Now her firmness hesitated.  She retraced the boulevard to the Place de l’Opera, and then took the Rue de la Paix.  In the first shop on the left-hand side, next to her bankers, she saw amid a dazzling collection of jewelled articles for travellers and letter-writers and diary-keepers, a sublime gold handbag, or, as the French say, hand-sack.  Its clasp was set with a sapphire.  Impulse sent her gliding right into the shop, with the words already on her lips:  “How much is that gold hand-sack in the window?” But when she reached the hushed and shadowed interior, which was furnished like a drawing-room with soft carpets and tapestried chairs, she beheld dozens of gold hand-sacks glinting like secret treasure in a cave; and she was embarrassed by the number and variety of them.  A well-dressed and affable lady and gentleman, with a quite remarkable similarity of prominent noses, welcomed her in general terms, and seemed surprised, and even a little pained, when she talked about buying and selling.  She came out of the shop with a gold hand-sack which had cost twelve hundred francs, and all her money was in it.

Fortified by the impressive bauble, she walked along the street to the Place Vendome, where she descried in the distance the glittering signs and arms of the Hotel du Danube.  Then she walked up the opposite pavement of the Rue de la Paix, and down again and up again until she had grasped its significance.

It was a street of jewellery, perfumes, antiques, gloves, hats, frocks, and furs.  It was a street wherein the lily was painted and gold was gilded.  Every window was a miracle of taste, refinement, and costliness.  Every article in every window was so dear that no article was ticketed with its price, save a few wafer-like watches and jewelled rings that bore tiny figures, such as 12,500 francs, 40,000 francs.  Despite her wealth, Audrey felt poor.  The upper windows of nearly all the great buildings were arrayed with plants in full bloom.  The roadway was covered with superb automobiles, some of them nearly as long as trains.  About half of them stood in repose at the kerb, and Audrey as she strolled could see through their panes of bevelled glass the complex luxury within of toy dogs, clocks, writing-pads, mirrors, powder boxes, parasols, and the lounging arrogance of uniformed menials.  At close intervals women passed rapidly across the pavements to or from these automobiles.  If they were leaving a shop, the automobile sprang into life, dogs, menials, and all, the door was opened, the woman slipped in like a mechanical toy, the door banged, the menial jumped, and with trumpet tones the entire machine curved and swept away.  The aspect of these women made Audrey feel glad that she was wearing her best clothes, and simultaneously made her feel that her best clothes were worse than useless.

She saw an automobile shop with a card at the door:  “Town and touring cars for hire by day, week, or month.”  A gorgeous Mercedes, too spick, too span, altogether too celestial for earthly use, occupied most of the shop.