It was Mardi Gras day at last, and early through her window
Odalie could hear the jingle of folly bells on the maskers'
costumes, the tinkle of music, and the echoing strains of songs.
Up to her ears there floated the laughter of the older maskers,
and the screams of the little children frightened at their own
images under the mask and domino. What a hurry to be out and in
the motley merry throng, to be pacing Royal Street to Canal
Street, where was life and the world!

They were tired eyes with which Odalie looked at the gay pageant
at last, tired with watching throng after throng of maskers, of
the unmasked, of peering into the cartsful of singing minstrels,
into carriages of revellers, hoping for a glimpse of Pierre the
devout. The allegorical carts rumbling by with their important
red-clothed horses were beginning to lose charm, the disguises
showed tawdry, even the gay-hued flags fluttered sadly to Odalie.

Mardi Gras was a tiresome day, after all, she sighed, and Tante
Louise agreed with her for once.

Six o'clock had come, the hour when all masks must be removed.
The long red rays of the setting sun glinted athwart the
many-hued costumes of the revellers trooping unmasked homeward to
rest for the night's last mad frolic.

Down Toulouse Street there came the merriest throng of all.
Young men and women in dainty, fairy-like garb, dancers, and
dresses of the picturesque Empire, a butterfly or two and a dame
here and there with powdered hair and graces of olden time.