saddle-one of the Princes had just such another. Now, from whom might
this saddle come? The General was delighted. There was a little note with
the saddle. Now if the words on the note had been “many thanks for
yesterday’s reception,” we might easily have guessed from whom it came.
But the words were “From somebody whom the General does not know.”
“Whom in the world do I not know?” exclaimed the General. “I know
everybody;” and his thoughts wandered all through society, for he knew
everybody there. “That saddle comes from my wife!” he said at last. “She is
teasing me-charming!”
But she was not teasing him; those times were past.
Again there was a feast, but it was not in the General’s house, it was a
fancy ball at the Prince’s, and masks were allowed too.
The General went as Rubens, in a Spanish costume, with a little ruff
round his neck, a sword by his side, and a stately manner. The General’s
lady was Madame Rubens, in black velvet made high round the neck,
exceedingly warm, and with a mill-stone round her neck in the shape of a
great ruff-accurately dressed after a Dutch picture in the possession of the
General, in which the hands were especially admired. They were just like
the hands of the General’s lady.
Emily was Psyche. In white crape and lace she was like a floating swan.
She did not want wings at all. She only wore them as emblematic of Psyche.
Brightness, splendor, light and flowers, wealth and taste appeared at the
ball; there was so much to see, that the beautiful hands of Madame Rubens
made no sensation at all.
A black domino, with an acacia blossom in his cap, danced with Psyche.
“Who is that?” asked the General’s lady.
“His Royal Highness,” replied the General. “I am quite sure of it. I knew
him directly by the pressure of his hand.”
The General’s lady doubted it.
