[Scene:—A balcony opening by a wide, curtained window from a ball-room in which a masquerade is in progress. Two maskers, the lady dressed as a peasant girl of Britany and her companion as a brigand, come out. The curtains fall behind them so that they are hidden from those within.]
He. You waltz divinely, mademoiselle.
She. Thank you. So I have been told before, but I find that it depends entirely upon my partner.
He. You flatter me. Will you sit down?
She. Thank you. How glad one is when a ball is over. It is almost worth enduring it all, just to experience the relief of getting through with it.
He. What a world-weary sentiment for one so young and doubtless so fair.
She. Oh, everybody is young in a mask, and by benefit of the same doubt, I suppose, everybody is fair as well.
He. It were easy in the present case to settle all doubts by dropping the mask.
She. No, thank you. The doubt does not trouble me, so why should I take pains to dispel it? Say I am five hundred; I feel it.