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After the secrets you have trusted to me already, you need not hesitate, I think, to trust me with one more." "Perhaps not. The secret this time is, moreover, of no great importance. You know that the wax mask you wore at the ball was made in a plaster mold taken off the face of my brother's statue?" "Yes, I know that."
The talk they had been holding together had strung his nerves to the utmost pitch of tension. He was weary of obscurity, weary of the peasant life. He cared not how soon he threw off the mask. Asked a downright question, even by a foe, it was natural to him to make a straightforward answer, and he spoke without fear and without hesitation. "We are the sons of Arnald de Brocas.
The alarum struck, and, having no longer any hope of seeing M M come to justify herself, I kissed C C . I gave her the key of the casino, requesting her to return it for me to M M , and my young friend having gone back to the convent, I put on my mask and left the casino.
Sibyl Vane's brother had not come back to kill him. He had sailed away in his ship to founder in some winter sea. From him, at any rate, he was safe. Why, the man did not know who he was, could not know who he was. The mask of youth had saved him.
Introductions are of course unnecessary at private masquerades, as well as impracticable at all such festivals; so when the ghastly mask "Death" came up and offered his skeleton arm to Sybil for the promenade, she unhesitatingly accepted it, supposing him all the while to be one of her invited guests.
His manner was a mask; but it was half transparent; through the even tenor of his gravity and courtesy profound revolutions of feeling were betrayed, seasons of numb despair, of restlessness, of aching temper.
She liked him: his peculiar suppleness of a growing mind, his shrouded sensibility, in conjunction with his reputation for an evidently quite reliable prompt courage, and the mask he wore, which was to her transparent, pleased her and touched her fancy. Nor was he so vain of his person as to make him seem like a boy to her. He affected maturity.
Would you now be able to recognize it?" "I could in an instant, among thousands." The General slowly raised the mask; a pale, emaciated face was visible, with great black eyes in sunken sockets, thin bloodless lips, and a high, bony brow. "Do you recognize me?" "No!" sadly answered Cagliostro, "it is not the same face." "You see, my son, man changes, but knowledge not.
They could not be expected to unfold what they declined personally to examine. But they were not so successful with the lady governing the household, their widowed maternal aunt, Mrs. Lackstraw, a woman of decisive penetration, and an insubordinate recruit of the army aforesaid. To her they were without a mask; John was passion's slave, Jane the most romantic of Eve's daughters.
In spite of her mourning, Paris again wore a smiling face; poverty and pain were hidden at home, or at the bottom of her proud heart; but the perpetual Fair in the streets and in the press showed its mask of contentment. The people in the cafés and the tea-rooms were ready to hold out for twenty years, if necessary.
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