Thérèse. I most confess it's the best read part.
Mademoiselle Grégoire. I'm not at all surprised.
Thérèse. I'm afraid we can't conceal from ourselves that Monsieur Nérisse has not altogether succeeded. Each of us is inclined to like only her own section. We've a girl here, Caroline Legrand, one of the staff, who's tremendously go-a-head. You should hear her on the subject of "Soap of the Sylphs" and "Oriental Balm."
Mademoiselle Grégoire. It makes her furious?
Thérèse. She's a sort of rampageous saint; ferocious and affectionate by turns, a bit ridiculous perhaps, but delightful and generous. She's so simple nasty people could easily make a fool of her, but all nice people like her.
Mademoiselle Grégoire. Shall I have much to do with her?
Thérèse. Not much. You'll be under Mademoiselle de Meuriot, and you'll be lucky. She's a dear. She's been sacrificing herself all her life. She's my great friend—the only one I have.
Mademoiselle Grégoire [taking up the paper again] But how's this? Your contributors are all men. Gabriel de—, Camille de—, Claud de—, René de—, Marcel de—.
Thérèse. Well! I never noticed that before. They're the pen-names of our writers.
Mademoiselle Grégoire. All men's names?