few hairs America left him--science has this
in common with savages, that she scalps her men clean), that illustrious
savant, said that next to the suffering of going to be hanged was
that of going to be painted; but I place the trial of having your head
dressed before that of being painted, and so do certain women. Well,
monsieur, my object is to make those who come here to have their hair
cut or frizzed enjoy themselves. (Hold still, you have a tuft which
_must_ be conquered.) A Jew proposed to supply me with Italian
cantatrices who, during the interludes, were to depilate the young
men of forty; but they proved to be girls from the Conservatoire, and
music-teachers from the Rue Montmartre. There you are, monsieur; your
head is dressed as that of a man of talent ought to be. Ossian," he said
to the lacquey in livery, "dress monsieur and show him out. Whose turn
next?" he added proudly, gazing round upon the persons who awaited him.

"Don't laugh, Gazonal," said Leon as they reached the foot of the
staircase, whence his eye could take in the whole of the Place de la
Bourse. "I see over there one of our great men, and you shall compare
his language with that of the barber, and tell me which of the two you
think the most original."

"Don't laugh, Gazonal," said Bixiou, mimicking Leon's intonation. "What
do you suppose is Marius's business?"

"Hair-dressing."

"He has obtained a monopoly of the sale of hair in bulk, as a certain
dealer in comestibles who is going to sell us a pate for three francs
has acquired a monopoly of the sale of truffles; he discounts the paper
of that business; he loans money on pawn to clients when embarrassed; he
gives annuities on lives; he gambles at the Bourse; he is a stockholder
in all the fashion papers; and he sells, under the name of a certain
chemist, an infamous drug which, for his share alone, gives him an
income of thirty thousand francs, and costs in advertisements a hundred
thousand yearly."

"Is it possible!" cried Gazonal.

"Remember this," said Bixiou, gravely. "In Paris there is no such thing
as a small business; all things swell to large proportions, down to the
sale of rags and matches. The lemonade-seller who, with his napkin
under his arm, meets you as you enter his shop, may be worth his fifty
thousand francs a year; the waiter in a restaurant is eligible for the
Chamber; the man you take for a beggar in the street carries a hundred
thousand francs worth of unset di