"He did not speak, I think, of restoring life--did you, Guy?" said the bell-toned diapason of the old gentleman, speaking his nasal French. "Oh, no--suspending merely," answered the young man. "To restore life, you must have recourse, I fancy, to a higher process," continued the sage, with an ironical gravity, and his eye this time fixed steadily on Sir Jekyl's; "and I could conceive none more embarrassing to the human race, _under certain circumstances_," and he shrugged slowly and shook his head. "How delightful!--no more death!" exclaimed enthusiastic Miss Blunket. "Embarrassing, of course, I mean, to certain of the survivors." This old gentleman was hitting his tenderest points rather hard and often. Was it by chance or design? Who was he? So thought the Baronet as he smiled and nodded. "Do you know who that fat old personage is who dresses like an undertaker and looks like a Jew?" asked Captain Drayton of Beatrix. "I think he is a relative of Mr. Strangways." "And who is Mr. Strangways?" "He's at my right, next me," answered she in a low tone, not liking the very clear and distinct key in which the question was put. But Captain Drayton was not easily disconcerted, being a young gentleman of a bold and rather impertinent temperament, and he continued leaning back in his chair and looking dreamily into his hock-glass. "Not a friend of yours, is he?" "Oh, no." "Really--not a friend. You're _quite_ certain?" "Perfectly. We never saw either--that is, papa met them at some posting place on his way from London, and invited them; but I think he knows nothing more." "Well, I did not like to say till I knew, but I think him--the old fellow--I have not seen the young man--a most vulgar-looking old person. He's a wine-jobber, or manager of a factory, or something. You never saw--I know Paris by heart--you _never saw_ such a thing in gentlemanly society there." And the young lady heard him say, _sotto voce_, "Brute!" haughtily to himself, as an interjection, while he just raised the finger-tips of the hand which rested on the table, and let them descend again on the snowy napery. The subject deserved no more troublesome gesture. "And where is the young gentleman?" asked Captain Drayton, after a little interval. Beatrix told him again. "Oh! _That's_ he! Isn't his French very bad--did it strike you? Bad _accent_--I can tell in a moment. That's not an accent one hears anywhere." Oddly enough, Sir Jekyl at the same time, with such slight interruptions as his agreeable attentions to Lady Blunket imposed, was, in the indistinct way in which such discussions are mentally pursued, observing upon the peculiarities of his two new guests, and did not judge them amiss.