“Then you were masquerading as a sailor. Now——”
She looked me over from head to heel, and I have been told since that I made a brave appearance. Du Trémigon had displayed excellent taste in clothing, and this was his handsomest suit. I stood proudly erect, putting a bold face on the situation, with one hand upon my sword, my hat in the other, which also held the slipper, as if I were about to be presented to the King.
“Now,” she said, “you are masquerading as a gentleman.”
“Pardon, Mademoiselle,” I returned, “I am a gentleman”—she put up her hand, but I would not be denied—“masquerading as a ... thief.”
I blessed her in my heart for her hesitation over that word.
“Is it because you have stolen the Marquis du Trémigon’s clothes?—for I believe, if I am not mistaken, they are his.”
“Your observation does you infinite credit, Mademoiselle.”
“I thought so. Is it for that reason you are masquerading as a thief?”
“Because I have come here without regard to clothes to—” I protested.