And it was true enough—they were as alike as Moore and myself; only, they wore white satin small clothes and powdered perukes. They were in earnest conversation, but broke off as they neared us.
"Parbleu!" exclaimed the man with us. "There seems to be a plague of twins to-night."
One of the White Masques made as though to halt, but the other whispered something and tried to draw him on.
Our fellow laughed irritatingly, and waved his hand toward Moore and me.
"We've got a pair of Knaves here, also," he bantered; "perchance, the four of you are from the same pack."
The White Masque turned quickly. "Then it would be a pack, monsieur, in which you would be about equal to the deuce," he said.
"Or the joker," said the other, as they moved away, "which, in a gentleman's game, has no place."
Our man made a quick step toward them; but Moore caught him sharply by the shoulder.
"Let them go," he said curtly.
The other hesitated—then shrugged his shoulders.