Another, yonder, Theophile Grandissime, is whipping his stockings with his cane, a lithe youngster in the height of the fashion (be it understood the fashion in New Orleans was five years or so behind Paris), with a joyous, noble face, a merry tongue and giddy laugh, and a confession of experiences which these pages, fortunately for their moral tone, need not recount.

All these were there and many others.
This throng, shifting like the fragments of colored glass in the kaleidoscope, had its far-away interest to the contemplative Joseph.

To them he was of little interest, or none.

Of the many passers, scarcely an occasional one greeted him, and such only with an extremely polite and silent dignity which seemed to him like saying something of this sort: "Most noble alien, give you good-day--stay where you are.
Profoundly yours--" Two men came through the Place d'Armes on conspicuously fine horses.

One it is not necessary to describe.