“Then you are well mated.”

“How?”

“For you are Aurora.”

The lady gave a displeased start.

“Sir!”

“Pardon,” said the Cavalier, “if by accident I have hit upon your real name—­”

She laughed again—­a laugh which was as exultantly joyous as it was high-bred.

“Ah, my name?  Oh no, indeed!” (More work for the Recording Angel.)

She turned to her protectress.

“Madame, I know you think we should be going home.”

The senior lady replied in amiable speech, but with sleepy eyes, and the Monk began to lift and unfold a wrapping.  As the Cavalier’ drew it into his own possession, and, agreeably to his gesture, the Monk and he sat down side by side, he said, in a low tone: 

“One more laugh before we part.”

“A monk cannot laugh for nothing.”

“I will pay for it.”

“But with nothing to laugh at?” The thought of laughing at nothing made her laugh a little on the spot.

“We will make something to laugh at,” said the Cavalier; “we will unmask to each other, and when we find each other first cousins, the laugh will come of itself.”

“Ah! we will unmask?—­no!  I have no cousins.  I am certain we are strangers.”

“Then we will laugh to think that I paid for the disappointment.”

Much more of this childlike badinage followed, and by and by they came around again to the same last statement.  Another little laugh escaped from the cowl.

“You will pay?  Let us see; how much will you give to the sick and destitute?”

“To see who it is I am laughing with, I will give whatever you ask.”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars, cash, into the hands of the managers!”

“A bargain!”

The Monk laughed, and her chaperon opened her eyes and smiled apologetically.  The Cavalier laughed, too, and said: 

“Good!  That was the laugh; now the unmasking.”

“And you positively will give the money to the managers not later than to-morrow evening?”

“Not later.  It shall be done without fail.”

“Well, wait till I put on my wrappings; I must be ready to run.”

This delightful nonsense was interrupted by the return of the Fille a la Cassette and her aged, but sprightly, escort, from a circuit of the floor.  Madame again opened her eyes, and the four prepared to depart.  The Dragoon helped the Monk to fortify herself against the outer air.  She was ready before the others.  There was a pause, a low laugh, a whispered “Now!” She looked upon an unmasked, noble countenance, lifted her own mask a little, and then a little more; and then shut it quickly down again upon a face whose beauty was more than even those fascinating graces had promised which Honore Grandissime had fitly named the Morning; but it was a face he had never seen before.

“Hush!” she said, “the enemies of religion are watching us; the Huguenotte saw me.  Adieu”—­and they were gone.