The next few moments Charley was busy measuring the two potentates for
greatcoats. As it was his first work for them, it was necessary for the
Cure to write down the Seigneur's measurements, as the tailor called them
off, while the Seigneur did the same when the Cure was being measured.
So intent were the three it might have been a conference of war. The
Seigneur ventured a distant but self-conscious smile when the measurement
of his waist was called, for he had by two inches the advantage of the
Cure, though they were the same age, while he was one inch better in the
chest. The Seigneur was proud of his figure, and, unheeding the passing
of fashions, held to the knee-breeches and silk stockings long after they
had disappeared from the province. To the Cure he had often said that
the only time he ever felt heretical was when in the presence of the
gaitered calves of a Protestant dean. He wore his sleeves tight and his
stock high, as in the days when William the Sailor was king in England,
and his long gold-topped Prince Regent cane was the very acme of dignity.

The measurement done, the three studied the fashion plates--mostly five
years old--as Von Moltke and Bismarck might have studied the field of
Gravelotte. The Seigneur's remarks were highly critical, till, with a
few hasty strokes on brown paper, Charley sketched in his figure with a
long overcoat in style much the same as his undercoat, stately and
flowing and confined at the waist.

"Admirable, most admirable!" said the Seigneur. "The likeness is
astonishing"--he admired the carriage of his own head in Charley's swift
lines--"the garment in perfect taste. Form--there is nothing like form
and proportion in life. It is almost a religion."

"My dear friend!" said the Cure, in amazement.