"We'll be followed?"
"Never."
"Do you need a wrap?"
"No."
"But it is cold outside, and your shoulders are bare."
"Then take that cloak. But quickly, Pierre, before we're followed."
He drew it about her; he led her through the door; it clicked shut; they were alone with the sweet, frosty air about them. She tore away the mask, and her beauty struck him like the moon when it drops suddenly through a mist of clouds.
"And yours, Pierre?"
"Not here."
"Why?"