They listened until the music ceased.
"Ah!" said he rapturously, "the polonaise! When you hear it, does there not recur to you some dream of bygone happy hours, the sibilant murmur of fragrant night winds through the crisp foliage, the faint call of Diana's horn from the woodlands, moon-fairies dancing on the spider-webs, the glint of the dew on the roses, the far-off music of the surges tossing impotently on the sands, the forgetfulness of time and place and care, and not a cloud 'twixt you and the heavens?
Ah, the polonaise!" "Surely you must be a poet!" declared the Veil, when this panegyric was done.
"No," said he modestly, "I never was quite poor enough for that exalted position." He had recovered his good humor.
"Indeed, you begin to interest me.

What is your occupation when not in search of--comic operas ?" "I serve Ananias." "Ananias ?" A pause.

"Ah, you are a diplomat ?" "How clever of you to guess." "Yours is a careless country," observed the Veil.
"Careless ?" mystified.
"Yes, to send forth her green and salad youth.

Eh, bien! There are hopes for you.

If you live you will grow old; you will become bald and reserved; you will not speak to strangers, to while away an idle hour; for permit me, Monsieur, who am wise, to tell you that it is a dangerous practice." "And do I look so very young ?" "Your beard is that of a boy." "David slew Goliath." "At least you have a ready tongue," laughing.
"And you told me that I had been a soldier." But to this she had nothing to say.
"I am older than you think, Mademoiselle of the Veil.