In the bedroom two unshaded lamps shed floods of light.  Mountains of muslin and ribbons are piled on the bed and the furniture.  Dresses, skirts, petticoats, and underpetticoats, lace, scarfs, flowers, jewels, are mingled in a charming chaos.  On the table there are pots of pomade, sticks of cosmetic, hairpins, combs and brushes, all carefully set out.  Two artificial plaits stretch themselves languishingly upon a dark mass not unlike a large handful of horsehair.  A golden hair net, combs of pale tortoise-shell and bright coral, clusters of roses, sprays of white lilac, bouquets of pale violets, await the choice of the artist or the caprice of the beauty.  And yet, must I say it? amidst this luxury of wealth Madame’s hair is undressed, Madame is uneasy, Madame is furious.

Monsieur—­(looking at his watch)—­Well, my dear, is your hair dressed?

Madame—­(impatiently)—­He asks me whether my hair is dressed?  Don’t you see that I have been waiting for the hairdresser for an hour and a half?  Can’t you see that I am furious, for he won’t come, the horrid wretch?

Monsieur—­The monster!

Madame—­Yes, the monster; and I would advise you not to joke about it.

There is a ring.  The door opens and the lady’s-maid exclaims, “It is he,
Madame!”

Madame—­It is he!

Monsieur—­It is he!

The artist enters hurriedly and bows while turning his sleeves up.

Madame—­My dear Silvani, this is unbearable.

Silvani—­Very sorry, very, but could not come any sooner.  I have been dressing hair since three o’clock in the afternoon.  I have just left the Duchesse de W., who is going to the Ministry this evening.  She sent me home in her brougham.  Lisette, give me your mistress’s combs, and put the curling-tongs in the fire.

Madame—­But, my dear Silvani, my maid’s name is not Lisette.

Silvani—­You will understand, Madame, that if I had to remember the names of all the lady’s-maids who help me, I should need six clerks instead of four.  Lisette is a pretty name which suits all these young ladies very well.  Lisette, show me your mistress’s dress.  Good.  Is the ball an official one?

Madame—­But dress my hair, Silvani.

Silvani—­It is impossible for me to dress your hair, Madame, unless I know the circle in which the coiffure will be worn. (To the husband, seated in the corner.) May I beg you, Monsieur, to take another place?  I wish to be able to step back, the better to judge the effect.

Monsieur—­Certainly, Monsieur Silvani, only too happy to be agreeable to you. (He sits down on a chair.)

Madame—­(hastily)—­Not there, my dear, you will rumple my skirt. (The husband gets up and looks for another seat.) Take care behind you, you are stepping on my bustle.

Monsieur—­(turning round angrily)—­Her bustle! her bustle!

Madame—­Now you go upsetting my pins.

Silvani—­May I beg a moment of immobility, Madame?