“Your brother tells me that we are going to the masqued ball under the direction of the marquis, and I leave you to imagine how glad I feel at the thought of spending a whole night with you. But one thought troubles me.”
“What is that?”
“I am afraid it will not go off so well as before.”
“Don’t be afraid, the marquis is a man of much ingenuity, and loves my cousin’s honour as herself. He is sure to get us disguises in which we shall not be recognized.”
“I hope so. He wants to pay for everything, including the supper.”
“He cannot do better than imitate your example in that respect.”
On the evening of the ball I went at an early hour to the pastry-cook’s, where I found the marquis well pleased with the progress that had been made. The dressing room was shut. I asked him in a suggestive manner if he was satisfied with Zenobia.
“Yes, with her work,” he answered; “I did not ask her to do anything else for me.”
“Oh! of course I believe it, but I am afraid your sweetheart will be rather sceptical.”
“She knows that I cannot love anyone besides herself.”