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Updated: May 16, 2025
The very air seems to breathe, to sigh, to laugh, while the musicians, with disheveled locks, streaming brows and furious bows, strike, draw, drive, scatter from the anguished violins a never-ending rout of screaming harmonies. But the Monk and the Huguenotte are not on the floor.
"Ah, for shame, tired!" softly laughed the other; then suddenly, with her eyes fixed across the room, she seized her companion's hand and pressed it tightly. "Do you not see it?" she whispered eagerly, "just by the door the casque with the heron feathers. Ah, Clotilde, I cannot believe he is one of those Grandissimes!" "Well," replied the Huguenotte, "Doctor Keene says he is not."
"Hush!" she said, "the enemies of religion are watching us; the Huguenotte saw me. Adieu" and they were gone. M. Honoré Grandissime turned on his heel and very soon left the ball. "Now, sir," thought he to himself, "we'll return to our senses." "Now I'll put my feathers on again," says the plucked bird.
Depend upon it the Dragoon is Honoré, Lufki-Humma is Charlie Keene, and the Monk and the Huguenotte are those two ladies." But all this is an outside view; let us draw nearer and see what chance may discover to us behind those four masks. An hour has passed by.
"Pardon, sir," she retorted, her words entangled with a musical, open-hearted laugh, "I am not going in that direction." She cast her glance around the ball-room. "As you say, it is the twilight of the ball; I am looking for the evening star, that is, my little Huguenotte." "Then you are well mated." "How?" "For you are Aurora." The lady gave a displeased start. "Sir!"
In another part of the room the four were greeted with, "Ha, ha, ha! well, that is magnificent! But see that Huguenotte Girl on the Indian Queen's arm! Isn't that fine! Ha, ha! she carries a little trunk. She is a Fille
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