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* Here is the story of her violet locks: A few years ago she planned to attend a fashionable ball at the Paris Opera. In the morning she went to her coiffeur for a shampoo. As white-haired women usually do, she requested the coiffeur to put a little bluing in the rinse water. By mistake the man poured in a chemical that stood on the shelf beside the bluing bottle. At first Madame Charlotte's hair looked all right. But when she got back to Premet's and took off her hat she saw to her horror that it had turned green, the color of grass. She rushed back to the coiffeur, in tears begged him to do something for her. He poured more chemicals into more rinse waters, now her hair was blue. Hour after hour he rinsed and struggled; after each attempt the head of hair emerged a new tint. Finally, an hour before the hour of the ball, they gave it up. Madame Charlotte's hair was a pale violet. There was nothing else to do. At first she thought of staying home. But her love of gayety got the better of her. She took her courage in her two hands and appeared at the ball. She half-expected to be the butt of jibes and ridicule. To her amazement she found herself the hit of the evening. Her triumph was so overwhelming that it aroused the jealousy of fair countesses and members of the social set who expended lavish sums on their toilettes for the evening. Journalists flocked about her, cabled abroad the news of her mauve hair. Next day pastel locks were the rage. Madame Charlotte liked hers so well on second thought that she decided to keep them so always.