ction of hats that crowned
these costumes.

The specimens of extinct headgear, lost in the night of ages, that were
collected here! The veterans wore muff-boxes and gas-pipes; some had
tall white hats, for all the world like toilet-pails turned upside
down, or huge spigots with a hole for the head; others had donned felt
hats like sponges, shaggy, long-haired Bolivars, melons on flat brims
just like a tart on a dish; others, again, had crush-hats, which swayed
and played the accordion on their own account, their ribs showing
through the stuff.

The craziness of the gibus hats beats description. Some were very tall,
the shaft crowned with a platform larger than the head, like the shako
of an Imperial Lancer; others very low, ending in an inverted cone--the
mouth of a blunderbuss or a Polish schapska.

And under this Sanhedrim of drunken hats were the mopping, wrinkled
faces of very old men, with whiskers like white rabbits' paws, and
bristles like tooth-brushes in their nostrils.

Durtal shook with inextinguishable laughter at this carnival of
antiquities; but his mirth was soon over; he saw two Little Sisters of
the Poor who were in charge of this school of fossils, and he
understood. These poor creatures were dressed in clothes that had been
begged, the rummage of wardrobes, for which the owners had no further
use. Then the queerness of their outfit was pathetic; the Little Sisters
must have been at infinite trouble to utilize these leavings of charity;
and the old children, recking little of fashion, plumed themselves with
pride at being so fine.

Durtal followed to the cathedral. When he reached the little square, the
procession, caught by a gale of wind, was struggling and clinging to the
banners, which bellied like the sails of a ship, carrying on the men who
clutched the poles. At last, more or less easily, all the people were
swallowed up in the basilica. The _Te Deum_ was pouring out in a torrent
from the organ. At this moment it really seemed as though, under the
impulsion of this glorious hymn, the church, springing heavenward in a
rapturous flight, were rising higher and higher; the echo resounded down
the ages, repeating the hymn of triumph which had so often been sung
under that roof; and for once the music was in harmony with the
building, and spoke the language which the cathedral had learnt in its
infancy.

Durtal was exultant. It seemed to him that Our Lady smiled down from
those glowing windows