When we had resumed our seats in the coach, the advocate made some remark upon the impudence of barbers in general.
“But we ought to decide first,” said the lady, “whether or not it is slovenly to go bearded.”
“Of course it is,” said the advocate. “Beard is nothing but a dirty excrescence.”
“You may think so,” I answered, “but everybody does not share your opinion. Do we consider as a dirty excrescence the hair of which we take so much care, and which is of the same nature as the beard? Far from it; we admire the length and the beauty of the hair.”
“Then,” remarked the lady, “the barber is a fool.”
“But after all,” I asked, “have I any beard?”
“I thought you had,” she answered.
“In that case, I will begin to shave as soon as I reach Rome, for this is the first time that I have been convicted of having a beard.”
“My dear wife,” exclaimed the advocate, “you should have held your tongue; perhaps the reverend abbé is going to Rome with the intention of becoming a Capuchin friar.”
The pleasantry made me laugh, but, unwilling that he should have the last word, I answered that he had guessed rightly, that such had been my intention, but that I had entirely altered my mind since I had seen his wife.