As for the
gentlemen, they were as resplendent as the women in their satins and
glittering orders and silver dress swords. Mr. Morris alone of all the
company was without the dress sword, this concession having been granted
him on account of his lameness and through the application of Mr.
Jefferson.
"It is a grim jest to give a man an extra arm when he needs a leg, Mr.
Jefferson. Can't you see to it that I am spared being made a monstrosity
of?" Mr. Morris had said, whimsically. "I can hear Segur or Beaufort now
making some damned joke about the unequal distribution of my members,"
and Mr. Jefferson had made a formal request to the master of ceremonies
to allow Mr. Morris to be presented to His Majesty without a sword. With
that exception, however, he was in full court costume and stumped his
way about the Galerie des Glaces with his accustomed savoir faire,
attracting almost as much attention and interest as Mr. Jefferson. That
gentleman, in his gray cloth, with some fine Mechlin lace at throat and
wrists, and wearing only his order of the Cincinnati, overtopped all the
other ambassadors in stately bearing, and looked more noble than did
most of the marquises and counts and dukes in their brocades and
powdered perukes and glittering decorations--or, at least, so thought
Calvert, who was himself very good to look at in his white broadcloth
and flowered satin waistcoat.
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