a violet
ribbon on the left shoulder. He hastened to a distance from Canillac and
Richelieu, in order not to be interrupted in a conversation which he
expected to be highly interesting.

The unknown, whose voice betrayed her sex, was of middle height, and
young, as far as one could judge from the elasticity of her movements.
As M. de Richelieu had already remarked, she had adopted the costume
best calculated to hide either graces or defects. She was dressed as a
bat--a costume much in vogue, and very convenient, from its perfect
simplicity, being composed only of two black skirts. The manner of
employing them was at the command of everybody. One was fastened, as
usual, round the waist; the masked head was passed through the
placket-hole of the other. The front was pulled down to make wings; the
back raised to make horns. You were almost certain thus to puzzle an
interlocutor, who could only recognize you by the closest scrutiny.

The chevalier made all these observations in less time than it has taken
to describe them; but having no knowledge of the person with whom he had
to deal, and believing it to be some love intrigue, he hesitated to
speak; when, turning toward him:

"Chevalier," said the mask, without disguising her voice, assuming that
her voice was unknown to him, "do you know that I am doubly grateful to
you for having come, particularly in the state of mind in which you are?
It is unfortunate that I cannot attribute this exactitude to anything
but curiosity."

"Beautiful mask!" answered D'Harmental, "did you not tell me in your
letter that you were a good genius? Now, if really you partake of a
superior nature, the past, the present and the future must be known to
you. You knew, then, that I should come; and, since you knew it, my
coming ought not to astonish you."

"Alas!" replied the unknown, "it is easy to see that you are a weak
mortal, and that you are happy enough never to have raised yourself
above your sphere, otherwise you would know that if we, as you say, know
the past, the present and the future, this science is silent as to what
regards ourselves, and that the things we most desire remain to us
plunged in the most dense obscurity."

"Diable! Monsieur le Genie," answered D'Harmental, "do you know that you
will make me very vain if you continue in that tone; for, take care, you
have told me, or nearly so, that you had a great desire that I should
come to your rendezvous."

"I did not think