Hearts and Masks | Page 3

The girl, however,
still appeared to be in a dreaming state. I have no doubt every one who
saw me thought that anarchy was abroad again, or that Sherlock
Holmes had entered into his third incarnation.
Finally I squared the pack, took a long-breath, and cut. I turned up the
card. It was the ten-spot of hearts. I considered this most propitious;
hearts being my long suit in everything but love,--love having not yet
crossed my path. I put the card in my wallet, and was about to toss the
rest of the pack under the table, when, a woman's voice stayed my
hand.

"Don't throw them away. Tell my fortune first."
I looked up, not a little surprised. It was the beautiful young girl who
had spoken. She was leaning on her elbows, her chin propped in her
palms, and the light in her grey chatoyant eyes was wholly innocent
and mischievous. In Monsieur Mouquin's cellar people are rather
Bohemian, not to say friendly; for it is the rendezvous of artists, literary
men and journalists,--a clan that holds formality in contempt.
"Tell your fortune?" I repeated parrot-like.
"Yes."
"Your mirror can tell you that more accurately than I can," I replied
with a frank glance of admiration.
She drew her shoulders together and dropped them. "I spoke to you, sir,
because I believed you wouldn't say anything so commonplace as that.
When one sees a man soberly shuffling a pack of cards in a place like
this, one naturally expects originality."
"Well, perhaps you caught me off my guard,"--humbly.
"I am original. Did you ever before witness this performance in a
public restaurant?"--making the cards purr.
"I can not say I have,"--amused.
"Well, no more have I!"
"Why, then, do you do it?"--with renewed interest.
"Shall I tell your fortune?"
"Not now. I had much rather you would tell me the meaning of this
play."
I leaned toward her and whispered mysteriously: "The truth is, I belong
to a secret society, and I was cutting the cards to see whether or not I

should blow up the post-office to-night or the police-station. You
mustn't tell anybody."
"Oh!" She started back from the table. "You do not look it," she added
suddenly.
"I know it; appearances are so deceptive," said I sadly.
Then the old man laughed, and the girl laughed, and I laughed; and I
wasn't quite sure that the grave waiter did not crack the ghost of a
smile--in relief.
[Illustration: The handsomest girl I had set eyes upon in a month of
moons.]
"And what, may I ask, was the fatal card?" inquired the old man,
folding his paper.
"The ace of spades; we always choose that gloomy card in secret
societies. There is something deadly and suggestive about it," I
answered morbidly.
"Indeed."
"Yes. Ah, if only you knew the terrible life we lead, we who conspire!
Every day brings forth some galling disappointment. We push a king
off into the dark, and another rises immediately in his place. Futility,
futility everywhere! If only there were some way of dynamiting habit
and custom! I am a Russian; all my family are perishing in Siberian
mines,"--dismally.
"Fudge!" said the girl.
"Tommy-rot!" said the amiable old gentleman.
"Uncle, his hair is too short for an anarchist."
"And his collar too immaculate." (So the old gentleman was this
charming creature's uncle!)

"We are obliged to disguise ourselves at times," I explained. "The
police are always meddling. It is discouraging."
"You have some purpose, humorous or serious," said the girl shrewdly.
"A man does not bring a pack of cards--"
"I didn't bring them; I sent out for them."
"--bring a pack of cards here simply to attract attention," she continued
tranquilly.
"Perhaps I am a prestidigitator in a popular dime-museum," I suggested,
willing to help her out, "and am doing a little advertising."
"Now, that has a plausible sound," she admitted, folding her hands
under her chin. "It must be an interesting life. Presto--change! and all
that."
"Oh, I find it rather monotonous in the winter; but in the summer it is
fine. Then I wander about the summer resorts and give exhibitions."
"You will pardon my niece," interpolated the old gentleman, coughing
a bit nervously. "If she annoys you--"
"Uncle!"--reproachfully.
"Heaven forfend!" I exclaimed eagerly. "There is a charm in doing
unconventional things; and most people do not realize it, and are
stupid."
"Thank you, sir," said the girl, smiling. She was evidently enjoying
herself; so was I, for that matter. "Do a trick for me," she commanded
presently.
I smiled weakly. I couldn't have done a trick with the cards,--not if my
life had depended upon it. But I rather neatly extricated myself from the
trap.
"I never do any tricks out of business hours."

"Uncle, give the gentleman ten cents;