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.
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'frizzled，powdered，in a gold-laced coat，pumps，and white silk stockings.'At the gallows and the wheel—the axe was a rarity—Monsieur Paris，as it was the episcopal mode among his brother Professors of the provinces，Monsieur Orleans，and the rest，to call him，presided in this dainty dress.And who among the company at Monseigneur's reception in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of Our Lord，could possibly doubt，that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman，powdered，gold-laced，pumped，and white-silk stockinged，would see the very stars out！
Monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken his chocolate，caused the doors of the Holiest of Holiests to be thrown open，and issued forth. Then，what submission，what cringing and fawning，what servility，what abject humiliation！As to bowing down in body and spirit，nothing in that way was left for Heaven—which may have been one among other reasons why the worshippers of Monseigneur never troubled it.
Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there，a whisper on one happy slave and wave of the hand on another，Monseigneur affably passed through his rooms to the remote region of the Circumference of Truth. There，Monseigneur turned，and came back again，and so in due course of time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate sprites，and was seen no more.
The show being over，the flutter in the air became quite a little storm，and the precious little bells went ringing downstairs. There was soon but one person left of all the crowd，and he，with his hat under his arm and his snuff-box in his hand，slowly passed among the mirrors on his way out.
'I devote you，'said this person，stopping at the last door on his way，and turning in the direction of the sanctuary，'to the Devil！'
With that，he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had shaken the dust from his feet，and quietly walked downstairs.
He was a man of about sixty，handsomely dressed，haughty in manner，and with a face like a fine mask. A face of a transparent paleness；every feature in it clearly defined；one set expression on it.The nose，beautifully formed otherwise，was very slightly pinched at the top of each nostril.In those two compressions，or dints，the only little change that the face ever showed，resided.They persisted in changing colour sometimes，and they would be occasionally dilated and contracted by something like a faint pulsation：then，they gave a look of treachery，and cruelty，to the whole countenance.Examined with attention，its capacity of helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth，and the lines of the orbits of the eyes，being much too horizontal and thin；still，in the effect the face made，it was a handsome face，and a remarkable one.
Its owner went downstairs into the courtyard，got into hiscarriage，and drove away. Not many people had talked with him at the reception；he had stood in a little space apart，and Monseigneur might have been warmer in his manner.It appeared under the circumstances，rather agreeable to him to see the common people dispersed before his horses，and often barely escaping from being run down.His man drove as if he were charging an enemy，and the furious recklessness of the man brought no check into the face，or to the lips，of the master.The complaint had sometimes made itself audible，even in that deaf city and dumb age，that，in the narrow streets without footways，the fierce patrician custom of hard driving endangered and maimed the mere vulgar in a barbarous manner.But few cared enough for that to think of it a second time，and，in this matter，as in all others，the common wretches were left to get out of their difficulties as they could.
With a wild rattle and clatter，and an inhuman abandonment of consideration not easy to be understood in these days，the carriage dashed though the streets and swept round corners，with women screaming before it，and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its way. At last，swooping at a street corner by a fountain，one of its wheels came to a sickening little jolt，and there was a loud cry from a number of voices，and the horses reared and plunged.
But for the latter inconvenience，the carriage probably would not have stopped；carriages were often known to drive on，and leave their wounded behind，and why not？But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry，and there were twenty hands at the horses'bridles.
'What has gone wrong？'said Monsieur，calmly looking out.
A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the horses，and had laid it on the basement of the fountain，and was down in the mud and wet，howling over it like a wild animal.
'Pardon，Monsieur the Marquis！'said a ragged and submissive man，'it is a child.'
