"
He now began rapidly and skillfully to comb, brush, coil, and
fasten, to smooth away here, loosen there, shook the gold dust over
it, touched the locks upon the forehead, placed the diadem, and fell
back a step to review his work. A groan burst from him.
"That is not it! that is not it!" he wailed, and shook his head
dolefully from side to side. "I am not permitted to see the costume
of Madame la Comtesse, I am not to use pads or curling-irons, and
yet all is to be in the grand style--only a diadem--not a flower,
not a feather! No, it will not do." He glared at her for a moment,
and then cried suddenly, "No, it positively will not do!" And before
Pilar could prevent him, he had rapidly pulled out all the hairpins,
removed the diadem, and disarranged with nervous fingers the whole
artistic edifice.
"A coiffure that bears my signature must not be allowed to leave my
hands like that," he said. "And yet the ground is burning beneath my
feet. It is three o'clock, and I have not yet lunched."
"Poor Monsieur Martin!" cried Pilar. "Will you have something to eat
at once? They shall serve it to you downstairs."
"Madame la Comtesse is very good, but I have no time to sit down
comfortably at a table. I have all that is necessary in my carriage,
and shall take some slight refreshment there, on my way to my next
client.
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