THE afternoon was over at the Maison Chernitz, and people were drifting out of the big showrooms in the Rue du Mont-Thabor. In the room allotted to the mannequins, Arlette Mazolle and her companions, set free from the ardours of showing off Chernitz creations, were seeking distraction. Fortune-telling was in progress, and a subdued munching indicated the consumption of chocolate by all concerned.
“Look, Arlette,” cried red-headed Irène, “you’re in luck! The cards say your life will be a round of adventures, happiness and good fortune.”
“That’s coming true, too,” said little Charlotte. “Arlette’s luck began the other evening when she won first prize in that show at the Opéra!”
But Arlette was not inclined to be cockahoop.
“I didn’t really deserve to win,” she said. “Régine Aubry was the
