I remained something like three months.  There were three trolley lines, a train, a cab-stand, a good shopping street within a few steps, the place itself was a haven of rest after my long days in Paris meeting people by the dozen and taking notes of their work, and the cooking was the most varied and the most delicate I have ever eaten anywhere.  A famous retired chef had offered his services three times a week for nothing and each girl during her two weeks in the kitchen learned how to prepare eggs in forty different ways, to say nothing of sauces and delicacies that the Ritz itself could not afford.  I received the benefit of all the experiments.  I could also amuse myself looking through the glass partition at the little master chef, whose services thousands could not command, rushing about the kitchen, waving his arms, tearing his hair, shrieking against the incredible stupidity of young females whom heaven had not endowed with the genius for cooking; and who, no doubt, had never cooked anything at all before they answered the advertisement of Mlle. Thompson.  Few that had not belonged to well-to-do families whose heavy work had been done by servants.

A table was given me in a corner by myself and the other tables were occupied by the girls who at the moment were not serving their fortnight in the kitchen or as waitresses.  These were treated as ceremoniously (being practiced on) as I was, although their food, substantial and plentiful, was not as choice as mine.  I could have had all my meals served in my rooms if I had cared to avail myself of the privilege; but not I!  If you take but one letter to Society in France you may, if you stay long enough, and are not personally disagreeable, meet princesses, duchesses, marquises, countesses, by the dozen; but to meet the coldly aloof and suspicious bourgeoisie, who hate the sight of a stranger, particularly the petite bourgeoisie, is more difficult than for a German to explain the sudden lapse of his country into barbarism.  Here was a unique opportunity, and I held myself to be very fortunate.

Was I comfortable?  Judged by the American standard, certainly not.  My bed was soft enough, and my breakfast was brought to me at whatever hour I rang for it.  But, as was the case all over Paris, the central heat had ceased abruptly on its specified date and I nearly froze.  During the late afternoon and evenings all through May and the greater part of June I sat wrapped in my traveling cloak and went to bed as soon as the evening ceremonies of my two fortnightly attendants were over.  I might as well have tried to interrupt the advance of a German taube as to interfere with any of Mlle. Jacquier’s orthodoxies.