No. To-morrow.

The d.u.c.h.ess put it off to see this ball.

[_Pointing to a Domino who pa.s.ses at the back accompanied by a Mask._]

She's yonder with Bombelles: the greenish cape.

TIBURTIUS.

I'm glad you're going, for _n.o.blesse oblige_; I couldn't stand much more of those asides Between the little Bonaparte and you.

THERESA.

What?

TIBURTIUS.

'Tis our glory that our ancestors Have not been over-prudish with our kings; It is no fall to pick up handkerchiefs When on the handkerchief a lily's broidered.

But honor never will accept a rag Which bears the Bonapartist weed and hornet, Woe to the Ogre's brat--!

THERESA.

What!

TIBURTIUS.

If he touched you!

THERESA.

You use expressions, brother--

TIBURTIUS.

They are warnings.

A BEAR.

[_Pa.s.sing with a Chinese woman._]

How do you know I am a diplomat?

THE CHINESE WOMAN.

Why, by the skilful way you hide your claws.

THE ATTACHe.

[_Pursuing_ f.a.n.n.y.]

Is there no way of knowing who you are?

Now, are you English?

f.a.n.n.y.

_Ja._

THE ATTACHe.

Or German?

f.a.n.n.y.

_Oui._

PROKESCH.

[_Entering with the_ DUKE.]

My Lord, is not the ball beyond compare?

THE PUNCHINELLO.

[_To a_ DOMINO.]

Your ear--!

THE DOMINO.

What for?

THE PUNCHINELLO.

My secret! Hush!

[_To another_ DOMINO.]

Your ear!

PROKESCH.

This corner's charming, given up to shadows--

THE CHINESE WOMAN.

[_To the_ BEAR.]

What are you carrying on your arm?

THE BEAR.