The little lady sank back in her seat and, as though exhausted by her long speech, closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Cornelia had returned and the parade of the manikins was resumed. This spectacle always started Janet on a series of curious reflections. As a result of the training in rhythmics which the girls received at the hands of Harry Kelly, they were free from those grotesque mannerisms of gait, posture, and demeanor which manikins cultivated and which were accepted by the trade as superlative expressions of esthetic correctness. Yet Harry’s talent yoked to the service of fashion seemed as wasteful a thing as an artist’s genius drafted in the service of futility. It reminded Janet of the story of the Medici prince who compelled Michelangelo to mould a statue out of snow. But to Mrs. Jerome the Paulette manikins were a sight to see. She made Janet sit on the lounge beside her and coaxed her to give an opinion on every frock subsequently shown. She purchased all those that Janet praised and several that she made fun of. It was one of the best day’s work that the sales department of Paulette’s had ever done. In spite of which, Madame Paulette considered it her duty to take Mrs. Jerome to one side and apologize for Janet and her artless indiscretions. "She means well, Mrs. Jerome," said Cornelia, deferentially. "She’s—well, I might say, she’s naive, incredibly naive in matters of social position. It’s only lack of training, I assure you." "Is that all?" "Yes, she’s absolutely ignorant of distinctions of rank. Absolutely. Why, she would talk to a Duchess with no more ceremony than to a scrubwoman." "Then I’ll bring the Duchess here to be talked to. It might do her good." "Oh, do bring the Duchess. I shall be charmed to display for her inspection the best that the Maison has." "No doubt. But let me give you a tip. Don’t waste your time training that dear little Janet girl. She’ll learn the deceitful ways of the world fast enough, and no correspondence course needed either." Janet came up to them as they reached the outer door. "My dear," said Mrs. Jerome, putting her arm around Janet’s waist, "you’ve given me the best quarter of an hour I’ve had in Paris these two months. It’s been a treat, a royal treat." As Cornelia beheld these two, standing there intertwined, a strange expression formed on her face, an expression that bespoke an agonizing doubt of the sanity of the universe. Unheeding her, Mrs. Jerome continued to say to Janet: "The people I meet everywhere! In Europe they pick my pockets while they lick my boots; in America they rifle my purse with barefaced assurance. You are the first one I’ve met in a very long time who has talked to me as though I were a human being and not a walking cash box." *III*