“Madame, will you do me the honor to be seated. The hour, as you say, is somewhat unseasonable, and you will oblige me by letting me know to what I am indebted for the pleasure of this visit, as quickly as possible.”
There was something quite dignified about Mistress Leoline as she swept rustling past La Masque, sank into the pillowy depths of her lounge, and motioned her visitor to a seat with a slight and graceful wave of her hand. Not but that in her secret heart she was a good deal frightened, for something under her pink satin corsage was going pit-a-pat at a wonderful rate; but she thought that betraying such a feeling would not be the thing. Perhaps the tall, dark figure saw it, and smiled behind her mask; but outwardly she only leaned lightly against the back of the chair, and glanced discreetly at the door.
“Are you sure we are quite alone?”
“Quite:”
“Because,” said La Masque, in her low, silvery tones, “what I have come to say is not for the ears of any third person living:”
“We are entirely alone, madame,” replied Leoline, opening her black eyes very wide. “Prudence is gone, and I do not know when she will be back.”
“Prudence will never come back,” said La Masque, quietly.
“Madame!”
“My dear, do not look so shocked—it is not her fault. You know she deserted you for fear of the plague.”
“Yes, yes!”