"I must have the mask to-day," Lord George said. "Have you none ready-made?" "Ah, I see. Required for immediate wear," murmured Mr. Aeneas, dubiously. "You see, your Lordship takes a rather large size." And he looked at the floor. "Julius!" he cried suddenly to his assistant, who was putting the finishing touches to a mask of Barbarossa which the young king of Zürremburg was to wear at his coronation the following week. "Julius! Do you remember the saint's mask we made for Mr. Ripsby, a couple of years ago?" "Yes, sir," said the boy. "It's stored upstairs." "I thought so," replied Mr. Aeneas. "Mr. Ripsby only had it on hire. Step upstairs, Julius, and bring it down. I fancy it is just what your Lordship would wish. Spiritual, yet handsome." "Is it a mask that is even as a mirror of true love?" Lord George asked, gravely. "It was made precisely as such," the mask-maker answered. "In fact it was made for Mr. Ripsby to wear at his silver wedding, and was very highly praised by the relatives of Mrs. Ripsby. Will your Lordship step into my little room?" So Mr. Aeneas led the way to his parlour behind the shop. He was elated by the distinguished acquisition to his _clientèle_, for hitherto Lord George had never patronized his business. He bustled round his parlour and insisted that his Lordship should take a chair and a pinch from his snuff-box, while the saint's mask was being found. Lord George's eye travelled along the rows of framed letters from great personages, which lined the walls. He did not see them though, for he was calculating the chances that La Gambogi had not observed him as he entered the mask-shop. He had come down so early that he had thought she would still be abed. That sinister old proverb, _La jalouse se lève de bonne heure_, rose in his memory. His eye fell unconsciously on a large, round mask made of dull silver, with the features of a human face traced over its surface in faint filigree. "Your Lordship wonders what mask that is?" chirped Mr. Aeneas, tapping the thing with one of his little finger nails. "What is that mask?" Lord George murmured, absently. "I ought not to divulge, my Lord," said the mask-maker. "But I know your Lordship would respect a professional secret, a secret of which I am pardonable proud. This," he said, "is a mask for the sun-god, Apollo, whom heaven bless!" "You astound me," said Lord George.