Though the maids of honour were not nominated for the masquerade, yet they were to assist at it; and, consequently, were to neglect nothing to set themselves off to advantage.  Miss Hamilton had still another pair of gloves of the same sort as those she had sent to Miss Blague, which she made a present of to her rival, with a few knots of the same riband, which appeared to have been made on purpose for her, brown as she was.  Miss Price returned her a thousand thanks, and promised to do herself the honour of wearing them at the ball.  “You will oblige me if you do,” said Miss Hamilton, “but if you mention that such a trifle as this comes from me, I shall never forgive you; but,” continued she, “do not go and rob poor Miss Blague of the Marquis Brisacier, as you already have of Duncan:  I know very well that it is wholly in your power:  you have wit:  you speak French:  and were he once to converse with you ever so little the other could have no pretensions to him.”  This was enough:  Miss Blague was only ridiculous and coquettish:  Miss Price was ridiculous, coquettish, and something else besides.

The day being come, the court, more splendid than ever, exhibited all its magnificence at this masquerade.  The company were all met except the Chevalier de Grammont:  every body was astonished that he should be one of the last at such a time, as his readiness was so remarkable on every occasion; but they were still more surprised to see him at length appear in an ordinary court-dress, which he had worn before.  The thing was preposterous on such an occasion, and very extraordinary with respect to him:  in vain had he the finest point-lace, with the largest and best powdered peruke imaginable his dress, magnificent enough for any other purpose, was not at all proper for this entertainment.

The king immediately took notice of it:  “Chevalier,” said he, “Termes is not arrived then?” “Pardon me, sire,” said he, “God be thanked!” “Why God be thanked?” said the king; “has anything happened to him on the road?” “Sire,” said the Chevalier de Grammont, “this is the history of my dress, and of Termes, my messenger.”  At these words the ball, ready to begin, was suspended:  the dancers making a circle around the Chevalier de Grammont, he continued his story in the following manner: 

“It is now two days since this fellow ought to have been here, according to my orders and his protestations:  you may judge of my impatience all this day, when I found he did not come:  at last, after I had heartily cursed him, about an hour ago he arrived, splashed all over from head to foot, booted up to the waist, and looking as if he had been excommunicated ‘Very well, Mr. Scoundrel,’ said I, ’this is just like you, you must be waited for to the very last minute, and it is a miracle that you are arrived at all.’  ‘Yes, faith,’ said he, ’it is a miracle.  You are always grumbling:  I had the finest suit in the world made for you, which the Duke de Guise