Suddenly she stopped, and stood perfectly still. She had heard the voice of "Madame," the Countess of Provence; and it would have been an unpardonable sin for the Duchess of Orleans to deprive a princess of the blood, of handing the chemise to the queen.
The door opened, and the sister-in-law of Marie Antoinette came in. The duchess retreated—Madame de Noailles approached slowly and relieved her of the chemise, and with unflinching deliberation, again gave it into the hands of the lady of the bedchamber.
And there stood the queen, shivering and waiting. Scarlet with shame and anger, though trembling from head to foot, she murmured resentful words against her tormentors. The princess saw it all, and hastened to her relief. Without stopping to remove her gloves, she took the chemise, and advancing, in great haste, to throw it over the queen's head, she struck against her high toupet and disarranged the headdress.
"Oh, my dear sister," said the queen, laughing, "my hair will have to be dressed anew."
Madame de Noailles drew down her eyebrows, as she was accustomed to do when irritated by indecorum, and motioned to the second lady of the bedchamber to put on the queen's shoes, The royal toilet now went on more smoothly, and was completed according to form. This done, it became the duty of the victim to pass into her reception-room, attended by her ladies. Madame de Noailles had opened the door and stood before it like a she-cerberus waiting for her prey to pass within, when the queen, still laughing at her disordered coiffure, threw herself into a chair before cheval-glass, and said:
"I hope, madame, that etiquette does not require of the Queen of France to appear before her court with dishevelled hair. If I may be permitted to express a preference in the matter, I would like to have my hair in order."
Madame de Noailles closed the door, and turned stiffly to the first lady of the bedchamber.
"Oh, no," said Marie Antoinette, "I will not trouble my good Madame de
Campan today. Did my secretary fetch the hair-dresser from Paris?"
"Yes, your majesty," said a lady in waiting, "the hair-dresser is in the outer room."
"Go and call him, De Campan. And now, ladies," said Marie Antionette to the princesses, "you shall see one of the demi-gods. Leonard is called in the world of fashion 'le dieu des coiffures.'"