Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 450 | Page 4

it was impossible to obtain any
of the same shade as mine.'
'Ah, but I have succeeded at last!' exclaimed he; and as he spoke, he
drew triumphantly from his pocket a small packet, in which was
carefully enveloped a long lock of soft golden hair.
'How beautiful!' Adelaide involuntarily exclaimed. 'Oh, Monsieur
Lagnier, that is far finer and brighter than mine.'
'The difference is very slight indeed; it would be imperceptible when
both were braided together,' returned the hairdresser. 'Do, pray, allow
me, mademoiselle, to shew you the effect;' and without waiting for a
reply, he commenced the operation. In a few moments it was completed,
and the old man's delight was extreme. 'There!' he exclaimed in ecstasy.
'I knew the style would suit you exactly. Oh, mademoiselle, pray allow
it to remain so; I should be au désespoir were I obliged to unfasten it
now.'
Adelaide hesitated: it was, however, no conscientious scruple which
occasioned her hesitation. She was a Frenchwoman, a beauty, and a
little--a very little--of a coquette. To add to her attractions by the slight
supercheries of the toilet was, she thought, a very venial sin; it was a
thing which, in the society that surrounded her, was looked upon as
necessary, and sometimes even considered as a virtue. She was a
strange girl, a dreamer, an enthusiast, with a warm heart, and a lively,
but perhaps too easily-excited imagination. From her infancy, she had
been accustomed to reflect, to question, and to reason; but left almost
entirely to her own unguided judgment, the habit was not in every

respect favourable to the formation of her character. It was, however,
but little injured by it. She was one of those favoured beings whom no
prosperity can spoil, no education entirely mislead, and whose very
faults arise from the overflowings of a good and generous nature. The
thought which agitated her now was one worthy of her gentle heart.
'Monsieur Lagnier,' she said earnestly, 'such beautiful hair could only
have belonged to a young person. She must have been in great distress
to part with it. Do you know her? Did she sell it to you? What is her
name? I cannot bear to wear it: I shall be thinking of her continually.'
'Ah, Mademoiselle Adelaide, that is so like you! Why, I have provided
half the young ladies in Paris with false tresses, and not one has ever
asked me the slightest question as to how or where they were obtained.
Indeed, I should not often have been able to reply. In this case, however,
it is different. I bought it myself, and consequently can give you a little
information respecting it. Yesterday evening, I was standing at my door
in the Rue St Honoré, when a young girl, attracted no doubt by the
general appearance of my window, stopped to admire the various
articles exhibited there. She had a pretty face, but I scarcely looked at
that; I only saw her hair, her beautiful, rich, golden hair. It was pushed
carelessly behind her ears, and half concealed beneath a little white cap.
"Mademoiselle," I said, accosting her--for I could not bear that she
should pass the door--"is there anything that you would like to buy? a
pair of combs, for instance. I have some very cheap; although," I added,
with a sigh, as she appeared about to move on, "such lovely hair as
yours requires no ornament." At these words, she returned quickly, and
looking into my face, exclaimed: "Will you buy my hair, monsieur?"
"Willingly, my child," I replied; and in another instant she was seated
in my shop, and the bright scissors were gleaming above her head.
Then my heart failed me, and I felt half inclined to refuse the offer.
"Are you not sorry, child, to part with your hair?" I asked. "No," she
answered abruptly; and gathering it all together in her hand, she put it
into mine. The temptation was too great; besides, I saw that she herself
was unwilling that we should break the contract. Her countenance
never changed once during the whole time, and when all was over, she
stooped, and picking up a lock which had fallen upon the ground, asked

in an unfaltering voice: "May I keep this, monsieur?" I said yes, and
paid her; and then she went away, smiling, and looking quite happy,
poor little thing. After all, mademoiselle, what is the use of beauty to
girls in her class of life? She is better without it.'
'And her name--did you not ask her name?' inquired Adelaide
reproachfully.
'Why, yes, mademoiselle, I did. She told me that it was Lucille
Delmont, and that she was by trade a fleuriste. It was all the
information she would give me.'
'What could she have wanted with the