"Ah, the barber," said the emperor. "Then be so good, sir, as to give your advice, and dress my hair."
"Pardon me, sir, that is not my profession," replied the cavalier, haughtily. "I am a physiognomist. Allow me to call in my subordinate."
"Certainly," said the emperor, ready to burst with laughter, as he surveyed the solemn demeanor of the artiste. The latter walked majestically to the door, and opened it.
"Jean!" cried he, with the voice of a field-marshal; and a youth fluttered in, laden with powder-purses, combs, curling-tongs, ribbons, pomatum, and the other appurtenances of a first-rate hair-dresser.
"Now, sir," said the physiognomist, gravely, "be so good as to take a seat." Joseph obeyed the polite command, upon which the physiognomist retired several paces, folded his arms, and contemplated the emperor in solemn silence.
"Be so kind as to turn your head to the left—a little more—so—that is it—I wish to see your profile," said he after a while.
"My dear sir, pray inform me whether in France it is customary to take a man's portrait before you dress his hair?" asked the emperor, scarcely able to restrain his increasing mirth; while Rosenberg retired to the window, where Joseph could see him shaking, with his handkerchief before his mouth.
"It is not customary, sir," replied the physiognomist, with grave earnestness. "I study your face that I may decide which style becomes you best."
Behind the chair stood the hair-dresser in a fashionable suit of nankeen, with lace cuffs and ruffles, hovering like a large yellow butterfly over the emperor, and ready at the signal to alight upon the imperial head with brush and comb.
The physiognomist continued his study. He contemplated the head of the emperor from every point of view, walking slowly around him, and returning to take a last survey of the front. Finally his eye rested majestically upon the butterfly, which fluttered with expectation.