Hearts and Masks

After half an hour's wandering about I stumbled across a curio-shop, a

weird, dim and dusty, musty old curio-shop, with stuffed peacocks

hanging from the ceiling, and skulls, and bronzes and marbles,

paintings, tarnished jewelry and ancient armor, rare books in vellum,

small arms, tapestry, pastimes, plaster masks, and musical instruments.

I recalled to mind the shop of the dealer in antiquities in Balzac's

La Peau de Chagrin, and glanced about (not without a shiver) for the

fatal ass's skin. (I forgot that I was wearing it myself that night!)

I was something of a collector of antiquities, of the inanimate kind,

and for a time I became lost in speculation,--speculation rather

agreeable of its kind, I liked to conjure up in fancy the various

scenes through which these curiosities had drifted in their descent to

this demi-pawnshop; the brave men and beautiful women, the clangor of

tocsins, the haze of battles, the glitter of ball-rooms, epochs and

ages. What romance lay behind yon satin slipper? What grande dame

had smiled behind that ivory fan? What meant that tarnished silver

mask?

The old French proprietor was evidently all things from a pawnbroker to

an art collector; for most of the jewelry was in excellent order and

the pictures possessed value far beyond the intrinsic. He was waiting

upon a customer, and the dingy light that shone down on his bald bumpy

head made it look for all the world like an ill-used billiard-ball. He

was exhibiting revolvers.

From the shining metal of the small arms, my glance traveled to the

face of the prospective buyer. It was an interesting face, clean-cut,

beardless, energetic, but the mouth impressed me as being rather hard.

Doubtless he felt the magnetism of my scrutiny, for he suddenly looked

around. The expression on his face was not one to induce me to throw

my arms around his neck and declare I should be glad to make his

acquaintance. It was a scowl. He was in evening dress, and I could

see that he knew very well how to wear it. All this was but momentary.

He took up a revolver and balanced it on his palm.

By and by the proprietor came sidling along behind the cases, the

slip-slip fashion of his approach informing me that he wore slippers.

"Do you keep costumes?" I asked.

"Anything you like, sir, from a crusader to a modern gentleman,"--with

grim and appropriate irony. "What is it you are in search of--a

masquerade costume?'"

"Only a grey mask," I answered. "I am going to a masked ball to-night

as a Grey Capuchin, and I want a mask that will match my robe."