Early next morning, while Jasmin was still asleep, he was awakened by some one knocking at his chamber door. He rose, opened it, and found himself in presence of one of the most opulent persons of the town. There are vulgar people everywhere, and this person had more wealth than courtesy. Like Jasmin, he was a man of the people; but he had neither the grace nor the politeness of the Gascon barber. He was but a parvenu, and his riches had only produced an accumulation of snobbishness. He pushed into the room, installed himself without invitation in a chair, and, without further ceremony, proceeded:—
"My dear Jasmin," he said, "I am a banker—a millionaire, as you know; I wish you to shave me with your own hand. Please set to work at once, for I am pressed for time. You can ask what you like for your trouble."
"Pardon me, sir," said Jasmin, with some pride, "I only shave for pay at home."
"What do you say?"
"It is true, sir; I only shave for pay at home."
"Come, come—you are jesting! I cannot be put off. Make your charge as much as you like—but shave me."
"Again I say, sir, it is impossible."
"How impossible? It seems to me that it is your trade!"
"It is so; but at this moment I am not disposed to exercise it."
The banker again pleaded; Jasmin was firm; and the millionaire went away unshaved!