The Birmingham age-herald., 1923-11-23
ONE WEEK IN PARIS
By MAY CHRISTIE

 with!
 WasAever in this world such breath taking whirl of dinners, dances, pron.enades, delightful com pliments, glad eyes, romance?
 Ah, yes! Romance!
 For Paris is gay where we are "triste!"
 Paris is young with theN perpetual adolescence of le grand amour, beauty and nigh adventure!
 Paris laughs always. Even the taxi-hooters, strident in the night hours, have a ceaseless, merry "haw- haw" to them;
 Leaving London in pouring rain a week ago, a magic carpet wkafted me to a certain hostelry next door to the Cafe de la Paix, which (Pic- cadilly and Forty-second-and Broad way notwithstanding is the real hub of the universe, believe me; and spin 1t does, necessarily, both night and day, until ones head Is like a humming top!
 Tonight we go to Un Bal Masque!' announced Francessa immediately on my arrival, waving a frail Egyptian costume at me. And you, my friend, you will wear this garment"
 Francesca is little creature with an iron spirit. Fragile, petite and spirituelle, her appearance Is decep- tive. No six-foot grenadier could go through what she does and live. No uper-dreadnaught rides the sea Of life with such assurance.
 Arrayed like Cleopatras, then, and clinlxing uncomfortably sas to ankles. etc., our Antonys arrived for~us per furiously driven taxicab Ooh! how they drfive in Paris) and off we went to the most amazing and amusing spec tacle my British eyes have ever lit upon!
 In an enormous barn with quite Balzacian decorations, mob two thousand strong frolicked like ba- bies. Indeed, as to costume, baby at his birth was not forgotten.
 "Who on earth are these people?" I asked my Antony, who-hardened Frenchman he was-gaped at the mob like a startled fawn until his eyeglasses fell off his nose.
 "They are doctors-many doctors and their wives-and medical stu dents and friends" he bubbled.
 And the beautiful young lady in the golden shirt?" I queried.
 His gaze followed mine to ga- zelle-like creature who was perform ing a pas s-de-seul beside the leader of the orchestra, clad only In frail chain garment.
 Now the leader of tho orchestra good grandpapa as no doubt he was at hon.e-was only human. She was too near, that fascinator. He pinched her. and she slapped his face, and her male admirers roared with oy.
 Then the music flafed forth, Sur LBuol'vards"-that intriguing, new est ditty!-and away we went, 2.000 sctrong, cavorting like two-year-olds around that hall, while blue devils, clad in paint and horns, Dempseys and Hercules, frolicked among us.
 This was a ball "of the -profes- sions,"i understand-quite private and given for the benefit of the most deserving. charity in Paris.
 But words fail me to describe La Grande Procession" that, later on, we witnessed from the gallery.
 A snow-white Godiva (unlike our was bobbed) seated upon a real, live camel. led 1t.
 Followed litter full of lovely La. dies of the Revolution, who gener- ously left not one single shred of doubt as to their loveliness in tho spectators minds.
 And then La Guillotine. How clever are the French, but how Balzacian. We will pass on.
 I looked round for Francesca, and observed that she had collected one green monkey (human), one red ln- dian,, a sailor, sultan, and a black cat. She Is quite an adept at this sort of thing.
 ''Even if we are a little over having un bon success. not so? And look, dear... up an.onk the rafters.. there is one who makes the loving eyes at us."
 Incredible. but true! A gay adven- turer had crept out on the narrow beam that crossed the hall, and on one foot had poised there, with a 15o- swaying and blowing airy kisses to- ward us. doing his little stunts.
 shivered. but Francesa loved it.
 "If he falls and he is killed. what matter?" She gave latin shrug.
 He wasn't killed. of course. Life was too sweet for such as he. (Was there ever such spirit as the French?)
 The morning after. we awoke. just five hours later than our usual. A decorous "garcon" brought in rolls and coffee, turned on the bath water, and departed.
 Francesca and I arose and set forth on the trail of hats! Gentle icduof, II you T0 IeIululnc, ana II you've ever been in Paris, you will understand the. battle of the choos- ing of the hats" We were no longer human, we were fierce y,,un tigressos who had tasted blood! Francesca's paw swept chapeau after chapeau from its high perch to her head, pois- ing lit at its most recherche angle, for an instant then whirling it back again at lightning speed. Dozens of shops we visited, hundreds of hats we tried upon our heads. All small, all black. all saucy! The air was thick with tiny little hats, no bigger than a peanut. If close my eyes now, can see them--like black snowflakes!
 Floating cedar logs forecast the weather in northern Michigan, ob- servers noting that II hours before