tyle, and when I saw myself afterwards
I sat down and wept like the women of Babylon.

_Quel horreur!_ My locks were strained, brushed, tightened back, and
I was left high and dry with my exposed brow revealing four furrows to
an unsympathetic world. _C'est navrant_. We're not to be allowed even
the _soupcon_ of a wave or the lightest _bouffee_, while side-curls
are quite _demodes_.

I think the situation is really tragic. So few women can afford to
have a forehead. The result will be that lots of our _debutantes_ of
some seasons ago will be "_coiffees a Ste. Catherine_" in more senses
than one.

The "jewellery" one wears now is made of wood; we have carved wooden
beads, wooden bracelets, even wooden rings. "Therefore it will be
cheap!" you exclaim. _Vous vous trompez, mon amie._ I read a story
the other day of an American who said that if you want an egg here
for breakfast it is cheaper to buy the hen and hope she'll lay next
morning, and in any case you've got the hen. _Eh bien_, should you
desire a set of wooden jewellery you might save money if you bought a
forest.

Paris has done more than extend _le bon accueil_ to the Peace
delegates; she is giving their names to the latest thing in
_vetements_. Thus we have the Lloyd George _cravate_, the Wilson
_gilet_ and the "Bonarlaw" _chapeau melon_. It's surprising how
far-reaching are the effects of a Peace Conference.

A number of _nous autres Anglais_ over here started a perfectly
_thrilling_ idea. It was really in the way of being an adventure. We
have been exploring the quaint little _cafes_ of Paris, with results
_tout a fait etonnants_. We were served with provokingly delicious
_plats_, at a price absurdly moderate compared with what is extorted
from us in the hotels. Of course we were all enchanted. We became
_habitues_ of _cafes_ and ceased to take any meals at our hotels
beyond the matutinal _cafe complet_.

And then, quite suddenly, a horrid newspaper article appeared which
conveyed suggestions _extremement desagreables._ It insinuated, _ma
chere_, that "things are not what they seem"--at any rate things in
the bill of fare at the moderately-priced eating-house.

It went on to speak of the many uses that domestic animals are put to
after their labours on earth are ended. If it was horse that figured
in the _boeuf bourguignon_ served up to me, or the _potee de boeuf aux
choux_ (of which I will admit I _raffole_) I have no quarrel with it.
It's the "_lap