THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE
So, while Julius heated the inner side of the waxen mask over a little lamp, Mr. Aeneas stood over Lord George gently smearing his features with some sweet-scented pomade. Then he took the mask and powdered its inner side, quite soft and warm now, with a fluffy puff. “Keep quite still, for one instant,” he said, and clapped the mask firmly on his lordship’s upturned face. So soon as he was sure of its perfect adhesion, he took from his assistant’s hand a silver file and a little wooden spatula, with which he proceeded to pare down the edge of the mask, where it joined the neck and ears. At length, all traces of the “join” were obliterated. It remained only to arrange the curls of the lordly wig over the waxen brow.
The disguise was done. When Lord George looked through the eyelets of his mask into the mirror that was placed in his hand, he saw a face that was saintly, itself a mirror of true love. How wonderful it was! He felt his past was a dream. He felt he was a new man indeed. His voice went strangely through the mask’s parted lips, as he thanked Mr. Aeneas.
“Proud to have served your lordship,” said that little worthy, pocketing his fee of fifty guineas, while he
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