e beau monde. Many people take their bath at half past
five in the morning and are quite ready to go to bed early. The walk
down in the early morning is charming, through a broad, shaded
alley--Allee de Dante. I wonder why it is called that. I don't suppose
the poet ever took warm baths or douches in any description of
etablissement. I remember the tale we were always told when we were
children, and rebelled against the perpetual cleansing and washing that
went on in the nursery, of the Italian countess who said she would be
ashamed, if she couldn't do all her washing in a glass of water. It is
rather amusing to see all the types. I don't think there are many
foreigners. I hear very little English spoken, though they tell me
there are some English here. We certainly don't look our best in the
early morning, but the women stand the test better than the men. With
big hats, veils, and the long cloaks they wear now, they pass muster
very well and don't really look any worse than when they are attired for
a spin in an open auto; but the men, with no waistcoats, a foulard
around their throats, and a very dejected air, don't have at all the
conquering-hero appearance that one likes to see in the stronger sex.

The etablissement is large and fairly good, but nothing like what one
finds in all the Austrian and German baths. When I first go in, coming
out of the fresh morning air, I am rather oppressed with the smell of
hot air, damp clothing, and many people crowded into little hot
bath-rooms. There are terrible little dark closets called cabinets de
repos. Many doctors in white waistcoats and red ribbons are walking
about; plenty of baigneuses, with their sleeves rolled up, showing a red
arm that evidently has been constantly in the water; people who have had
their baths and are resting, wrapped up in blankets, stretched out on
long chairs near the windows; bells going all the time, cries of
"Marie-Louise," "Jeanne," "Anne-Marie." It is rather a pandemonium. Our
baigneuse, who is called Marie-Louise, is upstairs. At the top of the
stairs there is a grand picture of the horse who discovered the
Bagnoles waters, a beautiful white beast standing in a spring, all water
lilies and sparkling water. A lovely young lady in a transparent green
garment with roses over each ear, like the head-dress one sees on
Japanese women, is holding his bridle. The legend says that a certain
gallant and amorous knight of yore, having become old and cri