ely_] Yes, young women can do business there if
they're pretty; but have you any idea what price they pay? Nothing would
induce me to put my foot inside the place again.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Oh, the poor little girl! Oh, dear! [_A pause.
She begins to sort the letters_]

THERESE [_half to herself_] It seems to me our name _Woman Free_ is
horrible irony.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_holding a letter in her hand_] Oh, Chanteuil,
what _have_ you done? Here's somebody perfectly furious. She says she
asked you to give her some information in the beauty column. [_Reading_]
It was something she was mistaken about. She wrote under the name of
"Always Young," and apparently you've answered "Always Young is a
mistake." She thinks you did it to insult her. You must write her a
letter of apologies.

MADAME CHANTEUIL. Yes, Mademoiselle.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_holding up another letter_] "Little Questions
of Sentiment." This is for you, Therese. [_She reads_] "I feel so sad
because I am getting old," etc. Answer, "Why this sadness--"

THERESE. "White hairs are a crown of--" [_She writes a few words in
pencil upon the letter which Mademoiselle de Meuriot has passed to her_]

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. "Astral Influences." [_Looking round_] Who is
"Astral Influences"?

MADAME CHANTEUIL. I am.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_passing her letters_] Here are two, three--one
without a post office order. Put that one straight into the waste paper
basket. Remember that you must always promise them luck, with little
difficulties to give success more flavor. And be sure to tell them
they're full of good qualities, with some little amiable weaknesses and
the sort of defects one enjoys boasting about. [_Going on reading_]
"About using whites of eggs to take the sharpness out of sorrel," "To
take out ink-stains." These are for you, dear.

MADEMOISELLE GREGOIRE. Yes. [_She takes the letters_] I didn't think of
that when I took my degree.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_continuing_] "Stoutness"; that's for you too.
[_Glancing again at the letter_] What does this one want? [_Fluttering
the leaves_] Four pages; ah, here we are--"A slender figure--smaller
hips--am not too stout anywhere else." That's for the doctor. [_She
gives the letter to Mademoiselle Gregoire with several others_]

MADEMOISELLE GREGOIRE. Iodiform soap.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. My dear, not at all, "Soap of the Sylphs."

MADEMOISELLE GREGOIRE. But that's exactly the sam