"In that case, if you are not quick, you will have to wear crape. However, proceed, I can suffer with the best of them…. Are you certain that I can be of no assistance? I feel selfish, idling here like this. Besides, since I am able to see—"
"See?" she screamed.
"—see no reason why you should refuse my aid, my plight is worse still. What are you doing now?"
"My hair," she announced.
"Surely it would not be improper for me to view a head of hair?"
"Perhaps not, monsieur; but my head is on my shoulders—which makes a difference."
"Mademoiselle," sighed Tricotrin, "never have I known a young lady whose head was on her shoulders more tightly. May I crave one indulgence? My imprisonment would be less painful for a cigarette, and I cannot reach the matches—will you consent to pass them round the screen?"
"It is against the rules. But I will consent to throw them over the top. Catch! Why don't you say 'thank you'?"
"Because your unjust suspicion killed me; I now need nothing but immortelles, and at dinner I will compose my epitaph. If I am not mistaken, I already smell the soup on the stairs."
And the soup had scarcely entered when his guest presented herself. Paquin and the Fairy Godmother would have approved her gown; as to her coiffure, if her employer could have seen it, he would have wanted to put her in his window. Tricotrin gave her his arm with stupefaction. "Upon my word," he faltered, "you awe me. I am now overwhelmed with embarrassment that I had the temerity to tease you while you dressed. And what shall I say of the host who is churl enough to welcome you in such a shabby coat?"