It is hard to put the finger-even a small white feminine finger of great virtuosity-on the charm of the place. But it begins, surely, with the door-man. In all of Paris, there are many pleasant door-men, but the smile of Abel is, perhaps, the most disarming. The same God that made Mary Pickford's smile must have made this. It may be the vivid blue, star-studded bottles in the window that first attract the eye, those bottles that house the famous "Dans la Nuit," or just the right bag for Carlotta's twenty-third birthday present, but, certain it is, there is no entering with reluctant feet. And, once inside, a woman is lost to her resistive impulses. For, directly across the sill, a feminine paradise greets the eye. It's a Parisian rhapsody in bags, bracelets, vanities, necklaces, lingerie, sports accessories, and negligees. If you shop all over Paris, you can obtain things as perfect, with a great amount of trouble and time, but to find them garnered under one roof is to be at grips with opportunity.
Perhaps, it would be giving too much credit to say that Worth was the first to make the modern handbag that contains all the necessities and vanities for the day's journey, but, certainly, this house has perfected the device. Under an unbelievably compact and bulgeless exterior are secreted a complete and intriguing array of pockets within pockets, tiny vials, match pouches, make-up wares, note-books, pencils, cigarette cases, mirrors-ad infinitum.

INNOVATION IN DETAILS

Here, especially, is the home of the novelties of fashion, those incidental, yet important accessories that accent the individuality and chic of a costume and that elude the search of the uninitiated - bracelets that are just the proper width, buckles in the newest designs, bags in the smartest colours. It would be easy to continue indefinitely on this first floor, with such things as cashmere negligees in delicate shades, seen nowhere else in Paris, and soft Iingerie of exquisite design and workmanship, but it is only a prologue to the panorama of the clothes above-stairs.
In the grey, salon on the second floor, where the defile of the mannequins takes place, you are met by the super-vendeuse. She is attentive, kind, and, above all, guided by your wishes. She seems to give you no more than a tactful casual glance, but you soon find, when you enter upon the serious business of selecting frocks, that she knows as much, if not more, about your figure than you do. And it is exceedingly educational to have an unbiased opinion of the figure. Hips are apt to broaden, surreptitiously, upper arms to fatten insidiously, and it is well to have complete self- knowledge. Here, the good and bad points of the figure are considered in an individual and, at the same time, comfortingly impersonal manner.
The collection itself is mammoth, consisting of six hundred gowns shown twice daily on twenty-four mannequins. Subtlety of cut and youthful designs pervade it. There is an amazing number of simple, wearable gowns that you will find with joy are practical for you - with a little adaptation.
 "Adaption" is the word constantly on the lips of the vendeuse, for, despite the size of the collection. no gowns ire made in series. The individuality of clients is kept within the limit of fashion. They are advised, informed, but in no way dictated to, and, because each dress is changed slightly to meet the demands in figure and colouring of its purchaser, women are spared the annoying experience of seeing themselves in replica all over the Riviera, Deauville, or wherever they happen to be.
The Messieurs Worth, Jacques and jean Charles, scatter their personal attentions about with fine disregard for the importance or dignity of the clients assembled. Whether a woman buys one gown or eleven seems to be a matter of indifference to them. They hold perpetual at home to ail. Courtesy is a tradition with them. Their grandfather, who founded the first maison de couture, nearly eighty years ago, was a man bred to the rigours and noblesse oblige of court customs. He dressed all the queens, and, to this day, every woman is treated like one by his descendants.

Monsieur Jean-Philippe Worth, the son of the original Monsieur Worth and uncle of the present directors, can still be seen at the establishment on certain days, attending to clients who will have no one else design their clothes. On his way through the salon, with a bolt of some rare fabric over his shoulder, he may stop and talk to you, as you are choosing a little frock of nothing at all that would crush into the size of a regulation golf ball. And he will tell you of the days when women chose trimming by the yard from strips of white muslin to put on dresses that completely filled the tray of a trunk.

DEMEANOUR IN THE ElGHTIES

When a mannequin walks by with no back at all to her gown, he will relate how models showed the elaborate décolletage of the 'seventies and the 'eighties demurely dressed in little pink silk shirts buttoned to wrist and neck, so that they might keep their self- respect under the scrutiny of the public eye. And, one thing leading to another, he will describe the days when the Czar's sister, the Grand Duchess Marie, came to buy her gowns at Worth, surrounded by all the ceremonies and ladies in waiting of the Russian court.
Thus, the time passes most agreeably, and, while you are engaged in selecting the perfect clothes for the back, you obtain, without any effort at all, just the right history for the background.