to be particular about those things, had immediately made a memorandum
of it to the debit of Doctor Keene's account.

"If I had believed that it was he," continued the whisperer, "I would
have turned about and left him in the midst of the contra-dance!"

Behind them sat unmasked a well-aged pair, "_bredouillé_," as they used
to say of the wall-flowers, with that look of blissful repose which
marks the married and established Creole. The lady in monk's attire
turned about in her chair and leaned back to laugh with these. The
passing maskers looked that way, with a certain instinct that there was
beauty under those two costumes. As they did so, they saw the _Fille à
la Cassette_ join in this over-shoulder conversation. A moment later,
they saw the old gentleman protector and the _Fille à la Cassette_
rising to the dance. And when presently the distant passers took a final
backward glance, that same Lieutenant of Dragoons had returned and he
and the little Monk were once more upon the floor, waiting for
the music.

"But your late companion?" said the voice in the cowl.

"My Indian Queen?" asked the Creole Epaminondas.

"Say, rather, your Medicine-Man," archly replied the Monk.

"In these times," responded the Cavalier, "a medicine-man cannot dance
long without professional interruption, even when he dances for a
charitable object. He has been called to two relapsed patients." The
music struck up; the speaker addressed himself to the dance; but the
lady did not respond.