me without the formality of
a letter of introduction. No American can appreciate what such a
violation of the formalities of all the ages must have meant to a
pillar of the French Bourgeoisie. But she set her teeth and did it.
Her excuse was that she had read all my books, and that she was a
friend of Mlle. Thompson, at whose Ecole Hoteliere I was lodging.

I was so impressed at the unusualness of this proceeding that, being
out when she first called, and unable to receive her explanations, I
was filled with dark suspicion and sought an explanation of Mlle.
Jacquier. Madame Lyon? Was she a newspaper woman? A secret service
agent? Between the police round the corner and Mlle. Jacquier, under
whose eagle eye I conformed to all the laws of France in war time, I
felt in no further need of supervision.

Mlle. Jacquier was very much amused. Madame Lyon was a very important
person. Her husband had been associated with the Government for
fourteen years until he had died, leaving a fortune behind him, a
year before; and Madame Lyon was not only on intimate terms with the
Government but made herself useful in every way possible to them. She
was one of the two ladies asked to cooperate with the Government in
their great enterprise to wage war on tuberculosis--Le Comite Central
d'Assistance aux Militaires Tuberculeux; and was to open ateliers to
teach the men how to learn new trades by which they might sit at home
in comfort and support themselves.

And she had her own ouvroir--"L'Aide Immediate"--for providing things
for the permissionnaires, who came to the door and asked for them. She
ran, with a committee of other ladies, a cafe in Paris, where the
permissionnaires or the reformes could go and have their afternoon
coffee and smoke all the cigarettes that their devoted patrons
provided. One hundred poilus came here a day, and her ouvroir had
already assisted eighteen thousand. And----

But by this time I was more interested to meet Madame Lyon than any
one in Paris. As I have said before, a letter or two will open the
doors of the noblesse or the "Intellectuals" to any stranger who knows
how to behave himself and is no bore, but to get a letter to a member
of the bourgeoisie--I hadn't even made the attempt, knowing how futile
it would be. If one of them was doing a great work, like Mlle. Javal,
I could meet her quite easily through some member of her committee;
but when Frenchwomen of this class, which in its almost terrifi