Here, too, are Monsieur Pocard, and Crillon, new shaved, his polished skin taut and shiny, and several other people.

Prominent among them one marks the wavering head of Monsieur Mielvaque, who, in his timidity and careful respect for custom, took his hat off as he crossed the threshold.

He is only a copying-clerk at the factory; he wears much-used and dubious linen, and a frail and orphaned jacket which he dons for all occasions.
Monsieur Joseph Boneas overawes me.

My eyes are attracted by his delicate profile, the dull gloom of his morning attire, and the luster of his black gloves, which are holding a little black rectangle, gilt-edged.
He, too, has removed his hat.

So I, in my corner discreetly remove mine, too.
He is a young man, refined and distinguished, who impresses by his innate elegance.