The dressing of her hair puzzled me; she had plenty of it; auburn, unmixed with grey: though she was forty years old. Seeing my embarrassment, she said, “You have not been a femme-de-chambre in your own country?” And taking the brush from my hand and setting me aside, not ungently or disrespectfully, she arranged it herself. In performing other offices of the toilet, she half-directed, half-aided me, without the least display of temper or impatience. N.B. that was the first and last time I was required to dress her. Henceforth, on Rosine, the portress, devolved that duty.