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Updated: June 3, 2025
The country was not only rather bare of vegetation, despite its groves of glorious old olives, its woods of oaks round Tatoi, its delicious curly forests of yellow-green pines, which looked, Rosamund declared, as if they had just had their dainty heads perfectly dressed by an accomplished coiffeur, it was also almost strangely bare of men. "Where are the Greeks?"
A grey wig is not a brown wig." "But you just said a wig is a wig." The coiffeur gave angry rubs at the head, in time with his explosive phrases. "You want real hair, I presume and to your measure and to look natural and convenable!" "Private theatricals!" repeated Madame Dépine, aghast. "A comédienne's wig I can sell you for a bagatelle. That passes at a distance."
You do not love war, you others. SUBALTERN. The Germans thought that they loved war, but I do not believe that they will love it very much longer! BOURGEOIS. No! The war will give them the stomach-ache. They will love it no longer! COIFFEUR. But these English, whom did they fight before? The Boers, was it not? SUBALTERN. Yes, but a great many English think now that it was a bêtise.
"As you please. But I ought to have been on my guard. Where did she take the funds for a grey wig?" "Ah, the brown wig!" cried Madame Dépine, joyfully. "She must have left that behind, and any coiffeur will give you three weeks' rent for that alone." "We shall see," replied Madame la Propriétaire, ambiguously.
"Giuseppe, we are to have a party a week from to-night, five hundred invitations there is the list." The day comes. "Madam, do you remember you have your party tonight?" "Why, so I have! Everything right? supper and all?" "All as it should be, Madam." "Send up Victorine." "Victorine, full toilet for this evening, pink, diamonds, and emeralds. Coiffeur at seven. Allez."
Her golden-brown shining hair waved back from a side parting with that carefully contrived artlessness which is the crowning achievement of a coiffeur, and in colour it exactly matched her soft frock, which was of the sports variety with a finely pleated skirt. The skin of her throat was milky-white and of the fineness of a flower petal. Against it her pearls showed a faint rosy tinge.
A hair-dresser arranges, at least once a week, the hair of the modish woman if her maid does not understand the art of hair-dressing. Many women of the wealthy world have their maids taught by a French coiffeur. A wise woman will adopt a prevailing mode with discretion, for, what may be essentially appropriate for one, may be fatally inappropriate for another.
Cameron's neck, rumpling her point lace collar, and sadly displacing the coiffeur of the astonished lady, who had seldom received so genuine a greeting as that which Katy gave her, kissing her lips and whispering softly: "I love you now, because you are Wilford's mother, but by and by because you are mine. And you will love me some because I am his wife."
"Afraid of me, immensely, but not a bit afraid of her authors nor of you!" Madame Carré smiled. "Aren't you prejudiced by what that fellow Nash has told you?" "Why prejudiced? He only told me she was very handsome." "And don't you think her so?" "Admirable. But I'm not a photographer nor a dressmaker nor a coiffeur. I can't do anything with 'back hair' nor with a mere big stare."
She had probably never visited a professional coiffeur in her life. Her form was straitly confined in an atrocious dress of linsey-woolsey, and she wore an apron that was neither white nor black. Her boots were commodious. After her meal she was putting a hat-pin to a purpose which hat-pins do not usually serve.
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