Instead of her characteristic, formal, but conventionally fashionable coiffure, Madame Joubert had returned to, or assumed, that most primitive and innocent way of combing her hair, called la sauvagesse. Unrelieved by the soft perspective of Marcélite's handiwork, her plain, prominent features stood out with the savage boldness of rocks on a shrubless beach. "How frightfully ugly!" thought Madame Lareveillère.
"Marcélite did not come this morning? Why?"
"How should I know, Madame?"
"She must be ill; send Jeanne to see."
"I did that, Madame, five hours ago; she was not in her room."
"But what can have become of her?"
Madame Joubert had early in life eliminated the consideration of supposititious cases from the catalogue of her salaried duties; but she answered gratuitously,—
"I cannot imagine, Madame."
"But I must have some one to comb my hair."
"The music-teacher is waiting for you. The
