Part 7 (2/2)
Where was Mere Tricot now? What a fine time to brandish her pastry board! Gone to the innermost recesses of the apartment with the rosy baby! Suddenly Judy remembered exactly where she had seen that silly face before.
”At Versailles, the day I got on the wrong train!” flashed through her mind. She remembered well the hateful creature who had sat on the bench by her and insulted her with his attentions. She remembered how she had jumped up from the bench and hurried off, forgetting her package of gingerbread, bought at St. Cloud, and how the would-be masher had run after her with it, saying in his insinuating manner: ”You have forgot your _gouter, cherie_. Do you like puddeen very much, my dear?”
It was certainly the same man. His soldier's uniform made him somewhat less of a dandy than his patent leather boots and lemon coloured gloves had done on that occasion, but the dude was there in spite of the change of clothes. On that day at Versailles she had seized the gingerbread and jammed it in her mouth, thereby disgusting the fastidious Frenchman. She had often told the story and her amused hearers had always declared that her presence of mind was much to be commended.
The soldier leaned farther and farther over the counter still demanding: ”A leetle kees made in so lufly a tart.”
Ha! An inspiration! Judy grasped the desired gooseberry tart and thrust the whole thing into her mouth. There was no time to ask the leave of Mere Tricot.
”_Ah quelle betise!_” exclaimed the dandy, and at the same moment he, too, remembered the young English demoiselle at Versailles. He straightened up and into his ogling eyes came a spark of shame. With a smile that changed his whole countenance he saluted Judy.
”Pardon, Mademoiselle!”
Judy's mouth was too full to attempt French but she managed to say in her mother tongue:
”Why do you come in a respectable place like this and behave just like a Prussian?”
”Prussian! Ah, Mademoiselle, excuse, excuse. I--the beauty of the _boutiquier_ made me forget _la Patrie_. I have been a roue, a fool. I am henceforth a Frenchman. Mademoiselle iss wan n.o.ble ladee. She efen mar her so great beauty to protec her dignitee. I remember ze _pain d'epice_ at Versailles and _la grande bouchee_. Mademoiselle has _le bel esprit_, what you call Mericanhumor. _Au revoir, Mademoiselle_,” and with a very humble bow he departed, without buying anything at all.
The Tricots laughed very heartily when Judy told them her experience.
”I see you can take care of yourself,” said Pere Tricot with a nod of approval. ”If the Prussians come, they had better look out.”
”Do you forgive me for eating the last gooseberry tart?” she asked of Mere Tricot. ”I was very glad of the excuse to get it before some one bought it from under my very nose.”
Mother Tricot not only forgave her but produced another one for her that she had kept back for the guest she seemed to delight to honour.
”Our _boutiquier_ has sold out the shop,” declared the old man. ”I shall have to go to market very early in the morning to get more provisions cooked.”
”Ah, another excuse for absenting thyself!”
”Oh, please, may I go with you?” begged Judy.
”It will mean very early rising, but I shall be so pleased,” said the delighted old man, and his wife smiled approval.
It was arranged that Judy was to sleep on a couch in the living room.
This suited her exactly, as she was able after the family had retired to rise stealthily and open a window. The French peasant and even the middle cla.s.s Parisian is as afraid of air in a bedroom as we would be of a rattlesnake. They sleep as a rule in hermetically sealed chambers and there is a superst.i.tion even among the enlightened of that city that night air will give one some peculiar affection of the eyes. How they keep as healthy as they do is a wonder to those brought up on fresh air.
Judy had feared that her sleeping would have to be done in the great bed with Marie and the baby and welcomed the proposition of the couch in the living room with joy. There was a smell of delicatessen wares but it was not unpleasing to one who had been economizing in food for so many days.
”I'd rather smell spinach than American Beauties,” she said to herself, ”and potato salad beats potpourri.”
Her couch was clean and the sheets smelled of lavender. Marie, the little daughter-in-law, had been a _blanchisseuse de fin_ before she became the bride of Jean Tricot. She still plied her trade on the family linen and everything she touched was snow white and beautifully ironed.
The clothes were carried by her to the public laundry; there she washed them and then brought them home to iron.
As Judy lay on the soft, clean couch, sniffing the mingled smells of shop and kitchen and fresh sheets, she thanked her stars that she was not alone in the Bents' studio, wondering what she was to do about breakfast and a little nervous at every sound heard during the night.
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