“Are you going?” I asked her.

“I am, indeed.”

“And you, Courtney?”

“I shall look in late.”

I motioned to Moore.  “Who is on duty to-night?” I asked.

“I am, sir.”

“Could you manage two costumes for the Vierle Masque?”

“Quite readily, sir.”

“Very good,” I said.  “And let them be as near alike as possible,” I added.

By this time the Field was almost deserted, and, at Lady Helen’s suggestion, Courtney and I turned our horses over to my orderly and drove back with her.

“I suppose,” said I, “that fancy dress is required to-night.”

“It is absolutely de rigueur,” said Courtney; “and there is no unmasking.”

“Really!” said I.  “It promises very well.”

“And it realizes all it promises—­maybe, a bit more,” Lady Helen laughed.

“How shall I recognize you?” I asked.

She considered a moment.  “I am to stay the night with the Marquise, and we shall both wear white silk court gowns of the period of Henry of Navarre.  I’ll also put a red rose in my hair.”

“And I,” said Courtney, “will be caparisoned in a plum velvet court suit, a la Louis Quinze.  You will know me easily by the awkward way I handle the high red heels.”

“As I don’t know what Moore will provide for me,” said I, “I will adopt Lady Helen’s rose; and, as I can’t fasten it in my hair, I’ll carry it in my mouth.”

“A good idea,” said Courtney; “and I’ll put one in my button hole.”

XXI

THE BAL MASQUE

When Moore and I entered the French Embassy, that night, my own valet could not have distinguished which was the Aide and which the Archduke.  By some means, which I did not bother to inquire, Moore had secured two suits of black velvet, of the time of the Thirteenth Louis, which were marvels in fit and style.  We were of one height and very similar in frame—­there being but a few pounds difference in our weights—­and, with the long curls under the big hats with their flowing plumes, and the black silk masks, we were as alike as twins.  Even our swords were similar—­long, leather-sheathed rapiers with dead gold hilts.

Under my doublet I laced the steel vest Bernheim brought me.  It and one other were made by a famous Milan armorer three hundred years ago, Bernheim said; and the two had been in his family ever since.  And, so far as he knew, there were no others like them in all Europe; not even in the Museums.  It was a wonderful piece of work, truly.  The links were small and yielding and so cunningly joined that it was as pliable as knitted wool, and much less bulky.  Indeed, when rolled into a ball, it was no bigger than a man’s fist.  It looked quite too flimsy to afford any protection; yet, when I saw it proof against a bullet fired from a revolver and also turn repeated sword thrusts, I was, perforce, convinced.  And I was completely won when I donned it; it was like a vest of silk.  And I was well pleased it was so; for I was wearing it simply to oblige good old Bernheim, who seemed so earnest about it.  I had no notion it would be of any service to me that night.