He has a
house exquisitely decorated and arranged, but he lives alone, his daily
commerce with women having disinclined him to risk the lottery of
marriage. Nevertheless, he is much effeminized; and his employees will
assure you that he wears cambric nightcaps bordered with lace, and a
lace _jabot_ on his night-shirts. His life is entirely devoted to his
art, and he conscientiously goes on Tuesdays to the Comedie Francaise,
on Fridays to the Opera, and on Saturdays to the Italians or the Circus,
because those are the nights selected by rank and fashion, and therefore
excellent occasions for observing the work of his rivals. For the same
reason Epinglard will be seen on fashionable days at the races, and at
first performances at the fashionable theatres, but always alone. In
confidence, Epinglard will tell you that he adores solitude and loves
his art with undivided and disinterested passion. "It gives me
pleasure," he will say, "to see a woman well dressed, whoever may have
dressed her. For my own part, I do not care to get myself talked about.
I mind my own business and I make my own creations, but I am perfectly
ready to admire the creations of others. It is not the mere creation
that I find difficult: it is to get my creations executed."

Epinglard talks slowly, precisely, and in a sing-song and hypocritical
voice, while his fingers, laden with heavy rings, caress voluptuously
some piece of surah or silk. He is in serious consultation with one of
the leaders of fashion, the Baronne de P----. Suddenly changing his
tone, he calls out to a model who is passing, "You there, mademoiselle,
put on this skirt to show to madame," And, turning the model round, he
shows the skirt in all its aspects, passing his fingers amorously over
the _batiste_ and seeming to give it life and beauty by his mere touch.
"And you, Mademoiselle Ernestine, come here, too," calling to another
model; who is walking about gloomily with a mantle on her shoulders:
"put on Madame A----'s mantle." Then, changing back to his hypocritical
tone, Epinglard continues his sing-song monologue to the Baronne de
P----, and tells her that Madame A---- is a "great English lady who has
deserted her husband and is now living in Paris. She spends about
sixteen thousand dollars a year on her toilets. It is a good deal, yes.
But, imagine, last month I made a mantle for the Countess Z---- which
cost five thousand dollars. Look at that line" (caressing the mantle on
the