among the whiriing dancers, and was lost; in the spangled and riotous multitude.
His hearer smiled. A woman who owned a limitless power, and was unscrupulous, and without pity in its use, was, perhaps, the only woman he was capable of respecting. Cold as he was, and but little accessible to anything of passion, for which his blood ran too suavely and too tranquilly, he felt something of warm, eager curiosity sweep over him, and his pulse beat a shade quicker with a new expectation. He had long heard of this sorceress—he had never seen her; and he threaded his way with impatience through the Arlequins, Pierrots, masks, and costumes, till he reached the stairs, and mounted them lightly and rapidly towards the box, opened the door, and entered.
It was filled with dominoes, all decorated with the silver spray, and all bending towards her with eyes that told their admiration through their masks, and voices that murmured flatteries, homage, and wit—to an inattentive ear. She lifted her head, and turned slightly as the door unclosed; her eyes dwelt on him through her mask, noting the badge he wore. She bowed languidly.
"Enter, monsieur."
And Victor Vane, all impassive diplomatist, all
