AT A LOSS FOR EVERYTHING.
At eleven A. M., Lady Dubarry arrived at her house in Valois Street,
determined to make Paris her starting-point for her march to
Versailles. Lady Bearn was there, kept close when not under her eye,
with the utmost art of the doctors trying to alleviate the pain of her
burn.
From over night Jean and Chon and the waiting-woman had been at work
and none who knew not the power of gold would have believed in the
wonders they wrought in short time.
The hairdresser was engaged to come at six o'clock; the dress was a
marvel on which twenty-six seamstresses were sewing the pearls, ribbons
and trimmings, so that it would be done in time instead of taking a
week as usual. At the same hour as the hairdresser, it would be on
hand. As for the coach, the varnish was drying on it in a shed built
to heat the air. The mob flocked to see it, a carriage superior to any
the dauphiness had; with the Dubarry war-cry emblazoned on the panels:
"Charge Onward!" palliated by doves billing and cooing on one side, and
a heart transfixed with a dart on the other. The whole was enriched
with the attributes of Cupid bows, quivers and the hymeneal torch. This
coach was to be at the door at nine.
While the preparations were proceeding at the favorites' the news ran
round the town.
Idle and indifferent as the Parisians pretend to be, they are fonder of
novelty than any other people. Lady Dubarry in her regal coach paraded
before the populace like an actress on the stage.
One is interested in those whose persons are known.
Everybody knew the beauty, as she was eager to show herself in the
playhouse, on the promenade and in the stores, like all pretty, rich
and young belles. Besides, she was known by her portraits, freaks, and
the funny negro boy Zamore. People crowded the Palais Royal, not to
see Rousseau play chess, worse luck to the philosophers! but to admire
the lovely fairy in her fine dresses and gilded coach, which were so
talked about.
Jean Dubarry's saying that "the Dubarrys cost the country a nice sum"
was deep, and it was only fair that France who paid the bill, should
see the show.
Jeanne knew that the French liked to be dazzled; she was more one of
the nation than the queen, a Polander; and as she was kindly, she tried
to get her money's worth in the display.
Instead of lying down for a rest as her brother suggested, she
took a bath of milk for her complexion, and was ready by six for
the hairdresser. A headdress for a lady to go to the court in was
a building which took time, in those days. The operator had to be
not only a man of art, but of patience. Alone among the craftsmen,
hairdressers were allowed to wear the sword like gentlemen.
At six o'clock the court hairdresser, the great Lubin, had not arrived.
Nor at a quarter past seven; the only hope was that, like all great
men, Lubin was not going to be held cheap by coming punctually.
But a running-footman was sent to learn about him, and returned with
the news that Lubin had left his house and would probably arrive
shortly.
"There has been a block of vehicles on the way," explained the viscount.
"Plenty of time," said the countess. "I will try on my dress while
awaiting him. Chon, fetch my dress."
"Your ladyship's sister went off ten minutes ago to get it," said Doris.
"Hark, to wheels!" interrupted Jean. "It is our coach."
No, it was Chon, with the news that the dressmaker, with two of her
assistants, was just starting with the dress to try it on and finish
fitting it. But she was a little anxious.
"Viscount," said the countess, "won't you send for the coach?"
"You are right, Jeanne. Take the new horses to Francian the
coach-builder's," he ordered at the door, "and bring the new coach with
them harnessed to it."
As the sound of the departing horses was still heard, Zamore trotted in
with a letter.
"Buckra gemman give Zamore letter."
"What gentleman?"
"On horseback, at the door."
"Read it, dear, instead of questioning. I hope it is nothing untoward."
"Really, viscount, you are very silly to be so frightened," said the
countess, but on opening the letter, she screamed and fell half dead on
the lounge.
"No hairdresser! no dress! no coach!" she panted, while Chon rushed to
her and Jean picked up the letter.
Thus it ran in a feminine handwriting:
"Be on your guard. You will have no hairdresser, dress or coach
this evening. I hope you will get this in time. As I do not seek
your gratitude, I do not name myself. If you know of a sincere
friend, take that as me."
"This is the last straw," cried Jean in his rage. "By the Blue Moon, I
must kill somebody! No hairdresser? I will scalp this Lubin. For it is
half-past seven, and he has not turned up. Malediction!"
He was not going to court, so he did not hesitate to tear at his hair.
"The trouble is the dress," groaned Chon. "Hairdressers can be found
anywhere."
The countess said nothing, but she heaved a sigh which would have
melted the Choiseul party had they heard it. Then:
"Come, come," said Chon; "let us be calm. Let us hunt up another
hairdresser, and see about that dress not coming."
"Then there is the coach," said Jean. "It ought to have been here
by this. It is a plot. Will you not make Sartines arrest the guilty
ones--Maupeou sentence them to death--and the whole gang be burned with
their fellows on Execution Place? I want to rack the hairdresser, break
the dressmaker on the wheel, and flay the coachbuilder alive."
The countess had come to her senses but only to see the dreadful
dilemma the better.
At the height of this scene of tribulation, echoing from the boudoir
to the street door, while the footmen were blundering over each other
in confusion at a score of different orders, a young blade in an
applegreen silk coat and vest, lilac breeches and white silk stockings,
skipped out of a cab, crossed the deserted sill and the courtyard,
bounded up the stairs and rapped on the dressing-room door.
Jean was wrestling with a chins stand with which his coat-tail was
entangled, while steadying a huge Japanese idol which he had struck too
hard with his fist, when the three knocks, wary, modest and delicate,
came at the panel.
Jean opened it with a fist which would have beaten in the gates of
Gaza. But the stranger eluded the shock by a leap, and falling on his
feet in the third position of dancing, he said:
"My lord, I come to offer my service as hairdresser to the Countess
Dubarry, who, I hear, is commanded to present herself at court."
"A hairdresser!" cried the Dubarrys, ready to hug him and dragging him
into the room. "Did Lubin send you?"
"You are an angel," said the countess.
"Nobody sent me," returned the young man. "I read in the newspapers
that your ladyship was going to court this evening, and I thought I
might have a chance of showing that I have a new idea for a court
headdress."
"What might be your name, younker?" demanded Jean, distrustfully.
"Leonard, unknown at present, but if the lady will only try me, it will
be celebrated to-morrow. Only I must see her dress, that I may create
the headdress in harmony."
"Oh my dress, my poor, poor dress!" moaned the countess, recalled to
reality by the allusion. "What is the use of having one's hair done up,
when one has no robe?" and she fell back on the lounge.
At this instant the doorbell rang. It was a dress-box which the janitor
took from a porter in the street, which the butler took from him and
which Jean tore out of his hands. He took off the lid, plunged his
hand into the depths and yelled with glee. It enclosed a court dress
of China satin, with flowers _appliqué_, and the lace trimming of
incredible value.
"A dress!" gasped Jeanne, almost fainting with joy as she had with
grief. "But how can it suit me, who was not measured for it?"
Chon tried it with the tape measure.
"It is right in length and width of the waist," said Chon. "This is
fabulous."
"The material is wonderful," said Jean.
"The whole is terrifying," said the countess.
"Nonsense! This only proves that if you have bitter enemies, you have
some sweet friends."
"It cannot be a mere human friend, Jean," said Chon, "for how would
such know the mischief set against us? it must be a sylph."
"I don't care if it is the Old Harry, if he will help me against the
Grammonts! He is not so black as those wretches," said the countess.
"Now I think of it, I wager you may entrust your hair to this
hairdresser, for he must be sent by the same friend who furnishes the
dress," suggested Jean. "Own up that your story was pure gammon?"
"Not at all," protested the young man, showing the newspaper. "I kept
it to make the curls for the hair."
"It is no use, for I have no carriage."
"Hark, here it is rolling up to our door," exclaimed Chon.
"Quick!" shouted Jean, "do not let them get away without our knowing to
whom we owe all these kindnesses."
And he rushed with janitor, steward and footmen out on the street. It
was too late. Before the door stood two magnificent bay horses, with a
gilded coach, lined with white satin. Not a trace of driver or footmen.
A man in the street had run up to get the job of holding the horses and
those who brought them had left him in charge. A hasty hand had blotted
out the coat of arms on the panels and painted a rose.
All this counter-action to the misadventures had taken place in an hour.
Jean had the horses brought into the yard, locking the gates and
pocketing the key. Then he returned to the room where the hairdresser
was about to give the lady the first proofs of his skill.
"Miracle!" said Chon, "the robe fits perfectly, except an inch out in
front, too long; but we can take it up in a minute."
"Will the coach pass muster?" inquired the countess.
"It is in the finest taste. I got into it to try the springs," answered
Jean. "It is lined with white satin, and scented with attar of roses."
"Then everything is going on swimmingly," said the countess clapping
her hands. "Go on, Master Leonard; if you succeed your fortune is made."
With the first stroke of the comb, Leonard showed that he was an
experienced hand. In three-quarters of an hour, Lady Dubarry came forth
from his hands more seductive than Aphrodite; for she had more clothes
on her, and she was quite as handsome.
"You shall be my own hairdresser," said the lady, eyeing herself in a
hand glass, "and every time you do my hair up for a court occasion, you
shall have fifty gold pieces. Chon, count out a hundred to the artist,
for I want him to consider fifty as a retaining fee. But you must work
for none but me."
"Then take your money back, my lady. I want to be free. Liberty is the
primary boon of mankind."
"God bless us! It is a philosophic hairdresser!" groaned Jean,
lifting his hands. "What are we coming to? Well, Master Leonard, take
the hundred, and do as you deused well please. Come to your coach,
countess."
These words were addressed to Countess Bearn, who limped out of the
inner room.
"Four of you footmen take the lady between you," ordered Jean, "and
carry her gently down the stairs. If she utters a single groan, I will
have you flogged."
Leonard disappeared during this delicate task.
"Where can he have slipped away?" the young countess wanted to know.
"Where? By some rat hole or bang through the wall!" said the viscount.
"As the spirits cut away. Have a care, my dear, lest your headdress
becomes a wasp nest, your dress a cobweb, and your carriage a pumpkin
drawn by a pair of mice, on arriving at Versailles."
Enunciating this dreadful threat, Viscount Jean got into the carriage,
in which was already placed Countess Bearn and the happy woman to whom
she was to stand sponsor.