"Vanity, yes; but scars, never; at least never so deep as you yourself can make. You do not wear that mask to cover defects, but out of mercy to me."
And so the duel went on. Sometimes the heat of the mask almost suffocated her, and she could hardly resist the desire to tear it from her face. Yet, in spite of this discomfort, she was enjoying herself. This adventure was as novel to her as it was to him. Once she rose and approached the window, slyly raising the mask and breathing deeply of the cold air which rushed in through the crevices. When she turned she found that he, too, had risen. He was looking at the steins, one of which he held in his hand. Moreover, he returned and set the stein down beside his plate.
"Tell me, why do you do that?" There was an anxious note in her voice.
"I have an idea. But let us proceed with the dinner. This salad—"
"I am more interested in the idea." She pushed aside the salad and took a sip of the ruby Burgundy. Had he discovered something?
"May I smoke?" he asked.
"By all means."
He lighted a cigarette and put the case near the line.
"Do you not enjoy a cigarette?"
"Sometimes," she answered. "But that idea—"