do
not you?"

"No; your past is pure, your future is bright. Mine are not so; I don't
want to be stopped to contemplate them."

"Nor are mine, indeed; but the death of an Old Year is sad and solemn to
me as the death of a friend, and I like to be alone in its last hour. I
wonder," she continued, suddenly, "what this year will bring. I wonder
where you and I shall be next New Year's-night?"

Falkenstein laughed, not merrily.

"_I_ shall be in Kensal Green or the Queen's Bench, very likely. Why do
you look astonished Miss L'Estrange; one is the destination of everybody
in these rooms, and the other probably of one-half of them."

"Don't speak so bitterly--don't give me sad thoughts on my birthday. Oh,
how tiresome!" cried Valerie, interrupting herself, "there comes Major
D'Orwood.