He came close up to the woman, but she never moved; her eyes never wavered for an instant.  He stopped and tried to speak; but the chill struck through him again.  An overpowering dread, an unutterable loathing seized on him; all sense of outer things—­the whispering of the waiting-girls behind the table, the gentle cadence of the dance music, the distant hum of joyous talk—­suddenly left him.  He turned away shuddering, and quitted the room.

Following the sound of the music, and desiring before all things now to join the crowd wherever it was largest, he was stopped in one of the smaller apartments by a gentleman who had just risen from the card table, and who held out his hand with the cordiality of an old friend.

“Welcome back to the world, Count Fabio!” he began, gayly, then suddenly checked himself.  “Why, you look pale, and your hand feels cold.  Not ill, I hope?”

“No, no.  I have been rather startled—­I can’t say why—­by a very strangely dressed woman, who fairly stared me out of countenance.”

“You don’t mean the Yellow Mask?”

“Yes I do.  Have you seen her?”

“Everybody has seen her; but nobody can make her unmask, or get her to speak.  Our host has not the slightest notion who she is; and our hostess is horribly frightened at her.  For my part, I think she has given us quite enough of her mystery and her grim dress; and if my name, instead of being nothing but plain Andrea D’Arbino, was Marquis Melani, I would say to her:  ’Madam, we are here to laugh and amuse ourselves; suppose you open your lips, and charm us by appearing in a prettier dress!’”

During this conversation they had sat down together, with their backs toward the door, by the side of one of the card-tables.  While D’Arbino was speaking, Fabio suddenly felt himself shuddering again, and became conscious of a sound of low breathing behind him.

He turned round instantly, and there, standing between them, and peering down at them, was the Yellow Mask!

Fabio started up, and his friend followed his example.  Again the gleaming black eyes rested steadily on the young nobleman’s face, and again their look chilled him to the heart.

“Yellow Lady, do you know my friend?” exclaimed D’Arbino, with mock solemnity.

There was no answer.  The fatal eyes never moved from Fabio’s face.

“Yellow Lady,” continued the other, “listen to the music.  Will you dance with me?”

The eyes looked away, and the figure glided slowly from the room.

“My dear count,” said D’Arbino, “that woman seems to have quite an effect on you.  I declare she has left you paler than ever.  Come into the supper-room with me, and have some wine; you really look as if you wanted it.”

They went at once to the large refreshment-room.  Nearly all the guests had by this time begun to dance again.  They had the whole apartment, therefore, almost entirely to themselves.