persons getting away and struggling with those who are pushing in. So
the men who wear masks are either jealous husbands who come to watch
their wives, or husbands on the loose who do not wish to be watched by
them--two situations equally ridiculous.

Now, our young man was followed, though he knew it not, by a man in a
mask, dogging his steps, short and stout, with a rolling gait, like a
barrel. To every one familiar with the opera this disguise betrayed a
stock-broker, a banker, a lawyer, some citizen soul suspicious of
infidelity. For in fact, in really high society, no one courts such
humiliating 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