I read the name Lord Goldborough, Hotel ——, Rue ——, No. 25 au premier. I fell into a sort of stupor at the discovery that I had been shaving a real live lord, without knowing it. So taken aback was I, that I forgot to stuff his pockets with bears' grease, tooth powder, fancy soaps, hair dye, tooth and nail brushes, etc.
Before I had well recovered, he was out of the shop. He had left an English paper behind him by mistake, and a letter, the former of which I perused, while the latter I placed in my pocket, to return to him on the morrow at his hotel.
No sooner had my countryman left the shop than Pauline asked me if he wasn't an Englishman.
"Yes," I replied, glad of an opportunity of making myself big in her eyes and of inspiring my rival with awe and respect for me; "his name is Lord Goldborough, un grand milord, who has known me many years, and all my family. In fact," said I, "he is distantly connected with us."—(I did not say on account of our both being descended from Adam).
I told them in the shop that he had engaged my services every morning at his hotel to shave him, for old acquaintance sake, and finally that he had called on me on purpose, under the excuse of being shaved, to lend me that paper to read, where there was a long account of the great political deeds of a celebrated English minister related to us both; in fact, no less a man than the renowned William Pitt. There's no harm in making yourself as big as you can when you are sure of not being found out—eh, gentlemen?—and when you do come out with a lie, tell a good 'un whilst you're about it—that's my morality.
Pauline raised her eyebrows and looked at me archly, half incredulously. Jacques, who had been sulkily combing out some bunches of hair for wig-making behind the counter, looked up for a moment, his mouth wide open with astonishment, then resumed his work.
I little knew at the time how dearly I should have to pay for a few idle words. These are dangerous times to jest in, gentlemen, especially t'other side of the water, and if you happen to have an enemy. I was inexperienced in these matters then, but I have bought my experience since, and dearly enough I had to pay for it.
On the following morning I hastened to keep my appointment with my noble countryman. I found him very affable and condescending, and he was pleased to compliment me on my skill in barber-craft. He talked to me much about England and my family, of politics, of the French, etc., and asked me how I liked foreign parts. I naturally felt flattered at the interest he seemed to take in me, but I knew how to keep my place, always styling him "my lord" and "your lordship." In fact, we got on capitally together. When I returned to the shop I bragged of the intimacy between my patron and myself, not always sticking literally to the truth, but colouring my reception a little highly to excite envy and respect in my rival and interest in Pauline.
After this I went regularly every day to his lordship, and came back after every visit with an extravagantly coloured account of my noble customer's bounty and friendship for me, as well as the unlimited share of his confidence that I enjoyed. Pauline's smiles grew daily more winning, and Jacques scowled more and more savagely from behind the counter.
One morning, as I was preparing as usual to start for my noble patron's hotel, an ugly-looking ruffian, dressed in the preposterous fashion of the "incroyables," entered the shop, and strutting up to my employer, who was hard at work on a new wig, said, "Citoyen, you harbour a 'suspect.'"