He had on an old gray felt hat, much too large for him, with a dingy,
shabby feather, that drooped as if it felt heartily ashamed of itself,
and the miserable condition to which it was reduced. A broad collar
of guipure lace, ragged in many places, was turned down over a
just-au-corps, which had been cut for a taller and much stouter man than
the slender, young baron. The sleeves of his doublet were so long that
they fell over his hands, which were small and shapely, and there were
large iron spurs on the clumsy, old-fashioned riding-boots he wore.
These shabby, antiquated clothes had belonged to his father; they were
made according to the fashion that prevailed during the preceding
reign; and the poor young nobleman, whose appearance in them was both
ridiculous and touching, might have been taken for one of his own
ancestors. Although he tenderly cherished his father's memory, and tears
often came into his eyes as he put on these garments that had seemed
actually a part of him, yet it was not from choice that young de
Sigognac availed himself of the paternal wardrobe. Unfortunately he had
no other clothes, save those of his boyhood, long ago outgrown, and so
he was thankful to have these, distasteful as they could not fail to be
to him.
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