But this last sacrifice to appearances Usk declined to make, and after Nicholson had reminded him to provide himself with a good bag of confetti and a tin scoop, he crept downstairs, hoping fervently not to meet any one he knew, and went out by the side door of the hotel, whence he found his way easily to the Old Town and into the main stream of gaiety. His sole idea had been to look for Félicia, to convince himself that she had deliberately broken her promise to him, or perhaps to have the delight of finding that Mrs van Zyl and Maimie were joining in the fun without her. But once in the whirling, ever-changing throng, he soon recognised that there was little hope of finding any one. Strangers accosted him, rallied him on his loneliness, invited him to join them. Confetti flew about in showers, small hard bouquets hurtled through the air from the decorated carriages as they passed, and the phantasmagoria of sound and colour fleeted and shifted every moment. Overhead, against the glowing blue of the sky, were strings of fluttering flags and wreaths of evergreen; a little lower, windows and shop-fronts were garlanded and decked with bright-hued stuffs; the lofty cars which lurched past vied with one another in the richness of their colour-schemes and the _bizarrerie_ of their mechanical devices; small foot-soldiers and dragoons on prancing steeds were pressed hither and thither in valiant attempts to keep a line. There were people in the road, people on the pavement, people in every door and window, people on the roofs. Bands blared, maskers hissed, cackled, hooted, neighed, yelled; imperious policemen forced their way along with the word “_circulez_” on their lips, although to obey was obviously impossible. People entangled each other in long paper streamers, banged each other with bladders, knocked off each other’s headgear, poked confetti down each other’s collars, all in high good-humour, and amid shrieks of laughter. Dominos of every possible colour and shade of colour, Pierrots and Pierrettes of every degree of inanity, debased national and historical costumes of every country and every era, eddied round Usk, but he tried in vain to distinguish any figure that he knew. Anxious and troubled as he was, he had soon had enough of the scene, but he kept his temper, and flung his confetti with the best, until they were exhausted. By this time he had managed to traverse almost the entire route of the procession, and he turned to retrace his steps. As he did so, he noticed a band of men with false noses, who seemed to be chaffing some one in their midst. As Usk was carried close to them by the crowd, he saw that the centre of attraction was a girl in German peasant costume. Her hair hung in two thick plaits below her waist, and in her short skirts she looked little more than a child. Her stiff little round cap had been tweaked off by one of the group surrounding her, two more had possessed