"Les Vieilles Dames," — thin-lipped, moustachioed, bigoted, deadly-dull personages are they, most of them; but they do not think so. They are contented, and are even conceited, as to the furs they cut, 'despite their shocking clothes; for is not each of them so much more Parisian in appearance and manners than "Madame Chose" — round the corner, and just out of hearing.
Here and there, however, we are presented to some real dignity, the dignity which pertains to old parchment. For example there are the portraits of the Mlles. Petanville de Grandeourt, in whom will 'expire the most purple blood of the country.
Under Soirs de Province we ave shown with quaint humour the nocturnal dissipations of a provincial town, "Two troopers, one as drunk as the other, are zig-zagginge an erratic course home to barracks. One says to the other; "Vidalène — you hurt me to the quick ... you won't wait for me because you think 'm drunk ...you are ashamed of me!" Again, the musical genius of the place has brought his violin to an at-home, and says: "What I prefer in music is imitations. Listen, I'll give you first 'Mother-in-Law in hysterics,' and then 'The Nightingale.'"
Then amongst the group of drawings headed Rentiers et Retraités look at the two retired tradesmen, chatting in the middle of a deserted square. In bated breath one of these busybodies relates to the other — "You know the whole town ts agog
