'Tis an Englishman, _sans masqué_, of course, (no gentleman covers his face, unless he has a motive for so doing,) who is dreadfully intrigued by two black dominoes, who are telling him all he has been doing the last fortnight. He has been lured hither by an anonymous letter, asking him to come and meet a blue domino; twice he has furtively looked at this letter, to be certain it said blue, being positive in his own mind that one of these two must be the writer. Shall we leave him in his perplexity, and, standing on the stair leading down into the _salle de danse_, where a dense crowd, in every imaginable dress, is jostled together, endeavouring to dance, and, looking on, admire the sober, judge-like gravity of several men--authors, artists, men of the highest rank, semi-disguised--who are dancing the most grotesque figures without a smile on their countenances? They look as if they had made a pact, for an allotted time, with some mocking spirit, to make fools of themselves. Or shall we look up in a _loge au premier_, and see a group of many, the ladies all in black dominoes, the gentlemen in plain evening dress, unmasked? Yes; we will pause here. This is Lady Lysson's box; for see!--every lady has a rose on the left breast. How amused they all appear! Some had been before, others never; and there is something peculiarly exciting and novel to an English lady the first time she sees a _bal de l'opera_: she has heard so much of and against them, it is almost as a forbidden tree, which makes the fruit the sweeter. Tremenhere came in rather late, and alone. He was standing in the _foyer_, looking around him: this large saloon was crowded to excess. Near the clock (that place for rendezvous) he stood, well assured there he should soon be seen by some of the party; but for some time he looked in vain: they were all in their _loge_, too much delighted with the scene to quit hastily. As he stood thus, some one brushed past him; rather, they were pushed by the crowd. _He_ had not previously noticed them, but they had been fixed, statue-like, regarding him; and the crowd pushed them from their contemplative position against him. "Oh!" ejaculated a trembling voice; "I beg pardon. I----" He turned: it was a black domino, with the significant rose on its breast. He instantly offered his arm, and the woman clung to it as in terror. "I see," he said in a low tone, "that I have been fortunate enough to offer my protection to one of the 'Roses of the Left,' but to whom, I am totally ignorant. How have you lost your party? 'Tis unpleasant in so great a crowd; you might be insulted." "Sir," she uttered in a low, scarcely audible, voice, and in French, "you are mistaken--we are strangers." "Strangers!" he cried, stopping an instant, and gazing at the closely-concealed face and figure. "Impossible! else you had not taken my arm; for you must be one of Lady L----'s party by your dress." The girl was silent; but a sigh escaped her.