The girls of the boulevards were perhaps even more in evidence than at other times, for in those early months of the war few chose to cross the submarine-infested channel, and still fewer to cross the Atlantic through the areas laid out by the Huns as danger zones, unless good cause made them do so. Paris, usually the Mecca of tourists from all the countries of the world, had become instead the business and military headquarters of France. And to Paris came, instead of the gay youth bent on pleasure, the gray youth bent on business, whose eyes were so busy studying his engagement book, or reading the market reports, that they had not time to meet the roaming glances of the girls of the boulevards. New friends were hard to find, for _les riches Américains_ came no more except on business, and the old friends in the persons of gay Pierre or gallant Paul were serving in the trenches--perhaps dead, for news of them came but seldom. So the girls had plenty of time to promenade and one found it necessary to keep his eyes fixed steadily on some imaginary object straight in front, as he walked down the Boulevard des Italiens or the Boulevard des Capucines, to avoid receiving too many inquiring glances from the boulevardières. Generally speaking the annoyances were limited to glances, as the rules of the city are strict. One noticeable thing about these women was the fact that many of them wore black, probably for two reasons--on the one hand, war economy, and on the other, to attract sympathy for real or supposed losses at the front. Those who were not in black went with the prevailing styles which seemed to be governed also by war economy, for less and less materials were being used in the dresses: the waists were getting lower, and the skirts higher. One would imagine that if this kept on till they met, some kind of catastrophe would be likely to happen, even though it were Paris! At that famous corner of the Café de la Paix the chairs on the street were well patronized, though the weather was chilly; and I found myself wondering if it were the same crowd who had occupied them a few months before on my last visit. No one ever passes here without taking a seat, unless he is pressed for time. Someone has said that if you sit here long enough you will see everybody in the world who is anybody in the world pass by. I took a seat and a cup of coffee and glanced about me. It was the usual mixed crowd, with, perhaps, fewer of those who chase Bacchus and Venus, and more of those who pursue Mammon. But, after all, men and women are much the same the world over, and this was much the same group of coffee-sipping, liqueur-tasting people that one finds in the cafés from 4 to 6 p.m. in any of the continental cities from Paris to Vienna, from Naples to Berlin. There were a few more men in uniform, a little less gayety than usual, a trifle more business talked in one's hearing. Otherwise, it was the same group.