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.