like, from a grand signor with his turban, down to a _colporteur_ with
his pack, or a watchman with his nightcap."

My mind was still too unsettled to enjoy masquerading, notwithstanding
the temptation of the turnkey's wardrobe; and I felt all that absence
of accommodation to circumstances, that want of plasticity, that
failure of grasping at every hair's-breadth of enjoyment, which is
declared by foreigners to form the prodigious deficiency of John Bull.
If I could have taken refuge, for that night at least, in the saddest
cell of the old convent, or in the deepest dungeon of the new prison,
I should have gone to either with indulgence. I longed to lay down my
aching brains upon my pillow, and forget the fever of the time. But
prisoners have no choice; and the turnkey, after repeating his
recommendations that I should not commit an act of such profound
offence as to appear in the assembly without a domino, if I should
take nothing else from the store of the most popular _marchande_ in
Paris, the wife of his bosom, at last, with a shake of his head and a
bending of his heavy brows at my want of taste, unlocked the gate, and
thrust me into the midst of my old quarters, the chapel.

There a new scene indeed awaited me. The place which I had left filled
with trembling clusters of people, whole families clinging to each
other in terror, loud or mute, but all in the deepest dread of their
next summons, I found in a state of the most extravagant
festivity--the chapel lighted up from floor to root--bouquets planted
wherever it was possible to fix an artificial flower--gaudy wreaths
depending from the galleries--and all the genius of this country of
extremes lavished on attempts at decoration. Rude as the materials
were, they produced at first sight a remarkably striking effect. More
striking still was the spectacle of the whole multitude in every