that he recognised and appreciated his rank,
though he religiously respected his incognito.

When de Sigognac was left alone, and at liberty to think over
quietly the odd situation in which he found himself, he looked at his
magnificent surroundings with surprise as well as admiration--for he had
never in his life seen, or even imagined, such splendour and luxury. The
rich glowing colours of the chimerical flowers and foliage embossed on
a golden ground of the Spanish leather on the walls, the corresponding
tints in the frescoed ceiling and the heavy, silken hangings at the
windows and doors and round the bed, the elaborately carved and gilded
furniture, the luxurious easy-chairs and sofas, the large mirrors with
bevelled edges, and the dainty dressing-table, lavishly furnished with
all the accessories of the toilet, with its oval glass draped with lace
which was tied back with knots of gay ribbon, certainly did make up a
charming whole, and the wood fire burning brightly in the open fireplace
gave a cheerful, cosy air to it all.

Our poor young baron blushed painfully as he caught sight of his own
figure in one of the long mirrors--his shabby, ill-fitting clothes
looked so sadly out of place amidst all this magnificence--and for
the first time in his life he felt ashamed of his poverty. Highly
unphilosophical this, but surely excusable in so young a man as our
hero. With a natural desire to improve his forlorn appearance if he
could, he unpacked the scanty supply of clothing that his faithful
Pierre had put up for him--hoping that he might come across something a
little less thread-bare than the suit he actually had on his back--but
the inspection was not satisfactory, and he groaned as he discarded one
faded, shabby garment after another. The linen was not any better--worn
so that it was thin everywhere, with numerous darns and patches, and
many holes, he could not find a single shirt that was whole and in good
condition. He was so absorbed in this melancholy inspection that he did
not hear a low knock at the door, nor notice that it was slowly pushed
open, having been already ajar, to admit the stout person of Blazius,
who approached him with many bows and flourishes, though entirely
unobserved. When the pedant reached his side de Sigognac was just
holding up before him a shirt that had as many openings as the rose
window of a cathedral, and slowly shaking his head as he gazed at it,
with an expression of utter disc