That the hair-dressing operation lasted three hours need not surprise us; but how mortally tedious these hours would have appeared without the help of conversation! The fair patient settled herself accordingly, garbed in a chemisette of fine linen, cut pretty low at the neck and in no way impeding her movements; and that was the hour when she showed her heart to her friends. She had then only to dress herself, that is, to put on a wide-sleeved cloak of damask, with a very low, square-shaped opening in which the waiting-women slipped a plastron, usually red; this they laced with care so as to fit the figure exactly; if necessary they inserted an artificial bust, and remorselessly tightened the waist. In the great old-world houses, the last of these evolutions was superintended by the master of the robes in person. Saluting with a low bow, he announced the costume for the day. The serving maids, aided by the squires, busied themselves about the lady, and packed her into a doughty accoutrement of crimson and cloth of gold, a sort of clumsy casing, a veritable strait-jacket, treacherously supported since the close of the fifteenth century by busks or whale-bones, the furtive origin of the corset. Around her neck was thrown a necklace of gold, rubies, emeralds or diamonds, and on her head was set a sort of tiara. Not one of these details is unimportant, since the whole performance had a lofty aim. And this is just the opportunity we have been waiting for to judge the women; or rather, their dress passes judgment upon them. Will they, we ask, have the courage to make their clothing expressive of their own individuality, to render their garments in some sort living and personal, or will they, with mere vulgar coquetry, copy and wear the costume that may be seen trailing in any street? The courage to indulge an individual taste in dress seemed a thing of no consequence; it is, really, a great and a rare virtue; it stamps a woman at once, shows if she has a soul above her tailor, if she has self-knowledge, if she reflects, if she has a feeling for art, if she is determined to show the world her own intelligence, her own beauty. Hands all round for liberty and truth! Anne of France and many others rebelled against the craze for a slim figure, stifling in summer, freezing in winter, regardless of the claims of physical health, and even seeking to conceal the signs of motherhood. How they wished that aestheticism would lead them back to the Greek art, that is to say, to wide flowing garments, dignified, comfortable, healthy, elegant! Or, as Louise Labé[190] poetically besought, that women, instead of fastening themselves in a strait-jacket, would condescend to resemble a leaf-cone, which opens spontaneously to bear its fruit! But no; the only approach they made to Greek art was that they sought to indicate the lines of the figure through close-fitting casings, but the casings were whalebone and artificial. Health, even life