“It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Ah! I have it," he added, after a moment's deliberation; "he's there, I'll be sworn. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. ‘That’s not much comfort.
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