Part 2 (1/2)

”You said so,_ mon ami_.”

”It was in an undiplomatic moment.”

”Therefore true, and your tongue, at least, is still youthful. _Au revoir_, monsieur.”

Therese created a sensation. There are women even among my chosen acquaintances who insist upon their maids being stiff, and, if possible, ugly. Perhaps they fear the comparison which I am too satisfied with myself to be concerned about, and on that night I was thankful that my choice had fallen upon a girl who could so admirably play the part I had selected for her, one whom I need not fear, by some vulgar _gaucherie_, would spoil my plans or endanger my success.

Therese created a sensation, and, as she entered, the audacity of her costume drew all eyes towards her.

Her pretty auburn curls were surmounted by the ”Cap of Liberty,” draped in c.r.a.pe; her skirt was of the palest yellow silk, with the outlines of our ”Lost Provinces” in black; while, symbolical of the day we prayed for, the arms of France were more than half eclipsing those of Germany.

For a moment there was the silence of admiration as she entered, and then a hum of applause burst into a shout as each loyal heart caught the symbolical meaning of the fading colors of the German arms, almost hidden by the simple sweetness of our own dear _fleur-de-lis_, and patriotic voices cried, ”_Vive belle Alsace! Vive, vive Lorraine!_”

And Therese bore the sensation as I would have done myself. I turned a diamond half-hoop on my finger, reflecting it was the last time I could do so, for to-morrow it should be hers.

Strictly obedient to my instructions, she danced but little, always following, with some ostentation of persistence, the movements of a lady who had attracted pa.s.sing attention--the embodiment of the ”Franco-Russe Alliance.” It was a quaint sport we favored--the maid watching the maid.

Midnight struck, and from a secluded corner I saw the note pa.s.sed to Therese, who quietly descended the steps, mingled for a moment in the kaleidoscopic throng, and so departed.

Then I added a new gown to the diamond ring, for what other girl could have left a carnival where she was the belle because she had been told to do so?

Like a modern Cinderella, she left it all, and yet, wiser than the damsel of the fairy tale, left before she was discovered, and I, a commonplace ”Carmen”--for I remember there were three of us--now felt the decisive moment had arrived. A man had been watching Therese as she descended the staircase, and I touched him lightly upon the arm.

”The Provinces are lost, monsieur,” I said, softly. ”Be content with operatic Spain,” and I hummed a melody of Bizet's.

”You, madame?” he cried, as he recognized my voice.

”Yes, I.”

”I thought she who just left was you,” he said, as though anxious to explain the attention he had devoted to Therese.

”And I, monsieur, know my friends too well to be deceived by a masquerade,” I answered, and, of a truth, I believe that there must have been a tell-tale trace of sentiment in my tones. And why not? Even a pretty widow may have sentimental moments at times when her dearest friend is near at hand. He looked straight into my eyes as though he would read my inmost thoughts.

”Do you mean that?”

”I mean this, Gaspard, _mon cher ami_. I want you to do me a favor.

Indeed, before the night is out there may be many favors I need to ask, and I want you to grant them all.”

”Then they must be renamed,” he answered, ”not favors, but pleasures.”

”See,” I cried, ”that woman dressed in the frosted green gown--intended, I should think, to represent an ice palace?”

”Yes.”

”Do you know who she is?”

”No; who can say?” he replied, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

”I must be near her for the rest of the night--I want to watch her.”