“Was it he?” she cried, with unaffected eagerness.
“Mon Dieu!” said the young Russian, but more through thoughtlessness than malice, for she was not bad-hearted. “One would say, my dear child, that you are very much interested in knowing—”
“You know,” observed good Mademoiselle Potin, opportunely, “that Countess Margaret is afraid of Christian Waldo.”
“Afraid of him?” said the major, in surprise.
“Why, certainly,” replied the governess, “and I confess that I am a little in the same case. A mask always frightens me.”
“But you have never even seen Christian’s mask.”
“Oh, that only makes it the more alarming,” she answered, laughing. “We are only really afraid of what we have never seen. All the stories that are told of this witty comedian are so strange! And his death’s head, that they talk about! We have heard enough about him to make one dream all night, and tremble at hearing his name!”
“Well,” said the major, “do not tremble any more, ladies; we have seen the face of Christian Waldo all day long, and in spite of what the baron said last night, his pretended death’s head is the head of a young Antinous. Isn’t it true, lieutenant, that he is the handsomest young man you ever saw?”
“As handsome as he is amiable, educated, and brave,” replied the lieutenant.
And even Corporal Duff, who was outside smoking his pipe, and listening to the conversation, now raised his voice as if in spite of himself, to praise the cordiality, nobility, and modesty of Christian Waldo.