The Chevalier laughed.  He was rather a godless youth, and whatever religion he possessed was merely observance of forms.  “Donkey, if the devil himself had offered them for sale, I should have taken them, for they pleased me; and besides, they have created a fashion.  I shall wear my new baldric—­the red one.  I report at the Palais Royal at eight, and I’ve an empty stomach to attend to.  Be lively, lad.  Duty, duty, always duty,” snatching the towels.  “I have been in the saddle since morning; I am still dead with stiffness; yet duty calls.  Bah!  I had rather be fighting the Spaniard with Turenne than idle away at the Louvre.  Never any fighting save in pothouses; nothing but ride, ride, ride, here, there, everywhere, bearing despatches not worth the paper written on, but worth a man’s head if he lose them.  And what about?  Is this person ill?  Condolences.  Is this person a father?  Congratulations.  Monsieur, the king’s uncle, is ailing; I romp to Blois.  A cabal is being formed in Brussels; I gallop away.  His Eminence hears of a new rouge; off I go.  And here I have been to Rome and back with a message which made the pope laugh; is it true that he is about to appoint a successor?  Mazarin, tiring of being a left-handed king, aspires to the mantle of Saint Peter.  Mazarin always selects me for petty service.  Why?  Oh, Monsieur le Chevalier, having an income, need not be paid moneys; because Monsieur le Chevalier was born in the saddle, his father is an eagle, his grandsire was a centaur.  And don’t forget the grey cloak, lad, the apple of my eye, the admiration of the ladies, and the confusion of mine enemies; my own particular grey cloak.”  By this time the Chevalier was getting into his clothes; fine cambrics, silk hose, velvet pantaloons, grey doublet, and shoes with buckles and red heels.

“But the grey cloak, Monsieur Paul . . .” began the lackey.

“What! you have dared to soil it?”

“No, Monsieur; but you have forgotten that you loaned it to Monsieur de Saumaise, prior to your departure to Italy.  He has not returned it.”

“That’s not like Victor.  And I had dreamed of wearing that cloak.  Mademoiselle complimented me on it, and that fop De Montausier asked me how many pistoles I paid for it.”

“The purple cloak is new, Monsieur.  It is fully as handsome as the grey one.  All it lacks is the square collar you invented.”

“Ah well, since there is no grey cloak.  Now the gossip.  First of all, my debts and debtors.”

“Monsieur de Saumaise,” said Breton, “has remitted the ten louis he lost to you at tennis.”

“There’s a friend; ruined himself to do it.  Poetry and improvidence; how they cling together!”

“Brisemont, the jeweler, says that the garters you ordered will come to one hundred and ten pistoles.  But he wants to know what the central gem shall be, rubies or sapphires surrounding.”

“Topaz for the central gem, rubies and diamonds for the rest.  The clasps must match topaz eyes.  And they must be done by Monday.”