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But what eef love heemself ees pain who shall heal that, eh, Meester Carpentair?" "O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!" came the moan. Said Rosythe: "Mr. Carpenter thinks you make the ladies suffer too much. It worries him." "Ah, but the ladies do not mind! Pain? What ees eet? The lady who makes the groans, she cannot move, and so she ees unhappy.
"I have an idea; eet ees a wondair." She turned to my friend. "Meester Carpentair, they tell me that you heal the pains. I think eet would be a vairy fine thing eef you would come to my parlor and attend the ladies while I give them the permanent wave, and while I skeen them, and make them the dimples and the sweet smiles.
You have the soft, fine hair you should let it grow eight inches we have to have, and then you can come to me for the permanent wave. So many young men come to me for the permanent wave! You know eet? Meester Carpentair, you see, he has let hees hair grow, and he has the permanent wave eet could not be bettair eef I had done eet myself.
No one weel be afraid, for all here are worshippers of the god of beautee all weel bear the pains that he requires. Eh, Meester Carpentair?" Carpenter was staring at her. I had not before seen such intensity of concentration on his face. He was trying to understand this situation, so beyond all believing. "I weel tell you something," said Madame Planchet, lowering her voice confidentially.
They suffer so, the poor dears, and eef you would seet and hold their hands, they would love eet, they would come every day for eet, and you would be famous, and you would be reech. You would meet oh, such lovely ladies! The best people in the ceety come to my beauty parlors, and they would adore you, Meester Carpentair what do you say to eet?"
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