Comus is an assembly of such rigid exclusiveness that even the tickets to the galleries are considered social prizes. The personae of the Krewe, on this particular year as in all previous ones, would remain unknown; there is no unmasking at Comus. This institution, a tremendous social power and potentially a financial power also, during decades of the city's life, is held absolutely above any taint of favouritism or commercialism. Even the families of those concerned might not always be certain whether their sons and brothers belonged to the Krewe of Comus.
Henry Gramont did not attend the ball of Proteus on Monday night. Instead, he sat in his own room, while through the streets of the French quarter outside was raging the carnival at its height. Before him were maps and reports upon the gas and oil fields about Bayou Terrebonne—fields where great domes of natural gas were already located and in use, and where oil was being found in some quantity. Early on Wednesday morning Gramont intended to set forth to his work. He had been engaged to make a report to Bob Maillard's company, and he would make it. Then he would resign his advisory job, and be free. A smile curled his lips as he thought of young Maillard and the company.
"The young gentleman will be sadly surprised to discover that I've gotten out from under—and that his respected father holds my stock!" he reflected. "That was a good deal; I lost a thousand to old Maillard in order to save the balance of thirty thousand!"
A knock at his door interrupted the thread of this thought. Gramont opened, to find the concierge with a note which had been left at the door below by a masked Harlequin, who had then disappeared without awaiting any reply.
Gramont recognized the writing on the envelope, and hastened to the note inside. His face changed, however, as he read it:
Please call promptly at eleven to-morrow morning. I wish to see you upon a matter of business.
Lucie Ledanois.
Gramont gazed long at this note, his brows drawn down into a harsh line. It was not like Lucie in its tone, somehow; he sensed something amiss, something vaguely but most decidedly out of tune. Certainly it was not her way to write thus curtly and harshly—the words disquieted him. What could have turned up now? Then, with a shrug, he tossed the note on the table.
"Eleven to-morrow morning, eh?" he murmured. "That's queer, too, for she's to be at the Proteus ball to-night. Most girls would not be conducting business affairs at eleven in the morning, after being up all night at Proteus! It must be something important. Besides, she's not in the class with any one else. She's a rare girl; no nonsense in her—full of a deep, strong sense of things——"
He forced himself from thoughts of Lucie, forced himself from her personality, and returned to his reports with an effort of concentration.
Gramont wanted to look over her Terrebonne land with a full knowledge of its geology and situation. Oil drilling is a gamble in any case, yet Gramont took a scholar's solid satisfaction in getting his subject thoroughly in hand before he went to work at it. Then, he reflected, he would get his task finished as rapidly as might be, turn in his report, and resign from the company. After that—freedom! He regretted sadly enough that he had ever gone into any relations with Maillard's company.