“Madame, you have your face hidden by a mask and your hands by gloves; I cannot then recognize you—­I can but guess.”

“And you guess who I am?”

“Her whom my heart desires, whom my imagination paints, young, beautiful, powerful, and rich; too rich and too powerful for me to be able to believe that what has happened to me is real, and that I am not dreaming.”

“Had you any trouble to enter here?” asked the lady, without replying directly to the words which had escaped from the full heart of Ernanton.

“No, madame; the admittance was easier than I could have thought.”

“Yes, all is easy for a man; it is so different for a woman.  What were you saying before, monsieur?” added she, carelessly, and pulling off her glove to show a beautiful hand, at once plump and taper.

“I said, madame, that without having seen your face, I know who you are, and without fear of making a mistake, may say that I love you.”

“Then you are sure that I am her whom you expected to find here?”

“My heart tells me so.”

“Then you know me?”

“Yes.”

“Really! you, a provincial, only just-arrived, you already know the women of Paris?”

“In all Paris, madame, I know but one.”

“And that is me?”

“I believe so.”

“By what do you recognize me?”

“By your voice, your grace, and your beauty.”

“My voice, perhaps; I cannot disguise it.  My grace; I may appropriate the compliment; but as for my beauty, it is veiled.”

“It was less so, madame, on the day when, to bring you into Paris, I held you so near to me that your breast touched my shoulders, and I felt your breath on my neck.”

“Then, on the receipt of my letter, you guessed that it came from me?”

“Oh! no, madame, not for a moment; I believed I was the subject of some joke, or the victim of some error, and it is only during the last few minutes that, seeing you, touching you—­” and he tried to take her hand, but she withdrew it.

“Enough!” said the lady; “the fact is, that I have committed a great folly.”

“In what, madame?”

“In what?  You say that you know me, and then ask.”

“Oh! it is true, madame, that I am very insignificant and obscure near your highness.”

“Mon Dieu! monsieur, pray be silent.  Have you no sense?”

“What have I done?” cried Ernanton, frightened.

“You see me in a mask, and if I wear one, it is for disguise, and yet you call me your highness.”

“Ah, pardon me, madame,” said Ernanton, “but I believed in the discretion of these walls.”

“It appears you are credulous.”

“Alas! madame, I am in love.”

“And you are convinced that I reciprocate this love?”

Ernanton rose piqued.

“No, madame,” replied he.

“Then what do you believe?”