“Oh, my dear, if _you_ have no objection to having him at your elbow all the evening, I have nothing more to say,” cried Crescenz; “that is quite a matter of taste.” “Is he annoying you in any way?” asked Hamilton. “Not in the least,” answered Hildegarde. “The crowd is so great that he could not easily leave us, even if he wished it.” In the meantime, Madame Berger and Madame Lustig, encouraged by the masks around them, had begun to follow the unmasked groups who had descended from the boxes. They knew the private histories of most persons, and were so unmerciful in their remarks—so mischievous in the distribution of their _bon-bons_ and devices, that they at length found it expedient to plan a retreat, which was no longer easy, as they were followed by several persons who wished to find out who they were. A dance which was to be performed by the _corps de ballet_, in costume, seemed to favour them. They had only time to whisper to each other, “Home, as fast as possible, by the front door of the theatre,” when they were pushed about and separated in all directions. Several coaches were in attendance, Hamilton immediately procured one, and they were soon in it laughing merrily over their adventures. “How well we all managed to come together, after all!” cried Madame Berger; “I really had begun to fear we should not get rid of my Turk—who could he have been!” “I don’t know,” said Madame Lustig, yawning, “but I am glad that we five are safely together again, and not running about looking for each other, which might easily have happened.” “It often does happen,” said Madame Berger, counting her companions, “one, two, three, four, five——There was a black familiar of the Inquisition following Hildegarde all night; I really was afraid he might have been among us.” To her house, according to agreement, they all repaired to change their dresses. Hamilton assisted them to descend from the carriage; the last person sprang unaided to the ground, threw the black domino back, with a quick wave of the hand, and discovered the figure of the Turk. “Good-night, Madame Berger,” he cried in a feigned voice, “good-night—good-night,” and with a gay laugh he darted down the street. “Was there ever anything so provoking!” exclaimed Madame Berger, in a voice denoting great annoyance. “What have I said to him to-night? or rather, what have I not said to him? How vexatious—he must have borrowed a domino from a friend in order to get among us!” “But,” cried Madame Lustig, in a voice of alarm, “one of us must have been left behind.” “It must be Crescenz,” cried Hamilton. “I will return to the theatre directly for her.” “It must be Hildegarde,” cried Crescenz, who stood beside him.