But she adjusted the garment without his assistance.
“You must be careful of your health––for the sake of your friends!” Accompanying the words with a significant glance.
“The count is right!” interposed the elderly gentlewoman. “As he usually is!” she added, laughing.
“Oh, Madam!” he said, bowing. “Miss Carew does not agree with you, I am sure?” Turning to the girl.
“I haven’t given the matter any thought,” she replied, coldly. She shivered slightly, nervously, and looked around.
At that moment the lights were turned on in the garden––another surprise arranged by the Mistick Krewe!––illuminating trees and shrubbery, and casting a sudden glare upon the balcony.
“Bravo!” said the count. “It’s like a fête-champêtre! And hear the mandolins! Tra-la-la-la-la! Why, what is it?”
She had given a sudden cry and stood staring toward the right at the back of the balcony. Within, the orchestra once more began to play, and, as the strains of music were wafted to them, a host of masqueraders started toward the ball-room. When the inflow of merry-makers had ceased, bewildered, trembling, she looked with blanched face toward the spot where the soldier had been standing, but he was gone.
At that moment the cathedral clock began to strike––twelve times it sounded, and, at the last stroke, the Mistick Krewe, one by one began to disappear, vanishing as mysteriously as they had come. Pluto, Proserpine, the Fates, fairies and harpies; Satan, Beelzebub; the dwellers in pandemonium; the aids to 487 appetite––all took their quick departure, leaving the musicians and the guests of the evening, including the visiting military, to their own pleasures and devices. The first carnival had come to a close.