Vaguely he wondered what fat, pompous de Batz would think of this discussion if he could overhear it.

His contempt, no doubt, for the Scarlet Pimpernel and his followers would be increased tenfold.
Then at last the question of the disguise was effectually dismissed.

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony Dewhurst had settled their differences of opinion by solemnly agreeing to represent two over-grimy and overheated coal-heavers.

They chose two certificates of safety that were made out in the names of Jean Lepetit and Achille Grospierre, labourers.
"Though you don't look at all like an Achille, Tony," was Blakeney's parting shot to his friend.
Then without any transition from this schoolboy nonsense to the serious business of the moment, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes said abruptly: "Tell us exactly, Blakeney, where you will want the cart to stand on Sunday." Blakeney rose and turned to the map against the wall, Ffoulkes and Tony following him.

They stood close to his elbow whilst his slender, nervy hand wandered along the shiny surface of the varnished paper.