--The wig allows certain white hairs to escape; it is put
on awry and the observer perceives on the back of your neck a white
line, which contrasts with the deep tints pushed back by the collar of
your coat.
SEVENTH EPOCH.--Your wig is as scraggy as dog's tooth grass; and
--excuse the expression--you are making fun of your wig.
"Sir," said one of the most powerful feminine intelligences which have
condescended to enlighten me on some of the most obscure passages in
my book, "what do you mean by this wig?"
"Madame," I answered, "when a man falls into a mood of indifference
with regard to his wig, he is,--he is--what your husband probably is
not."
"But my husband is not--" (she paused and thought for a moment). "He
is not amiable; he is not--well, he is not--of an even temper; he is
not--"
"Then, madame, he would doubtless be indifferent to his wig!"
We looked at each other, she with a well-assumed air of dignity, I
with a suppressed smile.
"I see," said I, "that we must pay special respect to the ears of the
little sex, for they are the only chaste things about them."
I assumed the attitude of a man who has something of importance to
disclose, and the fair dame lowered her eyes, as if she had some
reason to blush.
"Madame, in these days a minister is not hanged, as once upon a time,
for saying yes or no; a Chateaubriand would scarcely torture Francoise
de Foix, and we wear no longer at our side a long sword ready to
avenge an insult.
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