"Yes, it does seem to be a rather fitting name for the event," Athos says, trying not to think about the masques he had attended in his younger days, when he had been a Comte with a future. Even those years, those happy years with Anne, he had not realized that she had been wearing a mask the whole time. He's come to loathe them, now, and is unsettled, somewhat, to see so many around him.

"I'm only here for more wine," he confesses, "before I mean to depart again."