Thérèse. No, poor little thing. She's trudging round Paris to try and get hold of a few advertisements.
Madame Chanteuil. It's a dreadful job, trying to get advertisements for a paper that three-quarters of the people she goes to have never heard of. It gives me the shivers to remember what I had to go through myself over that job.
Thérèse. And poor little Baron is so shy!
Mademoiselle de Meuriot. She earned only fifty francs all last month.
Mademoiselle Grégoire. I know her, I met her lately; she told me she was in luck, that she had an appointment with the manager of the Institut de Jouvence.
Madame Chanteuil. And she thinks she's in luck!
Mademoiselle Grégoire. It appears that that's a place where you can do quite good business.
Madame Chanteuil [gravely] Yes, young women can do business there if they're pretty; but have you any idea what price they pay? Nothing would induce me to put my foot inside the place again.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot. Oh, the poor little girl! Oh, dear! [A pause. She begins to sort the letters]
Thérèse [half to herself] It seems to me our name Woman Free is horrible irony.