As Ragna entered the pension Astrid came out of the drawing-room to meet her.

"Oh, Ragna, where on earth have you been all day? We have been so anxious! We were afraid you were lost or kidnapped or something. And the dominoes have come, do come and try yours on!"

"The dominoes?" asked Ragna dully.

"Why Ragna Andersen! The dominoes for the veglione!" She turned and looked at Ragna attentively as they passed under a swinging lamp in the passage.

"Ragna, you are ill!" she cried, "you are as white as a sheet! What has happened?"

"Nothing," said Ragna, "I got caught in the carnival crowd and pushed about—that's all, and I am tired out."

"Well, in the name of common sense, what made you stay out all day when you knew we were going to the veglione to-night? I believe you won't be able to go at all!"

"Oh, yes I shall," said Ragna, making a desperate effort to pull herself together—no one must know, no one guess her secret! "Astrid, do be an angel—if I rest quietly for two or three hours I shall be as fit as ever—do explain it to your mother and Hagerup, and have some dinner sent me in my room. I want to lie down, and I won't have time if I have to dress for dinner. Do now, there's a dear!"

"Very well," assented Astrid, "you do look done up, you poor thing!"

But she shook her head as she turned away from Ragna's door. "I don't like this business," she said to herself; "there's something wrong, she's not a bit like her old self!" She was thinking of Ragna's calm assurance and self-sufficiency in Christiania, so far removed from her present almost apologetic manner.

Ragna, alone at last, turned the key in the door; she swept to the floor the black domino laid on her bed, and flinging herself face-downward among the pillows, writhed in a frenzy of grief and shame, the fruit of long hours of suppression. It seemed to her that her very soul must be contaminated. "Oh, fool! Oh, blind fool that I was!" she moaned, and strained her arms till shoulder and elbow cracked. Suddenly she rose, and marching over to the dressing-table, gazed long and searchingly at herself in the glass. The redness and puffiness of her eyelids had disappeared during the long drive, but there were dark purple circles under the eyes, she was terribly pale and her mouth and features generally, had a hard, drawn look. "Fool!" she cried again and burying her face in her hands, began to weep. It did not last long however, she soon dashed the tears away, angrily. "It's no use crying over spilt milk!" With a sort of rage she tore off her clothes, trampling them on the floor,—were they not witnesses, accomplices almost? Then she washed, and it seemed to her that she hated her beautiful white body; all that she was, all that she had become, sickened her.

She slipped on a dressing gown and lay down on the bed, quite motionless, staring miserably into space. Nothing was left to her, nothing! If only Mirko had not been so horrible—afterwards! She shuddered and ground her teeth. Oh, the shame of it, the bitter humiliation! Her eyes burned, her throat was dry as though seared by a hot iron, her head throbbed painfully.

Presently the maid knocked and when Ragna had unlocked the door, brought in a tray with dinner, which she set on the table. She surveyed Ragna with sympathy and curiosity.

"Does not the Signorina feel well? What a pity, the night of the veglione!"

"Thank you, Rosa, I am a little tired; I daresay I shall be quite rested in an hour or so," answered Ragna bitterly.

"Shall I not bring the Signorina a glass of Marsala?"

"No, thank you," said Ragna, but the maid had already flown off and returned very quickly with a glass of the topaz-coloured wine.

"Here, drink this, Signorina, it is very good when one is tired, it will warm you up!" She was not to be denied, and to please her Ragna drained the little glass. Rosa was right, she felt it warming her veins; a tinge of colour crept to her cheeks, and she managed to swallow a little food. Then she lay down again, and what with the wine and the fatigue fell asleep, and slept until Rosa returned to help her dress.

Rosa, as she watched the Signorina's purple shadowed eyes, said to herself.

"MacchÈ fatigue! Displeasure of love, that is what it is!" She prided herself on her perspicacity where affairs of the heart were concerned, and sighed deeply to show her sympathy.

Ragna stood apathetically while the maid hooked up her bodice. She wore a simple white frock, very youthful and girlish, and the low neck and short sleeves displayed her pretty shoulders and rounded, slender arms to advantage.

She had thought with pleasure of Mirko's seeing her in it, for she had told him by what sign to recognise her, and he was to have come masked to the ball to dance with her.

"The Signorina lacks but the veil to be a bride!" said Rosa admiringly.

Ragna shuddered and grew paler than before, if that were possible.

"The Signorina is beautiful, as she is, but if she will take my advice, she should put on a little rouge, she is too pale."

Ragna looked at herself in the mirror,—she was heavy eyed and white, far too white. The virginal whiteness of her frock, the pure pale face and pale gold hair seemed a pitiful mockery to her. She was glad when Rosa laid the black domino about her shoulders though it made her face look ghastly.

There was a sound of voices and laughter in the passage, and Ragna quickly snatched up her black mask and adjusted it as Astrid and Estelle entered the room.

"Ready, Ragna?"

"Yes," she answered, bending for Rosa to draw the domino hood over her head and fasten it with a pin.

Estelle turned herself about before the cheval-glass; her green domino, trimmed with black lace, was too short for her, and showed a good three inches of grey skirt at the hem; it was too full and made awkward bunchy folds about her and she wore a green mask with a frill of black lace, which fluttered as she breathed through her mouth,—however, she was quite satisfied with her appearance.

Astrid wore her light blue domino with coquettish grace and the small white loup hardly disguised her features; she had not yet pulled up the hood, and her fair hair curled prettily over her small head. Ragna also wore a loup, a black velvet one: she wished now that she had chosen a mask like Estelle's—anything to hide her, for her chin would quiver in spite of all her efforts.

Fru Bjork followed the girls into the room, very imposing in heliotrope, and grumbling at the necessity of wearing a mask.

"So hot! So stuffy! I can't breathe now, and I imagine what it will be in that place!" She was already fanning herself vigorously. "I'm quite as excited as you girls! Dear me, I hope it will be all just right—I should be more comfortable though, I admit, if we had a gentleman with us."

"You might have asked the man with the striped trousers, Mother,—I should think those stripes would carry him through anything!"

"Why should you make fun of the poor man?" asked Estelle. "I am sure he has been most polite. He has taken a great deal of trouble in inquiring about singing lessons for me, and he sings so sweetly himself. Didn't you like that song of his last evening about some 'Paese lontano dal mar'?"

"He has a good voice," said Ragna.

"But his trousers drown it!" laughed Astrid. "Come on, all of you, it is time to start!"

Fru Bjork led the way, burly in her domino, Estelle after her, and the other two followed, Astrid keeping up a gay chatter which saved Ragna the effort of conversation. They packed themselves into the waiting carriage, and in a few minutes alighted at the Costanzi.

It was early as yet and the crowd was thin, but more people were arriving all the time, some in fancy costume, but most of them in dominoes. Fru Bjork marshalled her party to the box she had taken,—it was in the second tier, near the stage, and there was a table in it as they were to have supper served from Aragno's. Estelle and Astrid pressed to the front of the box, and Ragna sat down on the little bench at the side, behind Astrid.

"Why, Ragna, child," said Fru Bjork, "don't you want to see what's going on, now you're here?"

"I am still a little tired," she answered, "and there is not much to see now, by and by it will be more interesting."

Astrid turned her head.

"What on earth made you such a fool as to tire yourself all out in the crowd to-day?"

Ragna thought she detected a note of suspicion in the question and a wave of terror swept over her,—suppose someone were to guess? She made an effort and answered jestingly, forcing the note. Fortunately the attention of the party was soon taken up with the scene below, leaving her to her own thoughts. The boxes were rapidly filling, and on the floor below a variegated crowd surged to and fro. Near the entrance a number of young men in evening dress and without masks, scanned curiously the entering dominoes, sometimes accosting them, and sometimes being accosted in the conventional falsetto. MarguÉrites, Columbines, peasant-girls, flower-girls abounded, and the air seemed thick with Pierrots. All the women, without exception, were masked, and it gave them an assurance, not to say audacity of manner very different from that of ordinary occasions. They were daring, provocantes, insolent even, and the young men enjoyed it hugely. A babel of voices and laughter rose from the throng, almost drowning the orchestra, but as yet all was orderly and quiet. Women in dominoes walked about in pairs, stopping to talk to men, often separating, and joining other groups. It was a human kaleidescope.

Ragna leaned over Estelle's shoulder and gazed apprehensively about; she did not see the face she feared, however, and sank back into her place.

"Surely he would not have the courage to come here—now," she thought. He was to have come masked, wearing a tuberose in his button-hole and carrying one in his left hand. If he should come notwithstanding, what should she do? At least, she thought, her mask was a protection,—there would be no necessity for recognising him.

The door of the box opened and an attachÉ of the Swedish-Norwegian Legation entered, bowing. He was a distant connection of Fru Bjork's, and had come to offer his services to the ladies. His attentions to Astrid had long been joked about by the others, and it may be said that Astrid did not discourage them. "So convenient to have him about,—besides he is a sort of cousin," she had said to her Mother, when that lady remonstrated with her on the subject. So Count Lotten was made welcome and Fru Bjork invited him to sup with them. He promptly accepted and set about earning his salt by pointing out such well-known people as he recognised.

As the time passed the scene grew livelier, dancers filled the centre of the floor, cutting the most surprising capers, one Pierrot in particular drawing the applause of the spectators by his daring antics. No one seemed to resent the liberties he took, the whisper having gone about that he was the young Prince C—— a spoilt darling of the Roman aristocracy, Count Lotten told the ladies, and Astrid sighed.

"I do wish I knew a prince, if they are like that! It must be awfully amusing." Ragna's lip curled, but she said nothing.

Supper was being served in the boxes, and presently the waiters laid the table and set out the oysters and gallantine and the other good things Fru Bjork had ordered. Ragna could not eat, but the champagne did her good, and she clinked glasses with the others and joked in so lively a way as to set Fru Bjork's mind quite at rest on her account. Gaiety was in the air, the merry din became deafening. As the girl looked about she interpreted it to herself. "Let us eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die!" A feverish excitement seized her; her lips burned and her eyes glittered through the mask, she had unhooked her domino at the neck on account of the heat, and her white throat throbbed in its black frame. Astrid expressed a desire to walk about below and Ragna seconded her—she felt that she must get up and move about, or she must scream. Count Lotten offered himself as escort.

"It will be quite proper," he assured Fru Bjork, "I shall be responsible for the young ladies' safety,—in half an hour we shall be back here again."

He told Astrid to take his arm and let Ragna take hers,—"and be sure to stick together."

Down on the floor they pushed as best they could through the excited, perspiring crowd, laughing, shrieking, gesticulating, mad with the Carnival. Astrid laughed excitedly.

"I should like one turn, just one turn of this valse," she pleaded.

Lotten smiled down at her.

"But it is impossible, we can't leave FrÖken Ragna!"

"Oh," said Ragna, "please don't stop on my account! I shall stand against the side here, under this box, and be quite safe. You can come back for me here!"

The Count hesitated but the desire for a dance with Astrid overcame his scruples and he acquiesced. Ragna took up her position under the box, as she had said, and Lotten and Astrid whirled past, then were swallowed up in the crowd.

Ragna stood watching the brilliant scene. The noise and the recurrent rhythm of the dance music aroused a certain wildness within her,—the latent savagery hidden in the hearts of all of us. As the tide rose within her she grew defiant and reckless—she had lost that which a girl holds most precious, why should she observe any restraint, had not the bonds of conventionality been snapped for her? Would she not be justified in flinging all constraint to the winds, in giving free rein to the wildest impulses of her nature? "It's of no use keeping the stable-door locked when the horse is stolen," she reflected bitterly. Her foot tapped the floor in time to the music, the whirling crowd fascinated her, drew her as to a vortex, it was a critical moment. "He had no scruples, why should I have any henceforward?" she asked herself. "'Carpe diem,' he used to say,—well, I say it now and I mean it!" She stepped out from the wall.

Suddenly a band of maskers emerged from the crowd, thrown from it like the spray from the crest of a wave, they surrounded Ragna, holding one another by the hand, forming a chain about her. One of them, a tall man disguised as Mephistopheles, stepped into the ring and the others capered about them, gibbering.

"Bella mascherina!" squeaked the Mephisto. Ragna smiled at the challenge and the masker thus encouraged, came close to her.

"Ti conosco, mascherina!" he said.

Ragna shook her head laughingly.

"Impossible!"

"What, not recognise the most beautiful mouth in Rome! GiÀ!" The man's tone was insolent.

"Go away!" said Ragna.

"Don't be rude, mascherina! I won't betray you—I can keep a secret as well as anyone!"

"Go away!" repeated Ragna, her defiant feeling of a few moments earlier giving way to nervous apprehension. Why had she left the shelter of the wall, why exposed herself to the impertinence of half-tipsy maskers?

Impertinence,—her position of a young woman apparently alone at a masked ball invited it!

"You really want me to go away? Very well, my little dove,—when you have given me a kiss. A favour for a favour, you know!" He crooked his arm and minced nearer. The dancing circle of red imps burst into laughter.

Ragna turned and tried to break through the ring.

"No, you don't," said Mephisto with a leer, laying his hand on her arm, "not so fast, sweet one! You shall give me that little kiss first!"

Ragna, really frightened, threw herself away from her tormentor; he was clutching a fold of her domino and the fastenings at the neck gave way; he pulled it back baring her white shoulder and her fair head.

"Bella! Bella! give us each a kiss!" shrieked the imps, and Mephistopheles, leaning forward pressed his lips on the smooth shoulder nearest him.

At that moment a tall figure burst through the ring, scattering the imps right and left, and seizing the Mephisto by the collar dragged him back and flung him aside. The masker turned with an oath but seeing the height and strength of his assailant and realizing that discretion is sometimes the better part of valour, bowed low with a mocking laugh and disappeared into the crowd followed by his attendant demons in search of fresh amusement.

Ragna, clutching her domino about her, raised her eyes to her rescuer's face and uttered an involuntary exclamation:

"Count Angelescu! You here!"

"Mademoiselle Andersen!" he said, "I had been watching you for some time, but I was not sure, there are so many black dominoes. Then when those devils—but never mind, since I have found you. Take my arm and let me get you out of this; I must talk to you and it is impossible here!"

It was quite true, he could hardly make himself heard above the din; the fun was fast and furious, pandemonium reigned.

She took his arm and he piloted her skilfully through the crowd and round the corridor to an empty box, where he set a chair for her with its back to the house, and closed the door. She paused a moment to rearrange her hood and sat down; Angelescu took a chair facing her. There was a moment's embarrassed silence, then Angelescu moistened his lips and began.

"I do not exactly know how to put what I have to say, it is very difficult for me. A certain person asked me to come here on his behalf—"

"Then you know—all?"

"Is it true?"

She bowed her head.

"It is?"

"Yes."

A groan escaped him.

"Oh, the infernal blackguard! I would not believe it until I had heard it from your own lips. Oh, why was I not in time—I might have saved you! And now it is too late."

Ragna was silent.

"But that is not the message I was told to deliver. He wishes to offer you compensation,—any sum you care to name."

"Compensation! To me!" Ragna half rose from her chair.

"Wait! wait! I beg of you! It is an insult, I know that—but it is not from me, it is an order. I had to get it over! Oh, don't!"

Ragna had dropped her face in her hands and was weeping as though her heart were broken, but the tears were of rage rather than of grief.

"Compensation! How dare he!"

"Listen, Mademoiselle, listen! Ragna, don't cry like that! Listen to what I have to say to you! That was my official message, but this is what I really come to say." His face was pale and his eyes blazed. "Ragna I have loved you ever since we first met,—I love you still—"

She interrupted him with an hysterical laugh.

"What, you too! This is too funny!"

"Ragna, don't! I love you—"

"Don't talk to me about love, I have learned what that means!" She now sat stiffly, her head held upright.

"Poor child," he said gravely, "my love is not of that kind, I want to marry you, Ragna."

"But you don't understand," she cried, "surely you can't know, or you would not say that!"

"I do know," he said, still very gravely, "I know all, and because I realize that you are a victim, because I love you really and want to have the power to protect you, I ask you plainly: will you be my wife?"

She smiled cynically. It was too much. In the light of her terrible disillusionment she could not understand the sincerity of the man. Her whole world had fallen in ruins about her and the dust of her broken idol obscured her vision. Angelescu had made the fatal mistake of delivering Mirko's message, and Ragna having found one man so utterly vile, could not, for the moment, believe generosity or magnanimity possible in any other. "He thinks it would be convenient to have me married to his aide," she thought. "Find the girl a husband, and all is comfortably arranged!" She despised Angelescu for lending himself to such a scheme.

"I think not, thank you," she said in a hard voice.

"You are in love with him?"

"Love him? I despise him!"

"Then think well if you are doing right," he said earnestly, "in refusing a man who not only loves you but respects you, who is, above all things, anxious for your welfare."

"I see, you mean that beggars should not be choosers!"

He considered her compassionately, and it was in a very gentle voice that he said:

"I know that I have not chosen a good time for this—but I had no choice. To-morrow I must accompany the Prince," his mouth twisted as he said it, "back to Montegria, but before going I had to see you, I had to tell you that I love you, that I shall stand by you, that I am at your disposal, to take, or to leave."

"Very kind of you," she answered in that cold, hard voice, so unlike her own.

"I see that you are determined to misconstrue me," he said sadly, "and I am sorry, for surely no man ever offered a woman a more sincere or whole-hearted devotion than that I lay at your feet. Oh, little Ragna, if only you would come to me, I should make you forget."

"I think, Count," interrupted Ragna, rising, "that I will go back to my friends. Will you be good enough—"

"One moment, let me finish," said Angelescu, rising also, "will you not, at least, hear me out?"

Ragna stopped, but did not reseat herself, so both remained standing.

"I should make it the business of my life to give you happiness, to wipe from your memory all trace—" She made an impatient gesture. "Forgive my clumsiness! You will not consider it? To-night you are tired, you are worn out, perhaps you may think differently later. At least promise me that if you change your mind you will let me know—I shall come to you anywhere, at any time. Remember, I love you,—you need only to make the sign and I will come. And if there ever is anything I can do to help you, at any time,—if ever you are in trouble, remember that I am there."

"You are very kind," she said wearily, and again moved towards the door. This time he made no effort to detain her, but giving her his arm, conducted her to the door of her own palco. She turned to take leave of him and gave him her hand which he raised to his lips.

"Thank you for your kindness, Count," she said, adding in a clear, hard voice: "And tell the Prince that I despise him for his message. Tell him that no proposition he might make would be accepted."

He saw that although her voice was hard, her eyes were bright with unshed tears,—another moment and he might have won his cause, or at least have broken down the barrier of ice she had built about herself,—but Ragna was afraid to trust herself further; she quickly entered the box, closing the door behind her.

"Poor child," he murmured, "poor, poor child!"

He returned to his box, the one that Mirko had engaged for the evening, and throwing on his greatcoat took his hat and hurried out.

It was drizzling but he did not call a cab; thrusting his hands into his pockets, he strode up the shining, wet street, his head sunk forward. It was true that he had loved Ragna ever since the trip on the Norje; her fair head had been ever before his eyes; shining like a lode star from afar, though he had had no thought of ever seeing her again. In his pocketbook he carried the little pencil sketch he had made of her, and her notes with the brief words of thanks for his New Year's cards. He was not a sentimental man, but his mind was of a rather dogged quality. Ragna's girlish innocence and charm had made a profound impression on him, and that impression persisted with a curious tenacity; she had become his ideal woman, and stood to him for all that sisters might have been, all that he desired in the wife never to be his. To think of her now, hurt and hardened, her innocence trampled and crushed, her girlhood soiled beyond remedy, to think of her morally alone, stripped of the protection of maidenhood, her wounded and suspicious pride refusing the help of his strong arm, maddened him.

He entered the hotel and went straight to Mirko's room. The Prince was lying on a couch, smoking, the picture of lazy comfort; the contrast between his appearance and the visible wretchedness of the girl he had just left added fuel to the flame of Angelescu's indignation.

"Well, Otto, what did she say?"

"She refused, as I told you she would."

"Did she? Oh, well, she'll probably console herself," he growled.

Angelescu took a step forward, his brow drawn menacingly over his blazing eyes.

"Have you no shame?"

"My good Otto, what a question! Of course, I am overcome with shame! I am glad the girl had the spirit to go to the ball and amuse herself—"

"How dare you—"

"Don't excite yourself, Otto, I beg! Let us say, then, she went to the ball without amusing herself. She shows a fine, independent spirit too, in refusing—"

"I shall forget that you are my Prince presently, and then—"

"Don't, Otto, it would be so unwise! Now what else did she have to say? Accused me all round, eh?"

"She said nothing of you except that she despised you."

"And then? I suppose you agreed with her?"

"I asked her to be my wife."

"And she jumped at the chance?"

"She refused."

"By Jove! Refused your noble offer?"

Angelescu's face was livid, a muscle worked in his thin cheeks, his eyes looked like a lion's about to spring; his hand crept to his side where the hilt of his sabre should have been, but he was not in uniform; his short hair bristled on his head; with a supreme effort he held himself in check. His impulse was to throw himself on the other and silence his sarcastic tongue forever, but his military discipline stood him in good stead; the man before him was his Prince and therefore inviolable. Mirko watched him curiously, as though measuring the strength of his endurance. When he was able to regain control of his voice it was tense and hard; he jerked out his sentences as though each one represented a struggle.

"I have known you, Prince, ever since you were a baby, I have played with you, worked with you, served you faithfully and well. I knew you to be wild, reckless, selfish—but I never thought you would sink to this; to ruin an innocent young girl and then turn it into a jest. I am older than you, at your father's wish I have been brought up like a brother to you. I have stood by you through thick and thin, no man has had a more loyal friend and servant than I have been to you—but this is the end. You are no longer my Prince, I shall wear your uniform no longer. To-night we stand here, not as Prince and subject, but as man to man."

The Prince sat up.

"Nonsense, Otto! Do you mean to say that after all these years, you would desert me on account of a girl?"

"I shall send in my papers to-morrow," said Otto, and looking the Prince in the eyes he added, "if I were wearing my sabre now, I should break it in your presence—you are not worthy of the service of a true blade!" His hands made the gesture of snapping the blade over his knee; he turned on his heel.

Mirko sprang from the couch, upsetting the little table standing by it, with its box of cigarettes, decanter and glass. The bottle crashed to the floor and a sticky stream of liqueur crept over the carpet.

"Otto!" he cried. The other turned stiffly.

"Otto, you are right, I don't deserve a friend like you,—I have behaved like a blackguard. You may believe me or not,—I didn't mean to do the girl any harm. She—she went to my head, she maddened me! Hang it all! Why didn't she keep me at arm's length?"

"She trusted you," said Angelescu accusingly.

"Now look here, Otto, as man to man, if that girl in her heart of hearts hadn't wished me—"

"You damned cur," flashed Angelescu, "you to lay the blame on a woman! If you say another word I shall choke you where you stand. I—"

He threw out his arm, then realizing that he could control himself no longer, he wrenched open the door and strode out, flinging it to behind him.

Mirko flushed angrily. That he should have humbled himself to meet this response!

"You'll pay for that, my friend," he snarled. He turned thinking to pour himself a glass of liqueur and the sight of the broken decanter and its wasted contents completed his discomfiture. He was furious with Angelescu, furious with Ragna, all the more so as he was distinctly conscious of having played a very ugly role.

"Damn the girl, I wish I had never seen her!"

His servant, coming in response to his furious summons, met with a most unpleasant reception; he was used, however, to acting as souffre douleur in his Royal Master's fits of anger and philosophically bore the storm of invective hurled at his defenceless head.

The outburst had its usual calming effect on Mirko, who to do him justice, soon felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. Most of all he regretted the estrangement of Angelescu; from boyhood up he had always depended on Otto's devotion and clear judgment, and to have lost such a friend over such a foolish affair would be much too hard luck, a punishment far in excess of his fault. The wrong done to Ragna was much less important in his eyes; like every Don Juan, he had a contempt for women, and now that his passion had subsided he wondered what had attracted him in the girl, who after all was no great beauty.

"I will see what can be done to-morrow," he promised himself; he felt even ready to humble himself if necessary, to draw Otto back to him again, never doubting that by some means he would succeed in doing so. But alas for his plans! When he awoke late the next morning and sent his valet to inquire for the aide, the man came back with the announcement that Count Angelescu had left by the early train.