fifty francs at the end of the quarter."
"As Emile Blondet used to say, you shall be my benefactor," replied

Bixiou.
"Twenty per cent!" whispered Gazonal to Bixiou, who replied by a punch

of his elbow in the provincial's oesophagus.
"Bless me!" said Vauvinet opening a drawer in his desk as if to put

away the Ravenouillet notes, "here's an old bill of five hundred
francs stuck in the drawer! I didn't know I was so rich. And here's a

note payable at the end of the month for four hundred and fifty;
Cerizet will take it without much diminution, and there's your sum in

hand. But no nonsense, Bixiou! Hein? to-night, at Carabine's, will you
swear to me--"

"Haven't we RE-friended?" said Bixiou, pocketing the five-hundred-
franc bill and the note for four hundred and fifty. "I give you my

word of honor that you shall see du Tillet, and many other men who
want to make their way--their railway--to-night at Carabine's."

Vauvinet conducted the three friends to the landing of the staircase,
cajoling Bixiou on the way. Bixiou kept a grave face till he reached

the outer door, listening to Gazonal, who tried to enlighten him on
his late operation, and to prove to him that if Vauvinet's follower,

Cerizet, took another twenty francs out of his four hundred and fifty,
he was getting money at forty per cent.

When they reached the asphalt Bixiou frightened Gazonal by the laugh
of a Parisian hoaxer,--that cold, mute laugh, a sort of labial north

wind.
"The assignment of the contract for that railway is adjourned,

positively, by the Chamber; I heard this yesterday from that marcheuse
whom we smiled at just now. If I win five or six thousand francs at

lansquenet to-night, why should I grudge sixty-five francs for the
power to stake, hey?"

"Lansquenet is another of the thousand facets of Paris as it is," said
Leon. "And therefore, cousin, I intend to present you to-night in the

salon of a duchess,--a duchess of the rue Saint-Georges, where you
will see the aristocracy of the lorettes, and probably be able to win

your lawsuit. But it is quite impossible to present you anywhere with
that mop of Pyrenean hair; you look like a porcupine; and therefore

we'll take you close by, Place de la Bourse, to Marius, another of our
comedians--"

"Who is he?"
"I'll tell you his tale," said Bixiou. "In the year 1800 a Toulousian

named Cabot, a young wig-maker devoured by ambition, came to Paris,
and set up a shop (I use your slang). This man of genius,--he now has

an income of twenty-four thousand francs a year, and lives, retired
from business, at Libourne,--well, he saw that so vulgar and ignoble a

name as Cabot could never attaincelebrity. Monsieur de Parny, whose
hair he cut, gave him the name of Marius, infinitely superior, you

perceive, to the Christian names of Armand and Hippolyte, behind which
patronymics attacked by the Cabot evil are wont to hide. All the

successors of Cabot have called themselves Marius. The present Marius
is Marius V.; his real name is Mongin. This occurs in various other

trades; for 'Botot water,' and for 'Little-Virtue' ink. Names become
commercial property in Paris, and have ended by constituting a sort of

ensign of nobility. The present Marius, who takes pupils, has created,
he says, the leading school of hair-dressing in the world.

"I've seen, in coming through France," said Gazonal, "a great many
signs bearing the words: 'Such a one, pupil of Marius.'"

"His pupils have to wash their hands after every head," said Bixiou;
"but Marius does not take them indifferently; they must have nice

hands, and not be ill-looking. The most remarkable for manners,
appearance, and elocution are sent out to dress heads; and they come

back tired to death. Marius himself never turns out except for titled
women; he drives his cabriolet and has a groom."

"But, after all, he is nothing but a barber!" cried Gazonal, somewhat
shocked.

"Barber!" exclaimed Bixiou; "please remember that he is captain in the
National Guard, and is decorated for being the first to spring into a

barricade in 1832."
"And take care what you say to him: he is neither barber, hair-

dresser, nor wig-maker; he is a director of salons for hair-dressing,"
said Leon, as they went up a staircase with crystal balusters and

mahogany rail, the steps of which were covered with a sumptuous
carpet.

"Ah ca! mind you don't compromise us," said Bixiou. "In the
antechamber you'll see lacqueys who will take off your coat, and seize

your hat, to brush them; and they'll accompany you to the door of the
salons to open and shut it. I mention this, friend Gazonal," added

Bixiou, slyly, "lest you might think they were after your property,
and cry 'Stop thief!'"

"These salons," said Leon, "are three boudoirs where the director has
collected all the inventions of modern luxury: lambrequins to the

windows, jardinieres everywhere, downy divans where each customer can
wait his turn and read the newspapers. You might suppose, when you

first go in, that five francs would be the least they'd get out of
your waistcoat pocket; but nothing is ever extracted beyond ten sous

for combing and frizzing your hair, or twenty sous for cutting and
frizzing. Elegant dressing-tables stand about among the jardinieres;

water is laid on to the washstands; enormous mirrors reproduce the
whole figure. Therefore don't look astonished. When the client (that's

the elegant word substituted by Marius for the ignoble word customer),
--when the client appears at the door, Marius gives him a glance which

appraises him: to Marius you are a HEAD, more or less susceptible of
occupying his mind. To him there's no mankind; there are only heads."

"We let you hear Marius on all the notes of his scale," said Bixiou,
"and you know how to follow our lead."

As soon as Gazonal showed himself, the glance was given, and was
evidently favourable, for Marius exclaimed: "Regulus! yours this head!

Prepare it first with the little scissors."
"Excuse me," said Gazonal to the pupil, at a sign from Bixiou. "I

prefer to have my head dressed by Monsieur Marius himself."
Marius, much flattered by this demand, advanced, leaving the head on

which he was engaged.
"I am with you in a moment; I am just finishing. Pray have no

uneasiness, my pupil will prepare you; I alone will decide the cut."
Marius, a slim little man, his hair frizzed like that of Rubini, and

jet black, dressed also in black, with long white cuffs, and the frill
of his shirt adorned with a diamond, now saw Bixiou, to whom he bowed

as to a power the equal of his own.
"That is only an ordinary head," he said to Leon, pointing to the

person on whom he was operating,--"a grocer, or something of that
kind. But if we devoted ourselves to art only, we should lie in

Bicetre, mad!" and he turned back with an inimitable gesture to his
client, after saying to Regulus, "Prepare monsieur, he is evidently an

artist."
"A journalist," said Bixiou.

Hearing that word, Marius gave two or three strokes of the comb to the
ordinary head and flung himself upon Gazonal, taking Regulus by the

arm at the instant that the pupil was about to begin the operation of
the little scissors.

"I will take charge of monsieur. Look, monsieur," he said to the
grocer, "reflect yourself in the great mirror--if the mirror permits.

Ossian!"
A lacquey entered, and took hold of the client to dress him.

"You pay at the desk, monsieur," said Marius to the stupefied grocer,
who was pulling out his purse.

"Is there any use, my dear fellow," said Bixiou, "in going through
this operation of the little scissors?"

"No head ever comes to me uncleansed," replied the illustrious hair-