- ality she hears the door open behind her, and turns
expecting to greet Mr. Felton or Ashley. Instead a stranger steps rather shakily into the box and closes the door with an affable "Good-evening, mademoiselle." Louise makes no reply, and her unwelcome visitor drops into a seat with easy familiarity.
"I have been more enthusiastically received to-night, but I will let that pass," he remarks, with cheerful impudence.
"I do not know you, sir," says Louise frigidly, as she rises and casts a wildly anxious look over the ball-room.
"Oh, well, I am not so hard to get acquainted with," offers the insolent mask. "Will you drink a bottle of wine with me?"
"Leave me at once!" commands Louise, pointing to the door with trembling finger.
"By George! That's an attitude worthy of Lady Macbeth," remarks his insolence, in frank admiration. "I will go," he adds, in mock humility, "but I must at least have a kiss to solace me for the loss of your society."
"You would not dare!" gasps Louise, retreating to the box rail.
"Dare?" laughs his insolence; "I would dare anything for such a prize," and he approaches her unsteadily.
Louise's frightened gaze is turned toward the ball-room and again rests upon Don Caesar de Bazan, who, attracted by the colloquy, has stepped a pace out upon the floor and is an interested spectator of the encounter.
"Save me!" she whispers, and sinks upon one knee.
But the entreaty is superfluous. Already Don Caesar's hands are on the rail and with a vault he is in the box. His arm shoots out and his insolence goes down with a crash. He struggles to his feet with an oath and makes for Don Caesar; but the latter's threatening attitude, clenched fist and eyes that flash fire through the black mask, cause him to stop, and muttering, "You will hear from me again," he leaves the box.
Don Caesar lifts his cap and is about to follow, when Louise interrupts him. "Do not go," she says gratefully,
