To the lit windows of a restaurant, all kinds of new and new carriages kept pulling up, unloading their guests—new mistresses of life—from their bellies: plump, dressed in suits “in the latest Paris fashion,” each with, almost without exception, an eye-catching girlfriend on the arm. She plays at being a sort of vamp woman: short haircuts with curled little locks, a long dress to the floor, hats with feathers like those of Indians. Thin gloves or mufflers on the hands, and her face hidden behind a veil.