"Ah! there, you are, my boy. I wondered if anything had gone wrong. Are
you ill?" He gazed keenly at Adrien's pale, unmasked face.
"No, sir, it is rather hot though in this dress," he returned hurriedly,
hating even the very semblance of a lie. "I believe Constance is waiting
for me," he continued. "Ah, yes, there she is. The ball is going off
well, don't you think so?"
His father nodded.
"Yes," he said, "your friends are pronouncing it to be a success. Mr.
Paxhorn declares it is a vision of the period. But Constance is
waiting."
Replacing his mask, Adrien made his way to his cousin, who, as usual,
was surrounded by a small group of courtiers. She glanced up as he
approached and, with a smile to the rest, took his proffered arm. As he
looked at her sweet face, a thrill ran through him at the purity of her
beauty--so great a contrast to that of the woman he had just dismissed
that he loathed the very thought of ever having touched her hand. In
that moment, the love he bore Constance welled up passionately in his
heart, refusing to be suppressed, and again he tore off the velvet mask.
When the girl raised her calm eyes to his face, the ardent look in his
startled her, and she determined to at least listen to any explanation
he wished to give her.
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