when, an old veteran with a
gray moustache, you take a fair companion to rejuvenate you, you will
again put them on; but this time the dear creature will help you to wear
them.

And the day when you will no longer have anything more to do with them,
alas! that day you will be very low, for one's whole life is wrapped up
in this precious garment. Existence is nothing more than putting on
our first pair of breeches, taking them off, putting them on again, and
dying with eyes fixed on them.

Is it the truth that most of our joys have no more serious origin than
those of children? Are we then so simple? Ah! yes, my dear sir, we are
simple to this degree, that we do not think we are. We never quite get
rid of our swaddling clothes; do you see, there is always a little bit
sticking out? There is a baby in every one of us, or, rather, we are
only babies grown big.

See the young barrister walking up and down the lobby of the courts.
He is freshly shaven: in the folds of his new gown he hides a pile of
documents, and on his head, in which a world of thought is stirring,
is a fine advocate's coif, which he bought yesterday, and which this
morning he coquettishly crushed in with a blow from his fist before
putting it on. This young fellow is happy; amid the general din he can
distinguish the echo of his own footsteps, and the ring of his bootheels
sounds to him like the great bell of Notre Dame. In a few minutes he
will find an excuse for descending the great staircase, and crossing the
courtyard in costume. You may be sure that he will not disrobe except
to go to dinner. What joy in these five yards of black stuff; what
happiness in this ugly bit of cloth stretched over stiff cardboard!

First pair of breeches--I think I recognize you.

And you, Madame, with what happiness do you renew each season the
enjoyment caused by new clothes? Do not say, I beg of you, that such
enjoyments are secondary ones, for their influence is positive upon
your nature and your character. Why, I ask you, did you find so much
captivating logic, so much persuasive eloquence, in the sermon of Father
Paul? Why did you weep on quitting the church, and embrace your husband
as soon as you got home? You know better than I do, Madame, that it was
because on that day you had put on for the first time that little yellow
bonnet, which is a gem, I acknowledge, and which makes you look twice
as pretty. These impressions can scarcely be explained, but they are