remarkable men among them, well worth talking to."

"I am sincerely grateful," he returned, and kissed her hand. "Please do
not trouble about it. I am quite sure that there are many people in
Paris I should like to meet, but they are scarcely likely to be present
at an embassy ball. And even if they were, a mere introduction, an
interchange of society platitudes, would not bring me any further. No;
go you to your ball, and leave me at home."

Pilar sighed, and gave up the struggle, and then received the jeweler,
who had brought the newly-set ornament for the hair, a miracle of
taste, delicate workmanship, and splendor.

In the afternoon Monsieur Martin, the prince of Paris hairdressers,
arrived, to compose her a coiffure for the ball. He was a little man,
with a clean-shaven upper lip, and the mutton-chop whiskers of a
solicitor. He wore a long black coat, of severe cut, buttoned up to the
top, and a ribbon in his buttonhole. In his very pale cravat was a
breastpin with a magnificent cat's eye. Patent leather boots and kid
gloves completed the faultless attire of this gentleman, whom one would
sooner have taken for a minister than a hairdresser. A liveried servant
followed him, carrying a silver-bound morocco box, which he took from
him at the door of the boudoir, and placed with his own hands on the
rosewood table.

After an extremely ceremonious greeting, he drew off his gloves, seated
himself in an armchair by the fire, and made the countess describe what
she was going to wear. He listened with almost tragic attention, his
forehead in his hand, his eyes closed. After some reflection, he
exclaimed:

"Where is the diadem?"

Pilar placed it on the table in front of him.

He contemplated it earnestly, and then murmured:

"Good, very good. But now I must see the robe."

"Monsieur Martin," Pilar returned reproachfully, "don't you know that
my tailor respects himself far too much to send home one of his
creations before the last moment?"

"It is always the same story," he complained mournfully; "I am to
arrange a coiffure for Madame la Comtesse, the coiffure is to harmonize
with the whole, and I am not permitted to see the robe."

"But I have given you the general idea of it."

"General idea! general idea! Does Madame la Comtesse think that that
will suffice?"

"For an artist like you, Monsieur Martin--"

"Oh, of course--for an artist like me! I can answer for myself, but how
do I know if the tailor has c