A genteel murmur presided in the dining room of the Carlyle Hotel, at Seventy-sixth and Madison Avenue, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. There was, naturally, a certain bustle at breakfast as the well-groomed patrons of this refined enclave made their way to the buffet table. But there was none of the purposeful table-hopping that was so noticeable at Park Avenue’s Regency Hotel, known for the ‚power breakfasts‛ of its Wall Street and entertainment industry clientele. Discretion ruled the Carlyle, where the bellhops wore white gloves and the opulence was obvious yet understated, and the mood cheery yet subdued.