“Tant mieux!” cried the girl; “I shall make a snowball—a—” she opened her blue eyes impressively, “a very, very large one, and—” “And?” “Drop it on the head of Mr Rowden,” she announced, with cheerful decision. “I’ll warn poor Rowden of your intention,” he laughed, as the cab rolled smoothly up the Avenue de l’Opera, across the Boulevard des Italiens, and stopped before the glittering pile of the great Opera. She sprang lightly to the curbstone and stood tapping her little feet against the pavement while Gethryn fumbled about for his fare. The steps of the Opera and the Plaza were covered with figures in dominoes, blue, red or black, many grotesque and bizarre costumes, and not a few sober claw hammers. The great flare of yellow light which bathed and flooded the shifting, many-colored throng, also lent a strangely weird effect to the now heavily falling snowflakes. Carriages and cabs kept arriving in countless numbers. It was half past two, and nobody who wanted to be considered anybody thought of arriving before that hour. The people poured in a steady stream through the portals. Groups of English and American students in their irreproachable evening attire, groups of French students in someone else’s doubtful evening attire, crowds of rustling silken dominoes, herds of crackling muslin dominoes, countless sad-faced Pierrots, fewer sad-faced Capuchins, now and then a slim Mephistopheles, now and then a fat, stolid Turk, ’Arry, Tom, and Billy, redolent of plum pudding and Seven Dials, Gontran, Gaston and Achille, savoring of brasseries and the Sorbonne. And then, from the carriages and fiacres: Mademoiselle Patchouli and good old Monsieur Bonvin, Mademoiselle Nitouche and bad young Monsieur de Sacrebleu, Mademoiselle Moineau and Don Cæsar Imberbe; and the pink silk domino of “La Pataude”—mais n’importe! Allons, Messieurs, Mesdames, to the cloak room—to the foyer! To the escalier! or you, Madame la Comtesse, to your box, and smooth out your crumpled domino; as for “La Pataude,” she is going to dance tonight. Gethryn, with Yvonne clinging tightly to his arm, entered the great vestibule and passed through the railed lanes to the broad inclined aisle which led to the floor. “Do you want to take a peep before we go to our box?” he asked, leading her to the doorway. Yvonne’s little heart beat faster as she leaned over and glanced at the dazzling spectacle. “Come, hurry—let us go to the box!” she whispered, dragging Gethryn after her up the stairway. He followed, laughing at her excitement, and in a few minutes they found the door of their lodge and slipped in. Gethryn lighted a cigarette and began to unstrap his field glasses. “Take these, Yvonne,” he said, handing them to her while he adjusted her own tiny gold ones.