I knew he was exemplary from some detail of costume that I can't remember--his gloves or a strip of silk down the sides of his trousers--something of the sort.

The blond was saying something that I did not catch.

I heard the words "de Mersch" and "_Anglaise_," and saw the dark man turn his attention to the little group below.

Then I caught my own name mispronounced and somewhat of a stumbling-block to a high-pitched contemptuous intonation.

The little correspondent, who was on my other arm, started visibly and moved swiftly behind my back.
"_Messieurs_," he said in an urgent whisper, and drew them to a little distance.