a black flamboyant ribbon for the clubbed queue, a pearl-gray
powder a la Rochambeau; but I was not foolish enough to permit him to
pass a diamond pin into my hair, for I had once seen that fashion
affected by Murray, Earl of Dunmore, that Royal Governor of Virginia
who had laid Norfolk in ashes out of pure vindictiveness.

My costume I shall describe, not, I hope, from any unworthy vanity, but
because I love beautiful things. Therefore, for the pleasure of others
who also admire, and prompted alone by a desire to gratify, I neither
seek nor require excuses for recalling what I wore that night at the
Artillery ball. The lace at the stock was tied full and fastened with
brilliants; the coat of ivory silk, heavily embroidered with golden
filigree, fell over a waistcoat of clouded ivory and gold mesh,
fashionably short, and made by Thorne. My breeches were like the coat,
ivory silk, buckled with gold; the stockings were white silk, a bunch
of ribbon caught by the jeweled buckles at either knee; and upon my
double-channeled pumps, stitched by Bass, buckles of plain dull gold.
There was blond lace at throat and cuff. I confess that, although I did
not wear two watches, a great bunch of seals dangled from the fob; and
the small three-cornered French hat I tucked beneath my arm was laced
like a Nivernois, and dressed and cocked by the most fashionable hatter
in Hanover Square.

The mirror before which I stood was but half long enough, so I bade
Dennis place it upon the floor, whence it should reflect my legs and
gilded court-sword. Pleased, I obtained several agreeable views of my
costume, Dennis holding two mirrors for me while I pondered, hesitating
where to place the single patch of black.

"Am I fine, Dennis?" I asked.

"Now God be good to the ladies, sir!" he said, so seriously that I
laughed like a boy, whisked out my sword, and made a pass at my
mirrored throat.

"At all events," I thought, "I'll be handsomely clothed if there's a
scratch-quarrel with Walter Butler--which God avert!" Then for the
first time it occurred to me that it might not be Walter Butler, but I
myself, lying stretched on the lawn behind the Coq d'Or, and I was
comforted to know that, however low misfortune might lay me, I should
be clothed suitably and as befitted a Renault.

CHAPTER V

THE ARTILLERY BALL

When I descended from my chamber to the south drawing-room I found
there a respectable company of gentlemen assembled, awaitin