"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.
I ignored the reproof. "That," said I, "is my supreme regret."
"Merci, mon ami," she said. "You may kiss my hand when you leave me."
"Only your hand?" I asked.
"Not even that, now," she retorted—then turned and leaned against the hedge.
Two men were coming down the path toward us.
"Here are the other twin Knaves," she said.