for a lady to go to the court in was a building which took time, in those days. The operator had to be not only a man of art, but of patience. Alone among the craftsmen, hairdressers were allowed to wear the sword like gentlemen.
At six o'clock the court hairdresser, the great Lubin, had not arrived. Nor at a quarter past seven; the only hope was that, like all great men, Lubin was not going to be held cheap by coming punctually.
But a running-footman was sent to learn about him, and returned with the news that Lubin had left his house and would probably arrive shortly.
"There has been a block of vehicles on the way," explained the viscount.
"Plenty of time," said the countess. "I will try on my dress while awaiting him. Chon, fetch my dress."
"Your ladyship's sister went off ten minutes ago to get it," said Doris.
"Hark, to wheels!" interrupted Jean. "It is our coach."
No, it was Chon, with the news that the dressmaker, with two of her assistants, was just starting with the dress to try it on and finish fitting it. But she was a little anxious.
"Viscount," said the countess, "won't you send for the coach?"
"You are right, Jeanne. Take the new horses to Francian the coach-builder's," he ordered at the door, "and bring the new coach with them harnessed to it."
As the sound of the departing horses was still heard, Zamore trotted in with a letter.
"Buckra gemman give Zamore letter."
"What gentleman?"
"On horseback, at the door."
"Read it, dear, instead of questioning. I hope it is nothing untoward."
"Really, viscount, you are very silly to be so frightened," said the countess, but on opening the letter, she screamed and fell half dead on the lounge.
"No hairdresser! no dress! no coach!" she panted, while Chon rushed to her and Jean picked up the letter.
Thus it ran in a feminine handwriting:
"Be on your guard. You will have no hairdresser, dress or coach this evening. I hope you will get this in time. As I do not seek your gratitude, I do not name myself. If you know of a sincere friend, take that as me."
"This is the last straw," cried Jean in his rage. "By the Blue Moon, I must kill somebody! No hairdresser? I will scalp this Lubin. For it is half-past seven, and he has not turned up. Malediction!"
He was not going to court, so he did not hesitate to tear at his hair.
"The trouble is the dress," groaned Chon. "Hairdressers can be found anywhere."
The countess said nothing, but she heaved a sigh which would have melted the Choiseul party had they heard it. Then:
"Come, come," said Chon; "let us be calm. Let us hunt up another hairdresser, and see about that dress not coming."
"Then there is the coach," said Jean. "It ought to have been here by this. It is a plot. Will you not make Sartines arrest the guilty ones—Maupeou sentence them to death—and the whole gang be burned with their fellows on Execution Place? I want to rack the hairdresser, break the dressmaker on the wheel, and flay the coachbuilder alive."
The countess had come to her senses but only to see the dreadful dilemma the better.
At the height of this scene of tribulation, echoing from the boudoir to the street door, while the footmen were blundering over each other in confusion at a score of different orders, a young blade in an applegreen silk coat and vest, lilac breeches and white silk stockings, skipped out of a cab, crossed the deserted sill and the courtyard, bounded up the stairs and rapped on the dressing-room door.
Jean was wrestling with a chins stand with which his coat-tail was entangled, while steadying a huge Japanese idol which he had struck too hard with his fist, when the three knocks, wary, modest and delicate, came at the panel.
Jean opened it with a fist which would have beaten in the gates of Gaza. But the stranger eluded the shock by a leap, and falling on his feet in the third position of dancing, he said:
"My lord, I come to offer my service as hairdresser to the Countess Dubarry, who, I hear, is commanded to present herself at court."
"A hairdresser!" cried the Dubarrys, ready to hug him and dragging him into the room. "Did Lubin send you?"
"You are an angel," said the countess.
"Nobody sent me," returned the young man. "I read in the newspapers that your ladyship was going to court this evening, and I thought I might have a chance of showing that I have a new idea for a court headdress."
"What might be your name, younker?" demanded Jean, distrustfully.
"Leonard, unknown at present, but if the lady will only try me, it will be celebrated to-morrow. Only I must see her dress, that I may create the headdress in harmony."
"Oh my dress, my poor, poor dress!" moaned the countess, recalled to reality by the allusion. "What is the use of having one's hair done up, when one has no robe?" and she fell back on the lounge.
At this instant the doorbell rang. It was a dress-box which the janitor took from a porter in the street, which the butler took from him and which Jean tore out of his hands. He took off the lid, plunged his hand into the depths and yelled with glee. It enclosed a court dress of China satin, with flowers appliqué, and the lace trimming of incredible value.
"A dress!" gasped Jeanne, almost fainting with joy as she had with grief. "But how can it suit me, who was not measured for it?"
Chon tried it with the tape measure.
"It is right in length and width of the waist," said Chon. "This is fabulous."
"The material is wonderful," said Jean.
"The whole is terrifying," said the countess.
"Nonsense! This only proves that if you have bitter enemies, you have some sweet friends."
"It cannot be a mere human friend, Jean," said Chon, "for how would such know the mischief set against us? it must be a sylph."
"I don't care if it is the Old Harry, if he will help me against the Grammonts! He is not so black as those wretches," said the countess.
"Now I think of it, I wager you may entrust your hair to this hairdresser, for he must be sent by the same friend who furnishes the dress," suggested Jean. "Own up that your story was pure gammon?"
"Not at all," protested the young man, showing the newspaper. "I kept it to make the curls for the hair."
"It is no use, for I have no carriage."
"Hark, here it is rolling up to our door," exclaimed Chon.
"Quick!" shouted Jean, "do not let them get away without our knowing to whom we owe all these kindnesses."
And he rushed with janitor, steward and footmen out on the street. It was too late.
