Or he hums a French or an Italian air, merry or sad, in a voice which may be either tenor, contralto, soprano or baritone.
Perhaps he takes care to see that the ends of his necktie are properly adjusted.
Or he smoothes down the ruffles or front of his shirt or evening-dress.
Or he tries to find out by a questioning and furtive glance whether his wig, blonde or brown, curled or plain, is in its natural position.
Perhaps he looks at his nails to see whether they are clean and duly cut.
Perhaps with a hand which is either white or untidy, well-gloved or otherwise, he twirls his moustache, or his whiskers, or picks his teeth with a little tortoise-shell toothpick.
Or by slow and repeated movements he tries to place his chin exactly over the centre of his necktie.
Or perhaps he crosses one foot over the other, putting his hands in his pockets.
Or perhaps he gives a twist to his shoe, and looks at it as if he thought, “Now, there’s a foot that is not badly formed.”
Or according as he has come on foot or in a carriage, he rubs off or he does not rub off the slight patches of mud which soil his shoes.