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Madame Dépine rather dreaded the coiffeur, whom intercourse with jocose students had made severe. But Madame Valière shrank back shyly. "No, let us both go." She added, with a smile to cover her timidity, "Two heads are better than one." "You are right. He will name a lower price in the hope of two orders."
Madame Dépine left the bureau and wandered about in a daze. That monster of ingratitude! That arch-adventuress, more vicious even than her bejewelled sister! All the long months of more than Lenten rigour recurred to her self-pitiful mood, that futile half-year of semi-starvation. How Madame Valière must have gorged on the sly, the rich eccentric!
To see her standing before the mirror in the salon!" "The beautiful spectacle!" assented Madame Valière. "Ah! but I don't forget if she does that her mother wheeled a fruit-barrow through the streets of Tonnerre!" "Ah! yes, I knew you were from Tonnerre dear Tonnerre!" "How did you know?" "Naturally, Madame la Propriétaire." "The old gossip!" cried Madame Dépine "though not so old as she feigns.
"But since a conscientious artist cannot trust another's block! Represent to yourself also that the shape of the head does not remain as fixed as the dome of the Invalides, and that " "Eh bien, we will think," interrupted Madame Valière, with dignity. They walked slowly towards the Hôtel des Tourterelles. "If one could share a wig!" Madame Dépine exclaimed suddenly.
"I have already told your friend." He rubbed the American head viciously. Madame Dépine coloured. "But but we are two. Is there no reduction on taking a quantity?" "And why then? A wig is a wig. Twice a hundred francs are two hundred francs." "One hundred francs for a wig!" said Madame Valière, paling. "I did not pay that for the one I wear." "I well believe it, madame.
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."
Madame Dépine found a fathomless mine of edification in Madame Valière's reminiscences, which she skilfully extracted from her, finding the average ore rich with noble streaks, though the old tirewoman had an obstinate way of harking back to her girlhood, which made some delvings result in mere earth.
They preferred to spin a coin. Madame Dépine was to toss, the "Princess" to cry pile ou face. From the stocking Madame Dépine drew, naturally enough, the solitary five-franc piece. It whirled in the air; the "Princess" cried face. The puff-puff of the steam-tram sounded like the panting of anxious Fate.
Madame Dépine felt resentfully, and she hated Madame Valière as a haughty minion of royalty, who kept a cough, which barked loudest in the silence of the night. "Why doesn't she go to the hospital, your Princess?" she complained to Madame la Propriétaire. "Since she is able to nurse herself at home," the opulent-bosomed hostess replied with a shrug.
He supplied him privately with sums of money to prepare a small armament in the port of Havre, which was equipped in the name of Depine d'Anicaut; and, without all doubt, his design was to assist him more effectually in proportion as the English should manifest their attachment to the house of Stuart.
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