“No head ever comes to me uncleansed,” replied the illustrious hair-dresser; “but for your sake, I will do that of monsieur myself, wholly. My pupils sketch out the scheme, or my strength would not hold out. Every one says as you do: ‘Dressed by Marius!’ Therefore, I can give only the finishing strokes. What journal is monsieur on?” “If I were you, I should keep three or four Mariuses,” said Gazonal. “Ah! monsieur, I see, is a feuilletonist,” said Marius. “Alas! in dressing heads which expose us to notice it is impossible. Excuse me!” He left Gazonal to overlook Regulus, who was “preparing” a newly arrived head. Tapping his tongue against his palate, he made a disapproving noise, which may perhaps be written down as “titt, titt, titt.” “There, there! good heavens! that cut is not square; your scissors are hacking it. Here! see there! Regulus, you are not clipping poodles; these are men--who have a character; if you continue to look at the ceiling instead of looking only between the glass and the head, you will dishonor my house.” “You are stern, Monsieur Marius.” “I owe them the secrets of my art.” “Then it is an art?” said Gazonal. Marius, affronted, looked at Gazonal in the glass, and stopped short, the scissors in one hand, the comb in the other. “Monsieur, you speak like a--child! and yet, from your accent, I judge you are from the South, the birthplace of men of genius.” “Yes, I know that hair-dressing requires some taste,” replied Gazonal. “Hush, monsieur, hush! I expected better things of YOU. Let me tell you that a hair-dresser,--I don’t say a good hair-dresser, for a man is, or he is not, a hair-dresser,--a hair-dresser, I repeat, is more difficult to find than--what shall I say? than--I don’t know what--a minister?--(Sit still!) No, for you can’t judge by ministers, the streets are full of them. A Paganini? No, he’s not great enough. A hair-dresser, monsieur, a man who divines your soul and your habits, in order to dress your hair conformably with your being, that man has all that constitutes a philosopher--and such he is. See the women! Women appreciate us; they know our value; our value to them is the conquest they make when they have placed their heads in our hands to attain a triumph. I say to you that a hair-dresser--the world does not know what he is. I who speak to you, I am very nearly all that there is of--without boasting I may say I am known--Still, I think more might be done--The execution, that is everything! Ah! if women would only give me carte blanche!--if I might only execute the ideas that come to me! I have, you see, a hell of imagination!--but the women don’t fall in with it; they have their own plans; they’ll stick their fingers or combs, as soon as my back is turned, through the most delicious edifices--which ought to be engraved and perpetuated; for our works, monsieur, last unfortunately but a few hours. A great hair-dresser, hey! he’s like Careme and Vestris in their careers.