"Why not add us to your own Knave and then give us a Queen apiece?" I
asked.
She, who had spoken last, clapped her hands.
"Delicious!" she exclaimed. "Will monsieur be my Knave?"
The voice was very soft and musical, and I saw Moore glance quickly at
her.
"That will I, my lady," said I; and stepped forward and kissed her
hand; then drew it through my arm.
"Who chooses the other black Knave?" asked Moore, sweeping off his hat,
and bowing with it held across his heart. I noted he had changed his
voice.
"I do," said she who had styled us "Satan's Twins;" and she gave him
her hand.
He, who had been with them, shrugged his shoulders and turned to her
who had spoken first, "Mademoiselle," said he, "I am waiting to be
chosen."
She laughed. "Mademoiselle will be deeply honored," she said, "if
monsieur will deign to accept the only Queen that is left."
It chanced that none of these four Masques had gone through the
reception room while we were behind the curtains, so, of course, I had
not the slightest notion of their identity. It was quite possible
Moore would be able to make a good guess; and, I fancied, he had
already placed my Queen--she of the musical laugh. However, so long as
they did not discover me, it mattered not at all who they were. I
could trust Moore to get me away from them if he found it wise. So I
devoted myself to my companion.
She was of good height and rather slender, and wore a blue gown, with
powdered hair. Her face and ears were completely hidden by her mask,
but, judging from the bit of neck that was visible, and other
indications, she was not over twenty-five. I let her pick the way, and
we led the others slowly around through the part of the Garden most
removed from the house and where the Masques were fewest. I took it,
that she had no desire to be prominent, and I was very well content.
She was a rare flirt, though--that, I knew, before we had gone a
hundred yards; and it kept my wits very busy to hold my own even
moderately well, and to keep from giving her any clue to my identity.
"Do you know, monsieur," she said, presently, "you and your friend are
not the only two men here, to-night, who are dressed alike?"
"Are they black knaves, too?" I asked.
She tapped me on the arm with her fan.
"Don't be sarcastic, my dear," she said; "though, I admit, we were very
forward."
"Nonsense!" I replied. "This is a Masque. Only, are you quite sure we
were the first men you bantered?"
"You forget, sir; Folly has no past," she said.
"A true word, mademoiselle," I agreed. "Shall it be so with us when we
part?"
She looked up at me a moment.
"Monsieur must be married," she laughed.
"Every man is married--or hopes to be," said I.
She tapped me again with her fan.
"You forget, again," she said. "Folly never--moralizes."
"True," said I, "she hasn't any morals."
"Why make Folly feminine?" she asked. "Methinks, there is usually a
Knave for every Queen."
"Methinks, I know one Queen who could have Knaves as many as she
listed," I answered, bending down and trying to see her eyes.
But she quickly interposed her fan.
"I am masked, monsieur," she said.