She
arrived a little agitated, and to reach the great artist was obliged to
pass through a veritable crowd of footmen, who were in the antechamber
chatting and laughing, used to meeting there and making long stops.
Nearly all the footmen were those of society, the highest society; they
had spent the previous evening together at the English Embassy, and were
to be that evening at the Duchess of Gremoille.

Mme. Derline entered a sumptuous parlor; it was very sumptuous, too
sumptuous. Twenty great customers were there--society women and
actresses, all agitated, anxious, feverish--looking at the beautiful
tall saleswomen come and go before them, wearing the last creations of
the master of the house. The great artist had a diplomatic bearing:
buttoned-up black frock-coat, long cravat with pin (a present from a
royal highness who paid her bills slowly), and a many-colored rosette in
his button-hole (the gift of a small reigning prince who paid slower yet
the bills of an opera-dancer). He came and went--precise, calm, and
cool--in the midst of the solicitations and supplications of his
customers. "M. Arthur! M. Arthur!" One heard nothing but that phrase. He
was M. Arthur. He went from one to the other--respectful, without too
much humility, to the duchesses, and easy, without too much familiarity,
to the actresses. There was an extraordinary liveliness, and a
confusion of marvellous velvets, satins, and embroidered, brocaded, and
gold or silver threaded stuffs, all thrown here and there, as though by
accident--but what science in that accident--on arm-chairs, tables, and
divans.

In the first place Mme. Derline ran against a shop-girl who was bearing
with outstretched arms a white dress, and was almost hidden beneath a
light mountain of muslins and laces. The only thing visible was the
shop-girl's mussed black hair and sly suburban expression. Mme. Derline
backed away, wishing to place herself against the, wall; but a tryer-on
was there, a large energetic brunette, who spoke authoritatively in a
high staccato. "At once," she was saying--"bring me at once the
princess's dress!"

Frightened and dazed, Mme. Derline stood in a corner and watched an
opportunity to seize a saleswoman on the fly. She even thought of giving
up the game. Never, certainly, should she dare to address directly that
terrible M. Arthur, who had just given her a rapid glance in which she
believed to have read, "Who is she? She isn't properly dressed! She