Monsieur--Hum. Well, I will go and smoke a cigar so as not to be in your way, and at ten o'clock I will be back here. Your preparations will be over and in five minutes I shall be dressed. Adieu.

Madame--Au revoir.

Monsieur, after reaching the street, lit his cigar and b.u.t.toned up his great-coat. Two hours to kill. It seems a trifle when one is busy, but when one has nothing to do it is quite another thing. The pavement is slippery, rain is beginning to fall--fortunately the Palais Royal is not far off. At the end of his fourteenth tour round the arcades, Monsieur looks at his watch. Five minutes to ten, he will be late. He rushes home.

In the courtyard the carriage is standing waiting.

In the bedroom two unshaded lamps shed floods of light. Mountains of muslin and ribbons are piled on the bed and the furniture. Dresses, skirts, petticoats, and underpetticoats, lace, scarfs, flowers, jewels, are mingled in a charming chaos. On the table there are pots of pomade, sticks of cosmetic, hairpins, combs and brushes, all carefully set out.

Two artificial plaits stretch themselves languishingly upon a dark ma.s.s not unlike a large handful of horsehair. A golden hair net, combs of pale tortoise-sh.e.l.l and bright coral, cl.u.s.ters of roses, sprays of white lilac, bouquets of pale violets, await the choice of the artist or the caprice of the beauty. And yet, must I say it? amidst this luxury of wealth Madame's hair is undressed, Madame is uneasy, Madame is furious.

Monsieur--(looking at his watch)--Well, my dear, is your hair dressed?

Madame--(impatiently)--He asks me whether my hair is dressed? Don't you see that I have been waiting for the hairdresser for an hour and a half?

Can't you see that I am furious, for he won't come, the horrid wretch?

Monsieur--The monster!

Madame--Yes, the monster; and I would advise you not to joke about it.

There is a ring. The door opens and the lady's-maid exclaims, "It is he, Madame!"

Madame--It is he!

Monsieur--It is he!

The artist enters hurriedly and bows while turning his sleeves up.

Madame--My dear Silvani, this is unbearable.

Silvani--Very sorry, very, but could not come any sooner. I have been dressing hair since three o'clock in the afternoon. I have just left the d.u.c.h.esse de W., who is going to the Ministry this evening. She sent me home in her brougham. Lisette, give me your mistress's combs, and put the curling-tongs in the fire.

Madame--But, my dear Silvani, my maid's name is not Lisette.

Silvani--You will understand, Madame, that if I had to remember the names of all the lady's-maids who help me, I should need six clerks instead of four. Lisette is a pretty name which suits all these young ladies very well. Lisette, show me your mistress's dress. Good. Is the ball an official one?

Madame--But dress my hair, Silvani.

Silvani--It is impossible for me to dress your hair, Madame, unless I know the circle in which the coiffure will be worn. (To the husband, seated in the corner.) May I beg you, Monsieur, to take another place? I wish to be able to step back, the better to judge the effect.

Monsieur--Certainly, Monsieur Silvani, only too happy to be agreeable to you. (He sits down on a chair.)

Madame--(hastily)--Not there, my dear, you will rumple my skirt. (The husband gets up and looks for another seat.) Take care behind you, you are stepping on my bustle.

Monsieur--(turning round angrily)--Her bustle! her bustle!

Madame--Now you go upsetting my pins.

Silvani--May I beg a moment of immobility, Madame?

Monsieur--Come, calm yourself, I will go into the drawing-room; is there a fire there?

Madame--(inattentively)--But, my dear, how can you expect a fire to be in the drawing-room?

Monsieur--I will go to my study, then.

Madame--There is none there, either. What do you want a fire in your study for? What a singular idea! High up, you know, Silvani, and a dash of disorder, it is all the rage.

Silvani--Would you allow a touch of brown under the eyes? That would enable me to idealize the coiffure.

Monsieur--(impatiently)--Marie, give me my top-coat and my cap. I will walk up and down in the anteroom. (Aside.) Madame de Lyr shall pay for this.

Silvani--(crimping)--I leave your ear uncovered, Madame; it would be a sin to veil it. It is like that of the Princesse de K., whose hair I dressed yesterday. Lisette, get the powder ready. Ears like yours, Madame, are not numerous.

Madame--You were saying--

Silvani--Would your ear, Madame, be so modest as not to listen?

Madame's hair is at length dressed. Silvani sheds a light cloud of scented powder over his work, on which he casts a lingering look of satisfaction, then bows and retires.

In pa.s.sing through the anteroom, he runs against Monsieur, who is walking up and down.

Silvani--A thousand pardons, I have the honor to wish you good night.

Monsieur--(from the depths of his turned-up collar) Good-night.

A quarter of an hour later the sound of a carriage is heard. Madame is ready, her coiffure suits her, she smiles at herself in the gla.s.s as she slips the glove-stretchers into the twelve-b.u.t.ton gloves.

Monsieur has made a failure of his necktie and broken off three b.u.t.tons.

Traces of decided ill-humor are stamped on his features.

Monsieur--Come, let us go down, the carriage is waiting; it is a quarter past eleven. (Aside.) Another sleepless night. Sharp, coachman; Rue de la Pepiniere, number 224.

They reach the street in question. The Rue de la Pepiniere is in a tumult. Policemen are hurriedly making way through the crowd. In the distance, confused cries and a rapidly approaching, rumbling sound are heard. Monsieur thrusts his head out of the window.

Monsieur--What is it, Jean?

Coachman--A fire, Monsieur; here come the firemen.

Monsieur--Go on all the same to number 224.

Coachman--We are there, Monsieur; the fire is at number 224.

Doorkeeper of the House--(quitting a group of people and approaching the carriage)--You are, I presume, Monsieur, one of the guests of Madame de Lyr? She is terror-stricken; the fire is in her rooms. She can not receive any one.

Madame--(excitedly)--It is scandalous.

Monsieur--(humming)--Heart-breaking, heartbreaking! (To the coachman.) Home again, quickly; I am all but asleep. (He stretches himself out and turns up his collar.) ( Aside.) After all, I am the better for a well-cooked partridge.