I might here--if it so pleased me--dilate upon the matter of habiliment, and other mere circumstances of the external metaphysician. I might hint that the hair of our hero was worn short, combed smoothly over his forehead, and surmounted by a conical-shaped white flannel cap and tassels--that his pea-green jerkin was not after the fashion of those worn by the common class of _Restaurateurs_ at that day--that the sleeves were something fuller than the reigning costume permitted--that the cuffs were turned up, not as usual in that barbarous period, with cloth of the same quality and color as the garment, but faced in a more fanciful manner with the particolored velvet of Genoa--that his slippers were of a bright purple, curiously filagreed, and might have been manufactured in Japan, but for the exquisite pointing of the toes, and the brilliant tints of the binding and embroidery--that his breeches were of the yellow satin-like material called _aimable_--that his sky-blue cloak resembling in form a dressing-wrapper, and richly bestudded all over with crimson devices, floated cavalierly upon his shoulders like a mist of the morning--and that his _tout ensemble_ gave rise to the remarkable words of Benevenuta, the Improvisatrice of Florence, "that it was difficult to say whether Pierre Bon-Bon was indeed a bird of Paradise, or the rather a very Paradise of perfection." I have said that "to enter the _Café_ in the _Cul-de-Sac_ Le Febvre was to enter the sanctum of a man of genius"--but then it was only the man of genius who could duly estimate the merits of the sanctum. A sign consisting of a vast folio swung before the entrance. On one side of the volume was painted a bottle--on the reverse a _Paté_. On the back were visible in large letters the words _Æuvres de Bon-Bon_. Thus was delicately shadowed forth the two-fold occupation of the proprietor. Upon stepping over the threshold the whole interior of the building presented itself to view. A long, low-pitched room of antique construction was indeed all the accommodation afforded by the _Café_ in the _Cul-de-Sac_ Le Febvre. In a corner of the apartment stood the bed of the metaphysician. An array of curtains, together with a canopy _à la Gréque_ gave it an air at once classic and comfortable. In the corner diagonally opposite appeared, in direct and friendly communion, the properties of the kitchen and the _bibliothéque_. A dish of polemics stood peacefully upon the dresser. Here lay an oven-full of the latest ethics--there a kettle of duodecimo _melanges_. Volumes of German morality were hand and glove with the gridiron--a toasting fork might be discovered by the side of Eusebius--Plato reclined at his ease in the frying pan--and cotemporary manuscripts were filed away upon the spit.