dressing heads which expose us to notice it is impossible. Excuse me!"

He left Gazonal to overlook Regulus, who was "preparing" a newly
arrived head. Tapping his tongue against his palate, he made a
disapproving noise, which may perhaps be written down as "titt, titt,
titt."

"There, there! good heavens! that cut is not square; your scissors are
hacking it. Here! see there! Regulus, you are not clipping poodles;
these are men--who have a character; if you continue to look at the
ceiling instead of looking only between the glass and the head, you
will dishonor my house."

"You are stern, Monsieur Marius."

"I owe them the secrets of my art."

"Then it is an art?" said Gazonal.

Marius, affronted, looked at Gazonal in the glass, and stopped short,
the scissors in one hand, the comb in the other.

"Monsieur, you speak like a--child! and yet, from your accent, I judge
you are from the South, the birthplace of men of genius."

"Yes, I know that hair-dressing requires some taste," replied Gazonal.

"Hush, monsieur, hush! I expected better things of YOU. Let me tell
you that a hair-dresser,--I don't say a good hair-dresser, for a man
is, or he is not, a hair-dresser,--a hair-dresser, I repeat, is more