"Where are you going?" she asked. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. Alors, one must steel oneself. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. "The gen'l'man as hired us," replied the chairman. ’ The sword was released to slide back into its scabbard.
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