“What do you want?” asked Philip.

“I beseech you,” replied the Mameluke, in a subdued yet terrible voice, “where is the Rose-girl?”

“What is the Rose-girl to me?”

“But to me she is everything!” answered the Mameluke, whose suppressed voice and agitated demeanor showed that a fearful struggle was going on within.  “To me she is everything.  She is my wife.  You make me wretched, Prince!  I conjure you drive me not to madness.  Think of my wife no more!”

“With all my heart,” answered Philip, dryly; “what have I to do with your wife?”

“O Prince, Prince!” exclaimed the Mameluke, “I have made a resolve which I shall execute if it cost me my life.  Do not seek to deceive me a moment longer.  I have discovered everything.  Here! look at this! ’tis a note my false wife slipped into your hand, and which you dropped in the crowd, without having read.”

Philip took the note.  ’T was written in pencil, and in a fine delicate hand:  “Change your mask.  Everybody knows you.  My husband watches you.  He does not know me.  If you obey me, I will reward you.”

“Hem!” muttered Philip.  “As I live, this was not written to me.  I don’t trouble my head about your wife.”

“Death and fury, Prince! do not drive me mad!  Do you know who it is that speaks to you?  I am the Marshal Blankenswerd.  Your advances to my wife are not unknown to me, ever since the last rout at the palace.”

“My Lord Marshal,” answered Philip, “excuse me for saying that jealousy has blinded you.  If you knew me well, you would not think of accusing me of such folly.  I give you my word of honor I will never trouble your wife.”

“Are you in earnest, Prince?”

“Entirely.”

“Give me a proof of this?”

“Whatever you require.”

“I know you have hindered her until now from going with me to visit her relations in Poland.  Will you persuade her to do so now?”

“With all my heart, if you desire it.”

“Yes, yes! and your Royal Highness will prevent inconceivable and unavoidable misery.”

The Mameluke continued for some time, sometimes begging and praying, and sometimes threatening so furiously, that Philip feared he might make a scene before the whole assembly that would not have suited him precisely.  He therefore quitted him as soon as possible.  Scarcely had he lost himself in the crowd, when a female, closely wrapped in deep mourning, tapped him familiarly on the arm, and whispered: 

“Butterfly, whither away?  Have you no pity for the disconsolate Widow?”

Philip answered very politely:  “Beautiful widows find no lack of comforters.  May I venture to include myself amongst them?”

“Why are you so disobedient? and why have you not changed your mask?” said the Widow, while she led him aside that they might speak more freely.  “Do you really fancy, Prince, that every one here does not know who you are?”