being half-open, displayed his cuirass of scales, and his flesh-colored
pantaloons, finishing just below the calf in a pair of yellow tops to his
boots. Leaning forward in front of the carriage, he uttered wild shouts
of delight, mingled with the words: "Long live the Bacchanal
Queen!"--after which, he shook and whirled the enormous rattle he held in
his hand. Standing beside him, Sleepinbuff waved on high a banner of
white silk, on which were the words: "Love and joy to the Bacchanal
Queen!"

Sleepinbuff was about twenty-five years of age. His countenance was gay
and intelligent, surrounded by a collar of chestnut-colored whiskers; but
worn with late hours and excesses, it expressed a singular mixture of
carelessness and hardihood, recklessness and mockery; still, no base or
wicked passion had yet stamped there its fatal impress. He was the
perfect type of the Parisian, as the term is generally applied, whether
in the army, in the provinces, on board a king's ship, or a merchantman.
It is not a compliment, and yet it is far from being an insult; it is an
epithet which partakes at once of blame, admiration, and fear; for if, in
this sense, the Parisian is often idle and rebellious, he is also quick
at his work, resolute in danger, and always terribly satirical and fond
of practical jokes.

He was dressed in a very flashy style. He wore a black velvet jacket with
silver buttons, a scarlet waistcoat, trousers with broad blue stripes, a
Cashmere shawl for a girdle with ends loosely floating, and a chimney-pot
hat covered with flowers and streamers. This disguise set off his light,
easy figure to great advantage.

At the back of the carriage, standing up on the cushions, were Rose
Pompon and the Bacchanal Queen.