iating proofs. Several masks had laughed as they pointed this
preposterous figure out to each other; some had spoken to him, a few
young men had made game of him, but his stolid manner showed entire
contempt for these aimless shafts; he went on whither the young man
led him, as a hunted wild boar goes on and pays no heed to the bullets
whistling about his ears, or the dogs barking at his heels.

Though at first sight pleasure and anxiety wear the same livery--the
noble black robe of Venice--and though all is confusion at an opera
ball, the various circles composing Parisian society meet there,
recognize, and watch each other. There are certain ideas so clear to the
initiated that this scrawled medley of interests is as legible to them
as any amusing novel. So, to these old hands, this man could not be here
by appointment; he would infallibly have worn some token, red, white, or
green, such as notifies a happy meeting previously agreed on. Was it a
case of revenge?

Seeing the domino following so closely in the wake of a man apparently
happy in an assignation, some of the gazers looked again at the handsome
face, on which anticipation had set its divine halo. The youth was
interesting; the longer he wandered, the more curiosity he excited.
Everything about him proclaimed the habits of refined life. In obedience
to a fatal law of the time we live in, there is not much difference,
physical or moral, between the most elegant and best bred son of a duke
and peer and this attractive youth, whom poverty had not long since held
in its iron grip in the heart of Paris. Beauty and youth might cover him
in deep gulfs, as in many a young man who longs to play a part in Paris
without having the capital to support his pretensions, and who, day
after day, risks all to win all, by sacrificing to the god who has most
votaries in this royal city, namely, Chance. At the same time, his dress
and manners were above reproach; he trod the classic floor of the opera
house as one accustomed there. Who can have failed to observe that
there, as in every zone in Paris, there is a manner of being which shows
who you are, what you are doing, whence you come, and what you want?

"What a handsome young fellow; and here we may turn round to look
at him," said a mask, in whom accustomed eyes recognized a lady of
position.

"Do you not remember him?" replied the man on whose arm she was leaning.
"Madame du Chatelet introduced him to you----"

"What,