went onand it did a world of good which never became manifest.

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;

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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.

Dress was the one unfailing talisman and charm used for

keeping all things in their places. Everybody was dressed for a

Fancy Ball that was never to leave off. From the Palace of the

Tuileries, through Monseigneur and the whole Court, through the

Chambers, the Tribunals of Justice, and all society (except the

scarecrows), the Fancy Ball descended to the Common

Executioner: who, in pursuance of the charm, was required to

officiate