Léon followed with the rest. At every step the curiosity of the crowd added to the numbers of the little procession; soon, it encountered a group of masqueraders, themselves the center of a cortège, who, coming from the opposite direction, threw such confusion into the ranks that one of the ladies, the younger looking of the two, was separated from her friends. Glancing anxiously around her in search of a protector, her eyes fell on Léon, who was following her movements with a good deal of interest, and, hastily seizing his arm, "Oh, I implore you," she said nervously, using the familiar _thou_, "get us out of this and help me find my friends." "I am at your service, lovely Mask. Don't be afraid; trust yourself to me, and come with me." And, with the lady clinging to one arm, with the other he cleared a way for her through the press, bringing her safely out at last to the cloak room; there he seated her on a bench, and volunteered to go to find her some refreshments. "No, stay with me," she said; "I don't want anything. I am really ashamed to have given way to such foolish terror." "Ah, but I am ready to bless the cause; without it, I should not have known the happiness of being chosen by you to protect you." "I am willing to admit that you have rendered me a great service, and I am grateful. I will even implore you to continue to extend your protection until we can find my friends." "What! You want to leave me already? Ah, if only from gratitude, grant me a few minutes." "Well, then, as a reward, I will stay a few minutes with you." They sat down side by side, and the time sped swiftly while they chatted gaily, lightly together. At last the charming Mask bethought herself once more of her missing party. "But who are these friends of yours?" said Léon. "Is it your mother, or sister? And, perhaps, a husband?" "A husband? No, indeed, thank God!" "You are not married?" "No, not now." "What, already a widow? How sorry I am for you!" "Pray, why should you suppose that I am to be pitied? Are all husbands so kind? Are all men so tender? Is there, on the contrary, one who deserves to be regretted?" "Oh, what an anathema! He is a happy fellow who succeeds in inspiring you with juster, milder feelings!" "Toward men? Heaven forbid!" "Then you are determined to drive to despair all the troop of admirers who, no doubt--" "I haven't one; I have just arrived from the other side of the world, and know nobody here." "Nobody, really? Then, fair Mask, I put myself down as your first, and you will see that I shall be ever the most devoted, the most constant--" "Constant! _Bon Dieu_! If it is in that strain you are going to talk, I shall leave you forthwith." "What, does constancy--? "Constancy is but a chain that we pretend to wear in order to impose its weight on another. Now that I am free, perfectly free, I intend to remain so; no man living could induce me to forswear myself."