"Fair lady," he whispered, "why this sad costume?"
"Is it not the garb of innocence?" returned the lady in a low and obviously disguised voice.
"True, but it is also the negation of love."
"And why should I not frown upon love?"
"Because you would be gainsaying the vows you made to me in the old Greek temple."
"Ah, Paul! you have discovered me," she whispered, her lips smiling beneath the lace of her mask. "Now I, in turn, will ask, 'Why this old Polish costume?'"
"I adopted what I thought would most please you."
"And it does please me," she replied with a tender light in her eyes. "And it is suitable to the character of the revelation you shall hear to-night. Come, we will not dance just yet. Take me to the gardens, to the Long Terrace."
Conscious of something odd in her manner, Paul, drawing her arm within his own, conducted Barbara from the brilliant ball-room to the quieter scene without, and on reaching a retired corner of the marble terrace, he seated her beside himself.
It was a lovely midsummer night. The air was pure and temperate, and alive with the plash and sparkle of numerous fountains. The silver orb of the moon, set in a dark-blue sky, and the colored lamps gleaming everywhere among the foliage combined to produce a poetical glamor that might have gladdened the eyes even of Titania herself, the Queen of Fairyland.