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Updated: April 30, 2025
A pair of taslets or thigh-pieces, with guards for the upper arm and gauntlets, were all borrowed from the old Parliamentary equipment, together with the heavy straight sword and pair of horse pistols which formed the usual weapons of a cavalier. My father had chosen me a head-piece in Portsmouth, fluted, with good barrets, padded inside with soft leather, very light and yet very strong.
Des Barrets emptied his glass at a single draught and replaced it on the table, sucking in the drops of beer that had been left on his mustache. He next asked: "What is there new?" "I know of nothing new, worth mentioning, really," I stammered: "But nothing has grown old for me; I am a commercial man." In an equable tone of voice, he said: "Indeed does that amuse you?"
"Des Barrets." I was stupefied. It was Count Jean des Barrets, my old college chum. I seized him by the hand, and was so dumbfounded that I could find nothing to say. At length I managed to stammer out: "And you, how goes it with you?" He responded placidly: "I get along as I can." "What are you doing now?" I asked. "You see what I am doing," he answered quit resignedly.
"No, I do not." "Des Barrets." I was stupefied. It was Count Jean des Barrets, my old college chum. I seized him by the hand, so dumfounded that I could find nothing to say. I, at length, managed to stammer out: "And you, how goes it with you?" He responded placidly: "With me? Just as I like." He became silent. I wanted to be friendly, and I selected this phrase: "What are you doing now?"
The frayed cuffs were as perfectly black at the edges as were his nails. As soon as I had sat down near him, this queer creature said to me in a tranquil tone of voice: "How goes it with you?" I turned sharply round to him and closely scanned his features, whereupon he continued: "I see you do not recognize me." "No, I do not." "Des Barrets." I was stupefied.
Another voice, more distant still, shouted out: "Here they are!" Immediately a man with a white apron appeared, carrying two "bocks," which he set down, foaming, on the table, spilling some of the yellow liquid on the sandy floor in his haste. Des Barrets emptied his glass at a single draught and replaced it on the table, while he sucked in the foam that had been left on his mustache.
A voice in the distance repeated: "Two bocks, instead of four." Another voice, more distant still, shouted out: "Here they are, sir, here they are." Immediately there appeared a man with a white apron, carrying two "bocks," which he sat down foaming on the table, the spouts facing over the edge, on to the sandy floor. Des Barrets emptied his glass at a single draught and replaced it on the table.
Another voice, more distant still, shouted out: "Here they are!" Immediately a man with a white apron appeared, carrying two "bocks," which he set down, foaming, on the table, spilling some of the yellow liquid on the sandy floor in his haste. Des Barrets emptied his glass at a single draught and replaced it on the table, while he sucked in the foam that had been left on his mustache.
"Des Barrets." I was stupefied. It was Count Jean des Barrets, my old college chum. I seized him by the hand, and was so dumbfounded that I could find nothing to say. At length I managed to stammer out: "And you, how goes it with you?" He responded placidly: "I get along as I can." "What are you doing now?" I asked. "You see what I am doing," he answered quit resignedly.
There is a narrow frilled stripe on the edge of the collar, and also on the close-fitting sleeves. The trunks are short, wide-slashed, and of a dead-green color with pale purple in the slashes. The hose is gray. Those of the blue page, of course, are pure white. Both wear barrets. Such is their appearance.
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