I could not help laughing a little at Annetje’s embarrassment.
“Mistress Annetje,” I said.
“I’m a bond-servant, sir. Plain Annetje, if you please.”
“Plain Annetje, then, what is your purpose now?”
“To put on my mask again. Now, I have it placed; will you tie it in the back? Look, here in my face; is it right? Do my ears show under the bottom?”
All this occurred on the Kissing Bridge. I made sure as I tied Annetje’s ribbons that she was still chuckling behind her mask, though she spoke like a Puritan.
“If you had kissed me I should have told my mistress. No I should not, neither. We never do anything she does not like. Do you know how you touched her heart by crying over that dear little Ruth we all loved so much? There you go again. You must be soft indeed. Mistress was telling me all about it. But here comes Pierre; I knew we should meet him.”
Sure enough, my friend Pierre was riding on the road ahead of us, and would meet us in a moment.
“I am going to play the mistress,” continued Annetje. “You two must ride behind me just the same.”
I did not know what to make of this meeting with Pierre. It was not his custom, as I knew very well, to ride a good horse. He could not be here by appointment or Annetje would not try to fool him as to who she really was. Perhaps he had ridden out in the mere hope of stumbling across me. He was on a horse I had seen in the Marmaduke stables, which fact confirmed me in this opinion. Perhaps he had matters of importance for my ear.