Told in the Boudoir

IN THE early days of the season it was whispered with a hesitancy meant to ward off the envy of the gods, that New York was to have an exclusive maison de danse and recently that rumor became a fact, discussed as eagerly over cigarettes at the club as in the boudoir over the cup of tea. Nor is the venture merely a tentative one likely to endure but a day. It has met with encouragement which promises to make it permanent, for its smartness is assured by its long list of fashionable sponsors, and by the distinguished names of its executive managers.

THE brilliant little home of the the dansant in Paris has been the inspiration for this one, and the two famous interpreters of the rhythmic art who presided in the French capital last season, Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Castle, have been persuaded to come here and do the honors. The American devotee of the dance is therefore assured every opportunity to master its intricacies in their full perfection.

In the court of entrance to the new abode of Terpsichore is a sparkling fountain that reflects the lights from the ballroom and blends its soft splashing with the music. The delightful coolness of this first impression is carried out in the French gray walls of the dancing halls and the overhanging balcony where, on little tables of gray wood, tea and sandwiches are served during the afternoon to those who desire to look on rather than to take part in the merriment. Mirrors decorate the walls and the delicate gray of the wood is further brightened by the rose cushions of the chairs and of the long seats that edge the balcony. Over it all, lights held in crystal balls throw a mellow glow.

THE price of a glimpse into this most modern home of the muse of dance shows the high value put upon the art these days. No English clubman could now drawl out convincingly, " Men of my world don't dance. The laborious work of life is done by their servants." Men of all worlds, and this includes the women of them all— dance to-day. Quite regardless of where you are on the face of the earth, even in the Eternal City itself, if you do as the Romans do, you will dance. At the Grand Hotel or at the Excelsior as at the Carlton or the Ritz, any day during the tea hour, the world of fashion may be seen "to foot it featly here and there." And in the "tango set"— as a little coterie of matrons and maids is termed in the fascinatingly gay life of Rome— the slender figure and the supple grace of the young duchesse de Croy is much in evidence.

THERE is— breathe it softly lest it destroy the subtle glamour of delight— as much benefit as pleasure in the dance. For its intricate practise it requires youthful elasticity and alertness of the body, and not only has it led to increased attention to physical well-being, but it does itself, by improving the circulation and exercising all parts of the body, act as an excellent aid toward "keeping in condition."

One of the very latest phases of the dance— and who knows if it be not one of its prettiest?— is a boudoir adaptation which promises to serve delightfuly the purposes of health. Each morning, before the dreams of last night's dance are fairly ended, there arrives at the door of the fashionable boudoir a professional danseuse; and in the fresh vigor of the early morning, when the fluffy negligee permits perfect ease of movement, and the dainty boudoir cap of flowers and laces obviates a tumbling coiffure, the dance finds its quickest and most eager pupils. The perfect muscular control and the physical comfort that give deftness and grace of motion are within the reach of every one, but their price is care, exquisite care; and these morning sessions in the boudoir afford an opportunity for the very necessary massage to strengthen and make agile.

Before all else the delicate nerves and muscles of the instep and the ball of the foot must be soothed and humored, for they will brook no neglect. Pure olive oil is excellent as a foundation for foot massage, and there is a wonderful oil, specially prepared, which comes for $1 a bottle, and also a lotion for 50 cents which relieves almost immediately the pain of a fallen arch that has been overtired in the dance.

Dancing does more than lend grace, it gives the great desiderata, loveliness of figure, and, through improvement of the circulation, beauty of skin. Who was that wise woman who cried, "Give me a figure that's svelt and a skin that's fair, and let who will be beautiful?" To achieve these ends, inventive minds are ever busy.

FOR months a prime subject of discussion in the boudoir has been the smooth whiteness, the pure marble-like effect of the arms and necks of certain women in the boxes.

"What is it you are doing?" one woman would say to another, who would reply, "Why, not a thing! "

"Ah, that's it — that thing you are not doing — that's what I want to know."

And now the secret is out. There is an emollient which, when rubbed upon the skin, will produce a marvelous effect. The concoction is soft and creamy, and creates a lovely whiteness more desirable and more beneficial than that of powder, which has so distressing a way of preferring to cling to the evening wrap rather than to. the shoulders. The emulsion is $8 a bottle, but it is a treasure worthy of so high a price.

SIMPLE creams, too, are very beneficial and, when rubbed into the skin with a few massage movements, accomplish a great deal. There is one designed to make a coarse skin satisfactorily fine. It is sold at $1 a jar. A skin tonic from the same maker costs $3 a jar.

To give the last touch of charm to her beauty, to make the impression of her linger where she has passed, the woman who knows seeks for the perfume whose fragrance is most pleasing and expressive. From the orient—and to be favored of fashion all things must be of the orient—comes a wonderful new scent which can be best described as bizarre. The price is $5-50 a jar. Another perfume, the name and fragrance of which are equally lovely and suggestive of a multitude of summer flowers in all their fresh June sweetness is priced at 86.75, and has a faint, lingering odor which is never trying even to the most fastidious.