"I don't care if it is the Old Harry, if he will help me against the Grammonts! He is not so black as those wretches," said the countess.
"Now I think of it, I wager you may entrust your hair to this hairdresser, for
he must be sent by the same friend who furnishes the dress," suggested Jean. "Own up that your story was pure gammon?"
"Not at all," protested the young man, showing the newspaper. "I kept it to make the curls for the hair."
"It is no use, for I have no carriage."
"Hark, here it is rolling up to our door," exclaimed Chon.
"Quick!" shouted Jean, "do not let them get away without our knowing to whom we owe all these kindnesses."
And he rushed with janitor, steward and footmen out on the street. It was too late. Before the door stood two magnificent bay horses, with a gilded coach, lined with white satin. Not a trace of driver or footmen. A man in the street had run up to get the job of holding the horses and those who brought them had left him in charge. A hasty hand had blotted out the coat of arms on the panels and painted a rose.
All this counter-action to the misadventures had taken place in an hour.
Jean had the horses brought into the yard, locking the gates and pocketing the key. Then he returned to the room where the hairdresser was about to give the lady the first proofs of his skill.