Eliza's dear Mum had always taught her that it wasn't polite to stare, but she couldn't help herself. Thus, she took in that the young Arcachon had actually flung one of his legs over the railing, as if he were trying to vault out into empty space. A large and rather good wig balanced precariously on the same rail. Eliza stepped forward and snatched it. It was unmistakably the periwig of Jean Antoine de Mesmes, comte d'Avaux, who must, therefore, be the bald fellow wrestling young Arcachon back from the brink of suicide.