Imagine eight young women assembled in a large room, called an atelier[H] probably because it contains no furniture except a very broad and long table and some chairs.
On the table, which might be considered a counter as well, were scattered different fabrics—silk, linen, cotton, and muslin; there was a great number of small pieces, cut in different shapes; there were dresses just begun, others almost finished, others still in the piece; and there were ribbons, fringes, lace, and a multitude of the odds and ends used by dressmakers, who have the art of imparting grace and value to all such things; we men do very wrong to laugh at them, for they take so much pains with their work solely to please us; and if women were not coquettish, we should be the ones most taken in.
The eight girls were seated around the travail—that is the name now given to the large cutting table; it used to be called établi, but that word is now used only by working people; and you must remember that a dressmaker is not a workgirl, but an artist in dresses.
The young women were from fifteen to twenty-eight years of age, the average being about twenty-two. Some were very pretty, some exceedingly ugly, and some had faces of the type which does not attract attention, but which often pleases because it possesses what is commonly called la beauté du diable—that is to say, youth. If the devil always retains that element of beauty, he is a very fortunate fellow; and we know a great number of ladies, once beautiful, who would be well content to-day with the beauté du diable.
They were all sewing more or less busily, which fact did not prevent their talking. Some had their faces bent over their work, and took little part in the conversation; but there were several who talked constantly, who were unwilling to keep silent even when one of the others tried to tell something, and who, by talking very loudly, succeeded in making themselves heard above all the rest. At times, this produced a din of voices by no means pleasant to the ear; indeed, it was not unworthy of the name of charivari.
Young Elina was one of the eight; she was incontestably one of the prettiest of them, also one of those who spoke least; she was superior to her companions in every respect.
One of the others, whose ugliness was most noticeable, and whose duty it seemed to be to overlook the work, doubtless because she had no love affairs to distract her thoughts, was also one of those whose mouths were almost never closed. But a tall damsel of twenty-four, whose face was not without charm and intelligence, but who was open to the reproach of being somewhat too free in her speech and manner and expression, ran a close second to the forewoman. A stenographer would have had much difficulty in following those two when they were in a talking mood, so to speak; and they almost always were.
Now, let us listen to the conversation, and try, amid all that chaos, to discover its subject and purport.
"What have you done with the gray silk, Mademoiselle Laura?"
"It's under your nose, you big goose; your nose is so long, you could touch it with it."