"Exactly, Céline—are you going to put my hair so high?"
"Very high, miladi."
"Oh, well; will it be becoming?"
"Oui; La mode la Francaise," relapsing into ecstacy and French. "Le coiffeur comme il faut! Chere amie, le-chef-a-œuvre!"
Miss Arthur collapsed, and Céline continued to build up an atrociously unbecoming pile of puffs and curls in triumphant silence.
Céline never indulged in her native tongue, so she assured her mistress, except when carried away by momentary enthusiasm, or unwonted emotion. It was bad taste, she averred, and she desired to cultivate the beautiful American language.
Presently Miss Arthur made another venture, feeling quite justified in following in the footsteps of so august a personage as Madame Le Baronne.
"Did you see Mr. Percy after you left Bellair?"
"No, mademoiselle."
"Did you observe if he returned in the same train with yourself?"