The theme was a masquerade. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Your mind is still subtly sick. And the less “anything” happened the better. ” “I know. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. ‘You do not understand, Gérard. It’s true. .
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