“Nor I—I am not in the humor for it. I never felt less like dancing, nor less like a masquerade.” Then—hesitatingly—“Are you alone to-night?”
“Yes. Eugen would not come.”
“He will not be here at all?”
“Not at all?”
“I am surprised.”
“I tried to persuade him to come,” said I, apologetically. “But he would not. He said he was going to have a little conversation at home with himself.”
“So!” She turned to me with a mounting color, which I saw flush to her brow above her mask, and with parted lips.
“He has never cared for anything since Sigmund left us,” I continued.
“Sigmund—was that the dear little boy?”
“You say very truly.”