He
no longer tried to look as much as possible like a smart officer,
but rather like a country gentleman of ancient lineage. The thick
fair mustache had abandoned its enterprising upward curl, and now
hung down straight and long. The model parting of the hair was in
any case out of the question, a distinguished baldness having taken
the place of the old luxuriance, and his figure had fulfilled all
the promises of his youth. In his dress Paul still cultivated
extreme elegance, only that it partook more of the bucolic now in
style than of the drawing-room as in former days. He wore high
patent leather boots with small silver spurs, well-fitting riding
breeches, a gray coat with green facings and large buckhorn buttons,
a blue-and-white spotted silk necktie tied in a loose knot with
fluttering ends, an artistically crushed soft felt hat, and in his
dog-skin gloved hand a small riding-whip with a chased gold head.
With all its dandyism it was a model of good taste, and in no single
detail smacked of the parvenu, and that for the very good reason
that Paul was no parvenu, but a man who was conscious of having
attained to a position which was his by nature and by right. He had
never suffered from undue diffidence, and his success had naturally
increased his sense of his own value, which, however, he did not
display in any bumptious or aggressive manner as one who would force
reluctant acknowledgment of his merits, but quietly and naturally,
seeing that he received full and voluntary recognition from all
sides.
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