the day you married."

"I don't know very much about some things, Duane."

"I notice that," he said grimly.

She said very gravely: "This is the first time I have ever come very
near caring for a man.... I mean since I married." And she rose and
glanced toward the forest.

They stood together for a moment, listening to the distant music, then,
without speaking, turned and walked toward the distant flare of light
which threw great trees into tangled and grotesque silhouette.

"Tales of the Geneii," she murmured, fastening her loup; "Fate is the
Sultan. Pray God nobody cuts my head off."

"You are much too amusing," he said as, side by side, they moved
silently on through the pale starlight, like errant phantoms of a
vanished age, and no further word was said between them, nor did they
look at each other again until, ahead, the road turned silvery under the
rays of the Lodge acetylenes, and beyond, the first cluster of brilliant
lanterns gleamed among the trees.

"And here we separate," she said. "Good-bye," holding out her hand. "It
is my first rendezvous. Wish me a little happiness, please."

"Happiness and--good sense," he said, smiling. He retained her hand for
a second, let it go and, stepping back, saluted her gaily as she passed
before him into the blaze of light.

CHAPTER XI

FETE GALANTE

The forest, in every direction, was strung with lighted lanterns; tall
torches burning edged the Gray Water, and every flame rippled straight
upward in the still air.

Through the dark, mid-summer woodland music of violin, viola, and
clarionet rang out, and the laughter and jolly uproar of the dancers
swelled and ebbed, with now and then sudden intervals of silence slowly
filled by the far noise of some unseen stream rushing westward under the
stars.

Glade, greensward, forest, aisles, and the sylvan dancing floor, bounded
by garlanded and beribboned pillars, swarmed with a gay company.
Torchlight painted strange high lights on silken masks, touching with
subdued sparkles the eyes behind the slanting eye-slits; half a thousand
lanterns threw an orange radiance across the glade, bathing the whirling
throngs of dancers, glimmering on gilded braid and sword hilt, on
powdered hair, on fresh young faces laughing behind their masks; on
white shoulders and jewelled throats, on fan and brooch and spur and
lacquered heel. There was a scent of old-time perfume in the air, and,
as Duane adjusted his mask and drew