her hair.

"Is it not a shame to see madame so lovely in a shabby drawing-room like
this?" said Europe to the Baron, as she admitted him.

"Vel, den, come to the Rue Saint-Georches," said the Baron, coming to a
full stop like a dog marking a partridge. "The veather is splendit, ve
shall drife to the Champs Elysees, and Montame Saint-Estefe and Eugenie
shall carry dere all your clo'es an' your linen, an' ve shall dine in de
Rue Saint-Georches."

"I will do whatever you please," said Esther, "if only you will be so
kind as to call my cook Asie, and Eugenie Europe. I have given those
names to all the women who have served me ever since the first two. I do
not love change----"

"Asie, Europe!" echoed the Baron, laughing. "How ver' droll you are.--You
hafe infentions.--I should hafe eaten many dinners before I should hafe
call' a cook Asie."

"It is our business to be droll," said Esther. "Come, now, may not a
poor girl be fed by Asia and dressed by Europe when you live on the
whole world? It is a myth, I say; some women would devour the earth, I
only ask for half.--You see?"

"Vat a voman is Montame Saint-Estefe!" said the Baron to himself as he
admired Esther's changed demeanor.

"Europe, my girl, I want my bonnet," said Esther. "I must have a black
silk bonnet lined with pink and trimmed with lace."

"Madame Thomas has not sent it home.--Come, Monsieur le Baron; quick,
off you go! Begin your functions as a man-of-all-work--that is to say,
of all pleasure! Happiness is burdensome. You have your carriage here,
go to Madame Thomas," said Europe to the Baron. "Make your servant ask
for the bonnet for Madame van Bogseck.--And, above all," she added in
his ear, "bring her the most beautiful bouquet to be had in Paris. It is
winter, so try to get tropical flowers."

The Baron went downstairs and told his servants to go to "Montame
Thomas."

The coachman drove to a famous pastrycook's.

"She is a milliner, you damn' idiot, and not a cake-shop!" cried the
Baron, who rushed off to Madame Prevot's in the Palais-Royal, where he
had a bouquet made up for the price of ten louis, while his man went to
the great modiste.

A superficial observer, walking about Paris, wonders who the fools
can be that buy the fabulous flowers that grace the illustrious
bouquetiere's shop window, and the choice products displayed by Chevet
of European fame--the only purveyor who can vie with the _Rocher de
Cancale_ in a real and delicious _R