The orchestra was pealing out a magnificent “Minuet de la Cour,” and that stately measure, performed by a few couples of the handsomest gallants and ladies of the Court, was eliciting the applause of a large and critical circle, amongst whom Captain George made one, when a voice thrilled in his ear, the tone of which brought the blood to his cheek, while a masked figure beside him passed her hand lightly through his arm. A tremendous flourish of brass instruments rendered the moment well-chosen for secret communication; but the mask had apparently nothing more confidential to say than this— “_Qui cherche trouve!_ You seek something, fair Musketeer. If you are in earnest, you shall find what you require!” The voice reminded him almost painfully of Cerise, yet was it deeper and fuller than the girl’s in tone. He scanned the figure at his side with a quick penetrating glance; but she was so shrouded in a black satin cloak reaching to the flounces of her ball-dress, that he gathered but little from her inspection. He noted, however, a leaf of the stephanotis, peeping from under the folds that concealed her bouquet, and recollecting the events of the morning, made a shrewd guess at his companion. Perhaps she would have thought him very stupid had it been otherwise. All this elaborate artifice of disguise may have been for her own deception, not his. She might talk to him more freely under protest, as it were, that he had no right to know her; and she was, moreover, so well enveloped and altered, that she could scarcely be identified by passing acquaintances, or, indeed, by any one with whom she refused to converse. “I seek only amusement,” answered the Musketeer, with the natural instinct of mankind to disavow sentiment. “I have not yet found much, I confess, though Point d’Appui’s airs and graces in the dance there would afford it to any one who had not seen them as often as I have.” She laughed scornfully, leaning on his arm. “And they call that thing _a Man_!” said she, with an accent on the substantive extremely uncomplimentary to Count Point d’Appui, who was indeed a handsome, conceited, pleasant, young good-for-nothing enough; “and these are the objects women break their hearts about—dress for them, dance for them, die for them; nay, even come to masked balls, disfigured and disguised for their unworthy sakes. What fools you must think us, Captain George; and what fools we are!” “You know me, madame,” exclaimed the Musketeer, affecting surprise, rather as entering into the spirit of the scene than with any deeper motive. “You must know, then, that I am amongst the most devoted and respectful admirers of your sex.” She laughed again the low soft laugh that was one of her greatest charms, and lost, moreover, none of its attraction from her disguise.