"That," cried the assistant-editor, "is the top brick of genius!"
So the Editor reviewed the brief list of his lady contributors, and
sent for mademoiselle Girard.
His choice fell upon mademoiselle Girard for two reasons. First, she
was not facially remarkable--a smudgy portrait of her would look much
like a smudgy portrait of anybody else. Second, she was not widely
known in Paris, being at the beginning of her career; in fact she was
so inexperienced that hitherto she had been entrusted only with
criticism.
However, the young woman had all her buttons on; and after he had
talked to her, she said cheerfully:
"Without a chaperon I should be conspicuous, and without a fat purse I
should be handicapped. So it is understood that I am to provide myself
with a suitable companion, and to draw upon the office for expenses?"
"Mademoiselle," returned the Editor, "the purpose of the paper is to
portray a drama of life, not to emulate an opera bouffe. I shall
explain more fully. Please figure to yourself that you are a young girl
in an unhappy home. Let us suppose that a stepmother is at fault. You
feel that you can submit to her oppression no longer--you resolve to be
free, or to end your troubles in the Seine. Weeping, you pack your
modest handbag; you cast a last, lingering look at the oil painting of
your own dear mother who is with the Angels in the drawing-room; that
is to say, of your own dear mother in the drawing-room, who is with the
Angels.
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