Precisely at noon, the trousers _a la Cosaque_ and the frogged surtout were on the foot of the bed opposite the famous Bolivar hat.
"I may as well be dressing," said Fougas.

"Possibly this young man may not be at home.

In that case I'll leave my name, and wait until he sends for me." He got himself up gorgeously in his own way, and, although it may appear impossible to my readers, Fougas, in a black satin scarf and frogged surtout, was not homely nor even ridiculous.

His tall figure, lithe build, lofty and impressive carriage, and brusque movements, were all in a certain harmony with the costume of the olden time.

He appeared strange, and that was all.