CHAPTER XVIII
THE MASQUERADE
The night, long-looked for, had come, and Wilfrid, throwing a cloak over his fancy costume, was driven off in a covered carriage to the French Embassy, in fulfilment of a promise to escort Pauline to the masquerade.
While waiting for her in the entrance hall he was somewhat struck by the oddity of the situation that he, the nephew of Great Britain’s representative, should be awaiting the daughter of one who stood for a power hostile to Great Britain, a thought quickly cut short by the entering of Pauline, fresh from the hands of her maid.
Naturally the first thing each did was to look at the dress of the other.
Pauline showed over Wilfrid’s costume the simple delight of a schoolgirl. And in truth he presented a majestic figure, equipped, as he was, in a lofty silver helmet with silver wings, a corselet of silver mail, a rich baldric, a horn, a sword, and all the accompaniments of a Norse warrior; his look and bearing gave proof of his descent: he was the very ideal of a Viking chief.
Pauline was moved with a thrill of pride at having for her escort one so handsome in person and dress as Wilfrid, while he in turn felt a similar pleasure as he viewed Pauline’s graceful and stately figure. She was dressed to represent Night, in a dainty robe of darkest blue glittering with stars, a silver crescent gleaming in her raven hair.
Conscious of Wilfrid’s look of admiration Pauline coloured with secret pleasure, becoming somewhat pale again as she noticed his eyes resting upon the figure of an Imperial crown embroidered upon her sleeve.
“A secret token by which you are to be known to some favoured one?”