The Heroism of Keeping Clad

Ah, cette guerre! This war! Et -- brrrrr! This frrreezing cold! Never had Paris been so cold. Never had it been so hard to be well dressed in Paris as it was last week. But pride must bear pain. "Il jaur souffrir pour etre belle." At the famed House of Worth, the main salon beyond the double doors was empty.

Then behind a jet of vaporous breath appeared a vendeuse, rubbing her hands, the national gesture of this winter. Madame wished to see a dress? The one with the elbow sleeves and the deep V-neck? But certainly, if Madame could bear to try it on. Yes? Ah, Madame was a real Joan of Arc ! The vendeuse led the way to a dressing room. Heroically Madame took off her coat, then her extra lining, then, with thin-lipped determination, her dress. The vendeuse clucked her admiration of such courage. Deftly she inserted Madame into the model of the new gown. Expertly she arranged mirrors so that Madame could have a comprehensive look before grabbing her coat again. These were days for prompt decisions. Madame would take the gown? Bien!

Soon a small male figure in a fur-collared overcoat knocked, entered, pulled off his gloves, delicately measured Madame for alterations. Heaven be praised, it was all over. In a week Madame would have her gown. She might also have pneumonia, but she would not be shabby.

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