Phil Nougat Jr. had been wearing that velvet beret, picked up for a quarter at the local Rye, N.H., yard sale, for years.

He wore a floppy brown velvet beret.

The blonde hair under the rakish velvet beret would be brown at the roots and as coarse as piano wire.

Probably one of those balding French artists with a vast moustache, floppy little velvet beret, and a smock with a big black bow.

The door had opened to admit the head and torso of a grim-looking female in an aged velvet beret.

He is wearing a black velvet beret shading his eyes and from the front of it, another medallion supports two vertical ostrich feathers.

It is a black velvet beret, decorated with colored ribbons and badges.

To this came widely cut trousers and often a large velvet beret.

Dressed in camouflage fatigues, a green velvet beret on his shaved head, he showed off two Chechen-made heavy machine guns capable of piercing Russian armored vehicles.

There is the big jolly blonde Irish girl in the black velvet beret and coat, and the white boots, chatting with two boys in khaki from the border.