The shopwoman showed deep pain at having to refuse
the proposition, but refuse it she did; and the would-be buyer
went home angry and perplexed and told her daughter what had
happened.
"It certainly is strange," the daughter said. "I thought
everything in Paris, except possibly Napoleon's tomb, was for sale.
This thing will repay investigation. Wait until I pin my hat
on. Does my nose need powdering?"
Her mother led her back to the shop of the blouse and then the
puzzle was revealed. For it was the shop of a dry cleanser and
the blouse belonged to some patron and was being displayed as a
sample of the work done inside; but undoubtedly such a thing never
before happened in Paris and probably never will happen again.
In Venice not only the guides and the hotel clerks and porters but
even the simple gondolier has a secret understanding with all
branches of the retail trade. You get into a long, snaky, black
gondola and fee the beggar who pushes you off, and all the other
beggars who have assisted in the pushing off or have merely
contributed to the success of the operation by being present, and
you tell your gondolier in your best Italian or your worst pidgin
English where you wish to go. It may be you are bound for the
Rialto; or for the Bridge of Sighs, which is chiefly distinguished
from all the other bridges by being the only covered one in the
lot; or for the house of the lady Desdemona.
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