Everybody knew the beauty, as she was eager to show herself in the playhouse, on the promenade and in the stores, like all pretty, rich and young belles. Besides, she was known by her portraits, freaks, and the funny negro boy Zamore. People crowded the Palais Royal, not to see Rousseau play chess, worse luck to the philosophers! but to admire the lovely fairy in her fine dresses and gilded coach, which were so talked about.
Jean Dubarry's saying that "the Dubarrys cost the country a nice sum" was deep, and it was only fair that France who paid the bill, should see the show.
Jeanne knew that the French liked to be dazzled; she was more one of the nation than the queen, a Polander; and as she was kindly, she tried to get her money's worth in the display.
Instead of lying down for a rest as her brother suggested, she took a bath of milk for her complexion, and was ready by six for the hairdresser. A headdress for a lady to go to the court in was a building which took time, in those days. The operator had to be not only a man of art, but of patience. Alone among the craftsmen, hairdressers were allowed to wear the sword like gentlemen.
At six o'clock the court hairdresser, the great Lubin, had not arrived. Nor at a quarter past seven; the only hope was that, like all great men, Lubin was not going to be held cheap by coming punctually.
But a running-footman was sent to learn about him, and returned with the news that Lubin had left his house and would probably arrive shortly.
"There has been a block of vehicles on the way," explained the viscount.
"Plenty of time," said the countess. "I will try on my dress while awaiting him. Chon, fetch my dress."
"Your ladyship's sister went off ten minutes ago to get it," said Doris.
"Hark, to wheels!" interrupted Jean. "It is our coach."