ous
and a hive of activities. In the course of the rapid give-and-take
conversation--if it can be called that when one sits tight with the
grim intention of pinning Mlle. Thompson to one subject long enough to
extract definite information from her--we discovered that she had
translated one of my books. Neither of us could remember which it was,
although I had a dim visualization of the correspondence, but it
formed an immediate bond. Moreover--another point I had quite
forgotten--when her friend, Madame Leverriere, had visited the United
States some time previously to put Mlle. Thompson's dolls on the
market, I had been asked to write something in favor of the work for
the New York _Times_. Madame Leverriere, who was present, informed me
enthusiastically that I had helped her _enormement,_ and there was
another bond.

The immediate consequence was that, although I could get little that
was coherent from Mlle. Thompson's torrent of classic French, I was
invited to be an inmate of the Ecole Hoteliere at Passy. I had
mentioned that although I was comfortable at the luxurious Hotel de
Crillon, still when I went upstairs and closed my door I was in the
atmosphere of two years ago. And I must have constant atmosphere, for
my time was limited. I abominated pensions, and from what I had heard
of French families who took in a "paying guest," or, in their tongue,
_dame pensionnaire_, I had concluded that the total renouncement of
atmosphere was the lesser evil.

Would I go out and see the Ecole Feminine? I would. It sounded
interesting and a visit committed me to nothing. Mlle. Thompson put it
charmingly. I should be conferring a favor. There was a guest chamber
and no guest for the pupils to practice on. And it would be an honor,
etc.

We drove out to Passy and I found the Ecole Feminine in the Boulevard
Beausejour all and more than Mlle. Thompson had taken the time to
portray in detail. The entrance was at the side of the house and one
approached it through a large gateway which led to a cul-de-sac lined
with villas and filled with beautiful old trees that enchanted my eye.
I cursed those trees later but at the moment they almost decided me
before I entered the house.

The interior, having been done by enthusiastic admirers of Mlle.
Thompson, was not only fresh and modern but artistic and striking. The
salon was paneled, but the dining-room had been decorated by Poiret
with great sprays and flowers splashed on the walls,