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Updated: June 11, 2025
Saintou? said the little lady, when the large hat was once more on the head. 'If mademoiselle would but come again, said the hairdresser, putting both hands resolutely behind his back. 'When I come again I shall pay you both for that time and this, she said, with perhaps more tact than could have been expected of her. 'And if you want to live long, Mr. Saintou, don't feel.
'Who was it that said to mademoiselle that her heart was bad? 'Good gracious, Mr. Saintou, my heart is not bad. I know my catechism and go to church, and cook my father's dinner every day, and a very good dinner it is too. What put it into your head that I had a bad heart? 'Pardon! mademoiselle; I mistake. Who told mademoiselle that she was sick at heart? 'Good gracious heavens!
'We all expected it, said the neighbours; 'she had heart disease. And they talked their fill, and never discovered the truth it would have pleased them best to talk about. The short hair curled softly about the face of the dead girl as she lay in her coffin, and Saintou paid heavily for masses for her sweet soul.
If I should feel I should die off, quick, sharp, like a moth that flies into the candle. She made a little gesture with her hand, as if to indicate the ease and suddenness with which the supposed catastrophe was to take place, and hobbled down the street. Saintou stood in the doorway looking after her, and his heart went from him.
'You say I speak good English, and I flatter myself I have the accent very well, but what avails if I cannot make you understand? Was it a good doctor who said mademoiselle's heart was affected; touched, I might say? There was a shout of laughter from under the shower of gold. 'My heart touched! One would think I was in love. No, my heart is not touched yet; least of all by you, Mr. Saintou.
'Least of all by you, Mr. Saintou. She repeated this last rhyming couplet with a quaint musical intonation, as though it was the refrain of a song, and after her voice and laughter had died away she went on nodding her head in time to the brushing as if she were singing it over softly to herself. This distressed the hairdresser not a little, and he remained silent. 'What shall I pay you, Mr.
'I shall make it all right, he said cheerfully; 'I shall trim it beautifully for mademoiselle. Ah, the beautiful colour is there all the same. 'As red as a sunset or a geranium, she said. 'You do not believe that, sighed Saintou.
'You have come, said Saintou; but the very strength of his feeling made him grave. 'Good gracious, yes, I have come to have my hair cut. You would not cut it when I was here, and I have been very poorly these three months. I could not come out, so the other day I had my sister cut it off.
And that was what the world said; the curate was in disgrace with society for the rest of his life. Mr. Saintou the hairdresser was a Frenchman, therefore his English neighbours regarded him with suspicion. He was also exceedingly stout, and his stoutness had come upon him at an unbecomingly early age, so that he had long been the object of his neighbours' merriment.
There will come a time after that when I shall die; but we do not even think of these things, it is better not. 'But should you be afraid to die now? persisted the girl. 'Very much afraid, said the hairdresser candidly. 'Then don't feel, Mr. Saintou. I never feel. I make it the business of my life not to feel.
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