The years of the war rolled by. In time khaki-clad Americans marched up Fifth Avenue and were whisked mysteriously away. The war became a grim, horrible reality and its influence was felt in time even in the quietude of Francine’s. Mimi worked on uncomplainingly, steadily, intelligently. She loved to handle the delicate fabrics, especially those of brilliant colours. To her the filmy stuffs were embodiments of a land far, far away from harsh realities. When no one was looking she would run through her fingers a fragile bit of silk or chiffon, smoky blue or icy green, as a miser would his gold. Most of all she loved the passionate reds, the vivid blues, the more pronounced shades. In a world of indefinite gropings they were to her positive, real things instead of the vaporous and lighter shades. She often laughed at her foolish dreams interwoven with these fabrics—the little glamorous stories she made up for her own amusement to relieve the tedium of endless rows of threads and bastings. Yet, they gave her comfort and she continued to dream. …
Her skill and her inventiveness in time penetrated even to that sacred, dread room on the third floor where Madame Francine herself sat in stately splendour when she was at the shop. Mimi had been at work there for nearly a year when she had been made a draper’s assistant. Her time had stretched into a year and a half when she had become a draper. Soon after America had entered the war, when wives whose husbands had become enormously rich overnight began to hear for the first time that it was “the thing to do” to have Lucile or Frances or Bendel or Francine make their clothes for them, Mimi had become a fitter with some thirty girls under her. She had purchased a few Liberty Bonds. Some more money she had put into certain stocks which gave promise of yielding comfortable returns. In time she hoped to put some money into real estate where she could be sure Jean would be provided for, whatever happened to her.
More often now did she come into direct contact with the customers. Of them all, there was none so hard to satisfy as the queenly querulous Mrs. Bennett, wife of him whose name was synonymous with wealth and social position. Because Mrs. Bennett was so hard to please, Madame Francine had asked Mimi always to attend to that grand dame’s wishes. When one day no design submitted to Mrs. Bennett was satisfactory, Mimi asked her to leave the matter in her hands.
“… Yes—yes. I’ll do it, for I’ll scream if I have to worry over getting a simple evening gown a minute longer. Besides, I’m late already to a luncheon engagement. But remember, Miss Daquin, this is a very, very important occasion and my gown must be perfect. If it isn’t—well—” and Mrs. Bennett’s voice trailed off into a silence many times as expressive as any spoken words might have been.
The result of Mimi’s labours, a creation of green charmeuse and silvery ornaments, made Mrs. Bennett beyond all doubt the most strikingly gowned woman at the dinner to the British nobleman who spoke approvingly of her beauty many times to her during that memorable evening. And Mrs. Bennett enjoyed no less the poorly concealed envious looks which came from her friends as the Englishman hovered near her. Nor did Mrs. Bennett fail to tell Francine how pleased she was with Mimi’s creation nor to recommend Mimi to all her friends. And Francine began to watch Mimi and her work as she herself found that the years she had given in building her establishment were beginning to take their toll. …
A cold and nasty November day, with icily grey clouds and nipping breezes, brought a summons to Mimi from Madame Francine herself. One year had passed since the war had ended. New York and Paris again were busying themselves with the making of fine raiment—almost forgotten already were the days of terror and sorrow.
She was perturbed by the summons though common sense told her that the great Francine herself never condescended to perform so vulgar an act as that of discharging an employee. Yet, Mimi feared with the unreasoning fear of the unknown, the unfortellable, the indefinite. Hastily she went over in her mind the events of the past few months. The mistakes she had made had not seemed to her so terrible at the time. Had she offended some customer of wealth, of power? She could think of none who might have complained. Suppose, she reflected wretchedly, I should be discharged just when I am beginning to get on my feet, to see clear sailing ahead? But that’s silly, she sought to comfort herself, I’ve done nothing so terrible that I need get scared like a baby in the dark. All this ran through her head as she made her way to Madame Francine’s office.
“You’ve been with me how many years?” the imposing creature asked Mimi.
“Six years—next spring.”
“I hear you’ve made a number of interesting new designs since you’ve been a fitter?”
“I don’t know how much they are worth—but I have done one or two things—” Mimi
