“I’m not,” said D’Orsay, dismounting and going into the inn, followed by the sailor, “but I want your vest, sell it me.”
He took out and offered the poor devil ten guineas, assuring him at the same time that he “could buy another after the rain was over.”
D’Orsay put on the vest over his coat, buttoned it from top to bottom, remounted and rode on to town.
The rain passed over, the sun came out again, and as it was the proper hour to show himself in Hyde Park, D’Orsay showed himself.
“How original! How charming! How delicious!” cried the elegant dandies, astonished by D’Orsay’s new garment, “only a D’Orsay could have thought of such a creation!”
The next day dandies similarly enveloped were “the thing,” and thus the paletot was invented.
An anecdote is told, with what authority or want of it we do not know, by the Comtesse de Basanville, bearing upon D’Orsay’s good nature. One day out riding he stopped at an inn, took out a cigar, and was going to call out for a light, when a lad who came out of the tavern, offered him the match with which he had been going to light his own pipe. D’Orsay, who was struck by the boy’s politeness and good looks, began to chat with him.
“From what country do you come?”
“From Wales, my lord.”
“And you don’t mind leaving your mountains for the smoky streets of London?”