'J ACQUES, SHOW THE GENTLEMAN THAT bolt of the yellow watered silk . . . Jacques? Jacques!' Eliza moved on smoothly to some cruel jest about how difficult it was to find reliable and hard-working varlets nowadays, speaking in a French that was too good for Jack to understand. The gentleman in question – evidently a Parisian in the rag trade – took his nose out of Eliza's cleavage long enough to glance up into her eyes and chuckle uncertainly – he sensed a bon mot had been issued but he hadn't heard it.