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But, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel of

Monseigneur were perfectly dressed. If the Day of Judgment had

only been ascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would

have been eternally correct. Such frizzling and powdering and

sticking up of hair, such delicate complexions artificially

preserved and mended, such gallant swords to look at, and such

delicate honour to the sense of smell, would surely keep anything

going, for ever and ever. The exquisite gentlemen of the finest

breeding wore little pendent trinkets that chinked as they

languidly moved; these golden fetters rang like precious little

bells; and what with that ringing, and with the rustle of silk

and brocade and fine linen, there was a flutter in the air that

fanned Saint Antoine and his devouring hunger far away.