When to these facts it is added that, although a keen and prosperous business man, he had attained the age of fifty without making any effort to marry, enough will have been said to show why he was disliked.
Why was he not married?
Were English women not good enough for him?
The pretty milliner across the street had been heard to remark in his presence that she should never refuse a man simply because he was a foreigner.

Or if he did not want an English wife, why did he not import one from Paris with his perfumes?
No, there was no reason for his behaviour, and Mr.Saintou was the object of his neighbours' aversion.
Neighbours are often wrong in their estimates.

In the heart of this shrewd and stout French hairdresser there lay the rare capacity for one supreme and lasting affection.

Mr.Saintou's love story was in the past, and it had come about in this way.
One day when the hairdresser was still a young man, not long after he had first settled in Albert Street, the door of his shop opened, and a young woman came in.

Her figure was short and broad, and she was lame, walking with a crutch.