“I am the Chamberlain Pilzou.”

“Good—­lead the way—­I’ll follow.”  The Chamberlain obeyed, and tripped up the marble stairs, Philip coming close behind him.  They entered an immense hall lighted by a thousand tapers and dazzling chandeliers, which were reflected by brilliant mirrors.  A confused crowd of maskers jostled each other, sultans, Tyrolese, harlequins, knights in armor, nuns, goddesses, satyrs, monks, Jews, Medes, and Persians.  Philip for a while was abashed and blinded.  Such splendor he had never dreamt of.  In the middle of the hall the dance was carried on with hundreds of people to the music of a full band.  Philip, whom the heat of the apartment recovered from his frozen state, was so bewildered with the scene that he could scarcely nod his head as different masks addressed him, some confidentially, others deferentially.

“Will you go to the hazard table?” whispered the Chamberlain, who stood beside him, and who Philip now saw was dressed as a Brahmin.

“Let me get thawed first,” answered Philip; “I am an icicle at present.”

“A glass of warm punch?” inquired the Brahmin, and led him into the refreshment-room.  The pseudo-prince did not wait for a second invitation, but emptied one glass after the other in short time.  The punch was good, and it spread its genial warmth through Philip’s veins.

“How is it you don’t dance tonight, Brahmin?” he asked of his companion, when they returned into the hall.  The Brahmin sighed, and shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no pleasure now in the dance.  Gayety is distasteful to me.  The only person I care to dance with—­the Countess Bonau—­I thought she loved me; our families offered no objection—­but all at once she broke with me.”  His voice trembled as he spoke.

“How?” said Philip, “I never heard of such a thing.”

“You never heard of it?” repeated the other; “the whole city rings with it.  The quarrel happened a fortnight ago, and she will not allow me to justify myself, but has sent back three letters I wrote to her, unopened.  She is a declared enemy of the Baroness Reizenthal, and had made me promise to drop her acquaintance.  But, think how unfortunate I was!  When the Queen-mother made the hunting party to Freudenwald, she appointed me cavalier to the Baroness.  What could I do?  It was impossible to refuse.  On the very birthday of the adorable Bonau I was obliged to set out.....She heard of it.....She put no trust in my heart!”

“Well, then, Brahmin, take advantage of the present moment.  The New Year makes up all quarrels.  Is the Countess here?”

“Do you not see her over there—­the Carmelite on the left of the third pillar beside the two black dominos.  She has laid aside her mask.  Ah, Prince! your intercession would—­”

Philip thought:  “Now I can do a good work!” and, as the punch had inspired him, he walked directly to the Carmelite.  The Countess Bonau looked at him for some time seriously, and with flushed cheeks, as he sat down beside her.  She was a beautiful girl; yet Philip remained persuaded that Rose was a thousand times more beautiful.