The Bents' studio apartment proved to be exactly the thing for Mrs. Brown and the girls, and arrangements were made with the artist and his wife to have it turned over to them in ten days, which would just fill out their time atMaison Pace.
The apartment consisted of a large studio, kitchenette and two small bedrooms. The plan was for Mrs. Brown to have one of the bedrooms and Elise O'Brien the other, while Molly and Judy, to their unbounded delight, were to sleep in a balcony that ran across one end of the studio. The Marquise d'Ochtè explained to them that this was quite customary in Bohemia, and that she and her husband had occupied a similar roost for several years during their early married life.
"I am versed in many a makeshift and this minute could come to live in the Latin Quarter on half of what you, with your extravagant American notions, will spend," declared the marchioness, as she showed our friends over the apartment. "Now this is my advice for the conducting of yourménage, Milly, but I am not like Henny Pace to get riled if you do not take it. Get your own breakfast, which is a simple matter in France, having fresh rolls and butter sent in every morning and making your own coffee or chocolate; take yourdéjeuner à la fourchette, I mean your luncheon at a restaurant; and then leave your dinners to circumstances, sometimes having them at home or going out as the occasion offers.
"Get a servant to come in and clean for you every morning by the hour, but do not have a regularbonne. It would be a useless expense and then there is no sense in your having to slave over housekeeping. The way for foreigners to become acquainted with Paris is to see the restaurants, and there are so many you need not get tired of the cooking in any one. All I ask of you is to have a regular Kentucky supper for me some night with——but never mind what with, it will be sure to be what I want if Molly cooks it."
Molly was busy inspecting the kitchenette, which Mrs. Bent was showing with much pride as it was quite unique in the Latin Quarter. There was a tiny gas range, a convenience not often enjoyed as gas was a luxury not as a rule afforded in Bohemia. The floor was of octagonal, terra cotta tiles and there was a high mullioned window over the infinitesimal sink. Long-handled copper skillets and stew pans were ranged along the walls, suspended from hooks; and a strangely colored china press filled with an odd assortment of dishes was at one side.
Mrs. Bent laughed when she saw Molly examining the press. "That is inherited from Mr. Bent's student days. It is a plain deal closet, colored with palette scrapings. It is always a great stunt with students to make something like this. Mr. Bent has long ago outgrown it as a studio furnishing and will have nothing short of mahogany around him, but it is too roomy and useful for me to give up, so it is banished to the limbo of the kitchen. I have known students to clean their palettes many times a day just to get a little more scrapings on their presses."
The effect was a peculiarly deep, rich tone and Judy declared that she liked it.
"It looks like the shadows in some of Monet's landscapes, dark, but clear, with light all through them. Some day I am going to make a press just like this one if I have to clean my palette a hundred times a day to get scrapings."
The apartment was on the ground floor and one entered across a very pretty paved court which had green tubs of evergreens here and there along the wall. The indoor studio balcony, where Judy and Molly were to sleep, had a long casement that opened on a tiny iron balcony which overhung the court. There were four similar balconies belonging to the neighboring studios and all had porch boxes filled with ivy or chrysanthemums, making a wonderful effect of color.
Judy was Judy-like, entranced. She stepped upon the balcony and holding out her arms to the tubbed spruce trees, exclaimed in a melodramatic voice:
"'O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?Deny thy father and refuse thy name:Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,And I'll no longer be a Capulet.'"
"'O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?Deny thy father and refuse thy name:Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,And I'll no longer be a Capulet.'"
Suddenly what should she see, from the open door of the opposite studio, but the faun-like face of Pierce Kinsella, grinning delightedly at the unexpected encounter. He proved himself equal to the occasion and said in a low and feeling voice:
"'Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?'"
"'Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?'"
And Judy came back with:
"'How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,And the place death, considering who thou art,If any of my kinsmen find thee here.'"
"'How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,And the place death, considering who thou art,If any of my kinsmen find thee here.'"
And Pierce answered:
"'With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls;For stony limits cannot hold love out,And what love can do that dares love attempt;Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.'"
"'With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls;For stony limits cannot hold love out,And what love can do that dares love attempt;Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.'"
By this time Mr. Kinsella had come out into the court and Molly, hearing the spouting of so much poetry, joined Judy on the balcony to see what was going on. She and Mr. Kinsella applauded loudly until the windows of the two other balconies opened, and from one the head of a long-haired man and from the other that of a short-haired woman were poked out.
"Poetry aside, Mr. Kinsella, what are you and Pierce doing here in the Rue Brea?" called Judy.
"We are looking at a studio that is for rent. And what are you doing here, please?"
"Sitting under our own vine and fig tree, sir! At least, it will be ours in about ten days," answered Molly.
"You don't mean it! Well, if this isn't luck! Pierce, I'll go back and sign up with the concierge immediately. Such neighbors as these would make the meanest studio desirable and, after all, these are pretty good rooms. We could hardly do better in the Quarter."
Pierce was pleased to have the matter settled, as he felt himself to be among friends and had visions of many good times in store for him after working hours with the three bright girls and Mrs. Brown, who was even more attractive to him than the girls. Mr. Kinsella had assured Mrs. Brown that Elise would be sure to fall in with any plans that good lady may have made for her, and he answered for Mrs. Huntington's acquiescence in any arrangements he saw fit to bring about for her daughter. She had really washed her hands of the matter, and had given him to understand that since he had interfered and insisted upon Elise's having a chance to go on with her much interrupted art studies, he could go ahead and place her where he chose. For her part, she declared, it made no difference one way or the other. She had seen too much of Bohemia in the old days to want ever to cross the borderland again. Mr. Kinsella felt sure she had secretly hoped that Mrs. Brown would want Elise with her, and he only awaited their arrival from Brussels to let them know of the studio apartment in the Rue Brea and of the cordial welcome Elise O'Brien would have from all three of the ladies concerned.
The next ten days were very busy and exciting ones. Judy and Pierce plunged into their drawing with renewed zest. Pierce was at Julien's, too, but as the men's school is in an entirely different part of Paris from the women's, he and Judy saw each other only in picture galleries or on the delightful jaunts that the whole crowd took. TheMaison Pacewas not a very pleasant place to make a call, as there was always a bunch of snuffy old maids huddled together in the parlor, knitting shawls and swapping tales of the good and bad pensions they had encountered in their travels. When a caller braved the ordeal, they always stopped knitting and talking and sat spellbound, intent on not losing one word of the visitor's conversation.
Mr. Kinsella and Pierce made one essay, but the occasion was so stiff and formal and Mrs. Pace so monopolizing that they determined never to repeat it, but to wait until their friends were installed in their own apartment. That longed-for time arrived quickly enough for Molly and her mother, who were sight-seeing in a most systematic manner, with Baedecker in one hand and Hare's "Walks in Paris" in the other. They would come home tired and footsore but very happy and enthusiastic.
Molly wrote Professor Green that she felt like the little girl at the fair, who, when her mother noticed she lagged behind and asked her if she were tired, said: "My hands and feet are tired, but my face isn't."
"We do become weary unto death but each morning we get up with renewed zest," she wrote, "with so many wonderful things to see before nightfall. One thing that bothers us is having to dress and sit through a formal dinner with the eagle eye of Mrs. Pace upon us. We are looking forward to the time when we shall be in our own apartment, where we need not dress for dinner unless we have a mind to. My Cousin Philippe d'Ochtè declares that already my mother and I know more about Paris than he does. We are trying to be systematic in our sight-seeing and not to hurry, as we have the winter before us, but at every corner and square there is something interesting to find out about.
"Philippe is very kind to us and ready to escort us through any parts of the city where he thinks it best for women not to go alone. For my part, I think we could go anywhere we wished. The Parisians are so obliging and courteous, and so far no one has been the least rude to us. The old maids in our pension have many tales to tell of the encounters they have had with impertinent men, and one lady declares that she never goes on the street without being insulted. But I agree with Mr. Kean who says: 'If you have some business to attend to—and attend to it, you women can go anywhere in the world you want to in perfect safety.'
"I have not begun my studies yet, as my time has been so taken up with seeing the places of interest, but Philippe is going to see that I am put in the proper class in French Lit. at the Sorbonne where he has obtained a very important degree. He says there are several English and American women there, so I shall not feel strange.
"I am so glad your orchard home is coming on so well. Kent writes us that it is already beginning to look like a house. The rough stone chimneys and foundations are lovely, I know, and will make such a beautiful support for English ivy.
"We are looking forward to Christmas with great eagerness. This is the first Christmas I have had with my mother for five years and the first one she has spent away from all of her other children ever. I shall have to make a noise like seven Browns to keep her from being homesick."
Here Molly stopped and reflected that some of those five Christmases she had spent in the company of Professor Edwin Green and she wondered if he would remember it, too; and if he would miss her as she felt she was missing him, in spite of all the delightful things she was doing and seeing. "I know he is not thinking of me at all and I am a goose to waste any sentiment on him. I have never had a single letter from him I could not show mother and Judy. When Judy gets a letter from Kent she never shows it to us, but takes it to her own room and evidently gets great satisfaction from its perusal, as she always comes out beaming. Ah me! I am sure I shall die an old maid,—but anyhow I do not intend to knit shawls and sit around a boarding house talking about the food!"
When poor Professor Green received the letter, part of which is given above, he, too, was plunged into sad reflections. He reached for a pretty azure paper weight that always stood on his desk and reminded him of a certain pair of blue, blue eyes, and looking into it as though he were crystal-gazing, he shook his head mournfully and said: "Ah, Molly, you little know how you hurt me! And still, what right have I to expect anything else from you? I see you now being conducted around Paris by your Cousin Philippe. I'll be bound he thinks you need a courier even when you go to a Duval restaurant, the sly dog. I know his type: small and dark, with a pointed beard and insinuating manner.
"Here I am tied to Wellington and these hated classes and lectures, when I hoped to be in Paris acting courier for Molly instead of this disgusting foreigner, who won't know how to appreciate her——But what an ass I am! I don't know that Philippe is disgusting, and from what Miss Molly says of his mother, the marchioness, she must be charming.
"I do wish she would not write so coolly of my 'orchard home.' I should think she would know by telepathy that I always think of it as 'Molly Brown's Orchard Home.' I was a fool to take Mrs. Brown's advice and not tell Molly of my love. It may be too late now, and then what shall I do?"
The distinguished professor of English at Wellington College groaned aloud. His housekeeper, who was bringing in his tea, heard him and almost dropped the tray in her alarm.
"And is it the schtomic ache ye be ahfter havin'?"
"No, Mrs. Brady, it is higher up than the stomach. I am glad to see my tea. 'The beverage which cheers but does not inebriate' may make me feel better."
"Phwat ye need is a wife to look ahfter ye and keep ye straight. Schmokin', schmokin' all the time an' brroodin' over the fire is not good for a young gintleman. An' your disk and floor littered up wit' paaperrs and ashes."
The kindly old soul began to clear off the untidy desk and stooped to pick up a piece of paper that had fallen from Molly's letter without Professor Green's having read it or noticed its existence. She started to put it in the waste basket, but the professor noticed the action, being, like most scholars, impatient of having his books and papers touched. In fact, he had over his desk a framed rubbing of Shakespeare's epitaph which he had once confided to Molly he kept there especially to scare Mrs. Brady and make her let his things alone:
"Good friend for Iesus sake forbeareTo digg ye dust encloased heareBleste be ye man yt spares the stonesAnd curst be he yt moves my bones."
"Good friend for Iesus sake forbeareTo digg ye dust encloased heareBleste be ye man yt spares the stonesAnd curst be he yt moves my bones."
"Wait, my good Mrs. Brady! What is that you are throwing away?"
"Nawthin' but a bit o' blue paaperr, Profissorr. To be shure there's a schrap o' writin' on the back. Blue things always brring to me mind the swate eyes o' Miss Molly Brown, the saints protict her" and she handed the stray piece of thin, blue, foreign letter paper to the eager young man, who clutched it and smoothed it out and read the following postscript:
"My cousins, the d'Ochtès, have been very anxious to get up a party and take us to Fontainebleau to see the palace and then drive through the forest; but I have done everything to keep from going and I hope the scheme has fallen through. You have told me so much of the wonderful forest and the walk from Fontainebleau to Barbizon that I am hoping to see the place for the first time with you. The spring is the time to see it, anyhow, I am sure, and perhaps by then you can find a suitable substitute and have a holiday."
Professor Green looked up from the perusal of the little half sheet of paper with his face beaming. What can't a woman put in a postscript? The pain, which he had confessed to Mrs. Brady was a little higher up than his stomach, had entirely disappeared. He was no longer jealous of "any little, black, dried-up Frenchman." That is the way he thought of Philippe; and it was certainly well for the young American's peace of mind that he did not know that Molly and Judy always spoke of Philippe d'Ochtè as "the Adonis."
"Mrs. Brady, your good, strong, hot tea has done wonders for me. I am feeling so much better, I am going to take your advice and go for a long walk and not sit over the fire any longer."
He accordingly unwound his long legs, put the little blue letter with its health-giving postscript carefully in his breast pocket, (right over the spot of the vanished pain!) and went for one of his fifteen-mile tramps, humming sentimentally, "When the robins nest again, and the flowers are in bloom."
Mrs. Brady looked after him and smilingly shook her head: "He may say it's the tay, but there was some preschription in that bit o' blue paaperr I was ahfter destroyin' that was the pain-killer this toime for the poor young gintleman. Me prrivit opinion is that he, too, is a-missin' the swate eyes o' Miss Molly Brown!"
Professor Edwin Green came home from his long walk in an excellent frame of mind, happy and tired; but he was not too tired to write to Molly a letter that somehow she forgot to read to her mother and Judy.
What fun it was to be moving to their own apartment! Mrs. Pace was the only drawback to their happiness. She was very lugubrious and was sure they would find the ground floor damp, although it was explained to her that there was a good cellar under the studio and you went up several steps to the entrance. For a week before they left her, she would emit groans and shake her head sadly, saying: "I know it is a great mistake. These artists are notoriously careless and the place will be filthy, I haven't a doubt. And then the expense of keeping house is so great. Never mind, I shall hold your rooms in readiness for you and you can come back to them at any time."
"I beg you will do no such thing," said Mrs. Brown. "Of course we shall stay in the studio for six months, as we have rented it for that time. As for the dirt we are sure to find: you see Mrs. Bent is not an artist and she has the cleanest rooms I have ever seen."
But nothing convinced Henrietta Pace. She only knew that she was not to have the very pleasant boarders, so well connected, too, and so easy to please and courteous. Of course she blamed it on that very pert Miss Kean, who had defied her from the beginning; but what could one expect from a girl brought up in no place in particular, not even born in a fixed spot, (Julia Kean, you remember, was born at sea,) with a father who openly boasted of having a gizzard? And Mrs. Pace would give what Judy called, "one of her black satin sighs."
"Why should she dress in black satin all the time?" exclaimed Judy, after a particularly dismal dinner where Mrs. Pace had spent the time telling of all the misguided persons who had left her protecting wing and of the direful things that had befallen them. "The idea of any one as huge as she is wearing tight black satin! Why, I noticed two great square high-lights on her, measuring six inches across, one on her arm and one on her capacious bosom. In the latter, the whole dinner table was reflected. She should wear soft, loose things where no accenting high-lights could find a foothold."
"Oh, Judy, you are too delicious!" laughed Molly. "Who but you would notice the high-lights on your landlady's bosom, and then even the reflections in those high-lights? But weren't you amused at the 'unmerciful disaster that followed fast and followed faster' all the boarders that had not stayed atMaison Pace?
"One girl married a worthless art student and had to paint bathtubs for a living; one girl got lead poisoning in a studio where she was studying; one lady got her pocket picked on the Bois de Boulogne and one poor gentleman was lost at sea. Two of these calamities certainly could not have happened in this place. I'd defy anyone to get married here, even to a worthless art student, nor could one very well get lost at sea. I am glad we are to leave to-morrow and also glad that Elise O'Brien will not come until we are installed in the Rue Brea."
Molly had seen Frances Andrews several times since the recognition at the Opera, and had found her very agreeable but still peculiar, passionate and moody. She was extravagant in her affection for Molly and seemed eager to please Mrs. Brown. On the one occasion in which she had seen Judy when she called at theMaison Pace, she had been embarrassed and ill at ease with her and a little wistful, Molly thought.
She whispered to Molly on leaving: "I know Miss Kean despises me, but don't let her influence you. I am not as good as you think I am, but I am not half so bad as Miss Kean thinks I am. I got in wrong at Wellington and never could live down that scrape. Breaking the eleventh commandment is a terrible mistake: getting found out, I mean. I really did not do anything nearly so bad as lots of the other girls: Judith Blount, for instance. She didmeanthings and I never did. I was my own worst enemy and harmed no one else."
"Well, Judith Blount has 'come through,' as the darkeys say when they get religion, wonderfully well. It was the best thing that ever happened for her to become poor; and then she had such a wise little friend, Madeleine Pettit, who showed her how to work. You know I am your friend, Frances, and always did like you. You must not think Judy Kean does not, too. I am sure she has no reason to dislike you," and Molly bade her good-by with promises to come to call on her and her grandmother very soon.
But Frances was not mistaken about Judy's feelings for her. That young woman had a deep-seated dislike to the handsome, dashing Frances. "I don't trust her, Molly. She certainly did a dishonorable thing at college, and her eyes, although they are so beautiful, are a little shifty. I don't want to like her and I don't mean to, so there!"
The Browns' move from Boulevard St. Michael amounted almost to a flitting in the eyes of Mrs. Pace, as they departed while she was at market and had to leave their good-bye with Alphonsine for their respected landlady. The Marquise d'Ochtè sent her limousine to convey them to their new quarters, and knowing the habits of the redoubtable Henny, she deliberately had the chauffeur call very early for her cousins so that they could avoid the stormy good-bye she knew they would have to undergo.
They found the apartment shining and beautiful, everything swept and garnished, a fire burning in the big stove in the studio and a wonderful green bowl of chrysanthemums on the table. A little note was stuck in the flowers, bidding them welcome from the Bents and wishing them joy in the apartment where they had been so happy themselves.
"Aren't they the nicest people you ever saw," exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "The place looks as though it had been arranged for honored guests instead of just renters. I don't see how they could have slept here last night, eaten breakfast here, and left everything in such apple pie order. I almost wish Mrs. Pace could see it, just to keep her from feeling so sorry for us. Now let's unpack, put away our clothes, and make a list of what we need in the larder. When we go out for luncheon, we can do our purchasing."
"Of course we'll have dinner at home to-night. Elise gets in at four-thirty and Mr. Kinsella says he thinks there will be no doubt about her coming straight to us. He is to meet them at the station and intends to put the question immediately to Mrs. Huntington, and if her answer is favorable, he will bring Elise to us bag and baggage. So Pierce told me when he stopped in on his way to the art school to see if he could be of any service to us in the move. Oh, my mother, aren't we going to have a lovely time in our own little flat and away from that terrible dragon?" Molly kissed her mother and then flew up the steps of the balcony to the sleeping quarters that she and Judy were to occupy, just to peep out of the window into the court. Then she ran to the tiny kitchen. "I am itching to get to work on that little gas stove and see how it cooks," she exclaimed.
"Now, Molly, there is one thing I am going to put my foot down about: you are not to be working and cooking all the time we are in Paris. If this housekeeping is going to make you slave constantly, we will give it up and go back to Mrs. Pace. We will all share the work; the girls must do their part, too," and Mrs. Brown looked quite serious and determined.
"I promise, Mumsy, not to overwork but please let me do most of the cooking. I simply love to cook and I know Judy can't brew a cup of tea or boil an egg, and I fancy Elise has not had the kind of training that would make her very domestic. Of course, I'll be studying myself before so very long at the Sorbonne, and then I am afraid you will be the one to be overworked."
Just then there was a knock at the door: it proved to be the short-haired female artist from the adjoining studio. "I saw you had just moved in and I came to offer my assistance in settling you if you need me," she said in a voice singularly low and sweet for one of her very mannish appearance.
Her sandy hair was parted on the side and rather tousled, she had a freckled face and a turned-up nose, and a broad, good-natured, clever looking mouth. Her clothes were just as near being a man's as the law allowed: black Turkish trousers and a workman's blouse with paint all over the back, giving it very much the effect of the Bents' china press. Mrs. Brown and Molly looked at her wonderingly. She was a new and strange specimen to them. Their politeness was equal, however, to any shock and they thanked her for her kindness and asked her to come in.
"My name is Williams, Josephine Williams, commonly known as Jo Bill. Mrs. Bent told me of you and asked me to look after you until you got on to the ways of the Quarter and the tricks of the concierge. I thought I'd begin by asking you to afternoon tea to-morrow. I wish I could have you to-day but I've got a model posing for me and I must work every minute of daylight. I am going to get in the Kinsellas, our other neighbors, and Polly Perkins,—that is the man who lives in the court with us. He is not nearly such a big fool as he looks and talks."
"Is his name really 'Polly?'" asked Molly.
"Oh, no! He has a perfectly good man's name, but I am blessed if I remember it. Everybody calls him Polly. He is a cubist painter, you know; does the weirdest things and now has taken up a kind of cubist effect in sculpture; but you will see his things for yourself. I'd like to give him a good shaking and stand him in the corner. The poor fool can draw; made quite a name for himself at Carlo Rossi's and has a sense of color that even this crazy cult can't down. Goodness, how I am rattling on! I must fly back to my model who has rested long enough. You will come to-morrow, then? Please bring three tea cups with you," and the strange looking female strode off.
"Mother, isn't she funny? I like her, though, and think it will be grand to have tea with her and to meet 'Polly'."
"I like her, too," said Mrs. Brown. "She has such a nice, big, honest mouth. You know I never could stand little mouths. But, Molly, how on earth does she manage to wipe her paint brush on the back of her blouse and keep the front so clean? I wonder what kind of an artist she is."
"Maybe she is a futurist or a symbolist. Anyhow, she is very cordial and kind. I wish Aunt Clay could know that we are to have tea with a woman in trousers and a long-haired man."
The shops in the Rue Brea proved to be all that could be desired. A delightful little coffee, tea and chocolate shop was the first to be visited. It was no bigger than their tiled kitchen, but was lined with mirrors which gave it quite a spacious effect. The madame who presided was lovely and looked just like a cocoa advertisement in her cap and apron. They made their purchases of freshly ground Mocha-and-Java coffee and chocolate. The tea they had been warned against by the Marquise d'Ochtè. "Never get tea from a French shop or let a French person make it for you. Tea is beyond the ken of the French."
Then they went to a creamery, painted white inside and out as are all the creameries in Paris. There were great pyramids of butter ranged along the marble counter according to its freshness, with rosy girls deftly patting off pounds and half pounds, quarter pounds and even two sous' worth. Molly and her mother followed their noses to the freshest pyramid. It seemed to be just out of the churn and Molly declared that it made her homesick for Aunt Mary and the dairy at Chatsworth. They bought some of the delicious unsalted butter for dinner and left an order for a fresh pat to be sent in every morning for breakfast, also milk and cream and eggs.
Next came the grocery where they got their list of dull necessities in the way of flour, lard, salt, pepper, sugar and what not. Then the bakery, to order the little crescent rolls,croissants, to be sent in every morning and also to purchase a crusty loaf for dinner.
"Mother, smell that smell!" exclaimed Molly as they left the bakery. "What can it be? It is a mixture of all good cooking but I can't distinguish any particular odor."
Next to the bakery was a poultry shop, with every kind of winged creature hanging from hooks, inside and out: turkeys, ducks, chickens, geese, guineas, grouse, pigeons, partridges. In the back of the small, dark shop was a great open fireplace where logs of wood were blazing brightly, and in front of this fire were a series of spits, one over the other, stretching across the whole fireplace, all arranged to turn by a common crank. On these spits were stuck specimens of the different birds, and a fat, red-faced youth in white cap and blouse turned the spit and basted the browning fowls from a long, deep trough which caught all of the drippings. And so it happened that the turkeys borrowed delicacy from the pigeons; and the chickens, flavor from the wild duck, etc. And the gravy: Oh that gravy! All the perfumes of Araby could not equal it. The Browns were carried away by their discovery of this wonderful place. They immediately purchased a fine fat hen and monsieur, the proprietor, promised to have it roasted and sent hot to them by six-thirty.
"And please give us a whole lot of gravy,beaucoup de jus," demanded Molly.
The charming fat boy gave her a beaming smile and determined to take an extra quantity to the beautiful Americaine if he lost his job as spitter.
The dinner was a great success. Elise did come directly from the station as they had hoped she would, and she was so happy at being made one of the gay little crowd in the Rue Brea and so grateful to Mrs. Brown for taking her into her fold, that it made all of them glad to have her.
"Isn't it splendid to be able to loosen up and undress for dinner? It is especially fine when the dinner is so delicious," exclaimed Elise. "I am going to learn how to cook, if Molly will help me. Mamma never would let me go near the kitchen, and do you know I have never even seen any uncooked food except in shop windows and don't know a raw beefsteak from an old boot leg?"
"Papa says a French chef can cook up a boot leg with a sauce surprise that you couldn't for the life of you tell from the finest kind of steak. Now this roast chicken is the best I have ever tasted, with a gravy that has the squawk of the wild duck and the coo of a pigeon and——" but here Judy stopped to help herself plentifully to the wonderful gravy and Molly finished out her speech for her:
"And the gobble of a turkey; and what attribute of the goose?"
The table in the studio, with its bowl of chrysanthemums, strips of Japanese toweling in lieu of a cloth, and odd blue china was very attractive. The china was odd in two senses of the word, as not a single saucer matched its cup and no two plates were of the same size. But what mattered that? Was not the coffee in the cups of the hottest and clearest and strongest? Was not the chicken and gravy, on the miscellaneous plates, food for the gods? Was not the rice,à la New Orleans, a marvel of culinary skill? Where but in Paris could one find such crusty bread and delicious butter? Thesalade Romainewas crisp and fresh and Judy had made the salad dressing. It was her one accomplishment in the way of preparing food. She did it in great style and was always much hurt if any one else was given her job.
"Judy reminds me of Garrick and ought to make the dressing, anyhow," said Molly. "You remember what Sydney Smith said of him: 'Our Garrick's a salad, for in him we see, oil, vinegar, pepper, and mustard agree.'"
"Do you know the Spanish recipe for salad dressing?" asked Elise. "'A spendthrift for oil; a niggard for vinegar; a sane man for salt and a maniac for beating it.'"
Judy was proving her suitability by beating so vigorously and clicking so loudly with the fork, that a gentle knock on the door had to be sharply repeated before they were sure of it. There was a general scramble from the kimonoed crowd, who were not expecting a visitor at this hour. But Mrs. Brown, who wore a black China silk wrapper and was always presentable, went to the door where a small boy in a long white linen apron and a baker's cap stood with a huge flat basket on his head.
"Un gâteau pour Madame Brune."
"But we have not ordered a cake."
But the small boy was sure it was a cake for Mrs. Brown, and when the great flat basket was lifted from his head, there, in verity, was reposing a beautiful mocha cake with Mrs. Brown's name and address distinctly written on a card, but nothing else.
"An anonymous cake for Mumsy," laughed Molly. "Oh, you chaperone!"
There was another knock at the door, which this time turned out to be a bunch of violets apiece for the four ladies from Mr. Kinsella and a box of chocolates from Pierce.
"Why, this is a house warming, girls! What next? I wonder who sent the cake."
Mrs. Brown cut generous slices of thatspécialitéof Paris, with its luscious, soft coffee-flavored covering, hardly an icing, as it is too soft and creamy to be called that.
"Ah, j'en ai jusque à la," said Judy, disposing of the last crumb of cake and making a motion of cutting her throat with her hand, "which in plain English means 'stuffed'. I am glad we can't eat the violets. Maybe after we move around a little we can hold some chocolates, but not yet, not yet!"
Mrs. Brown and Molly began to clear off the table, but they were forcibly held by Elise and Judy who insisted that the scullions' part was theirs.
"Mamma tried to make me promise to stand twenty minutes after meals for form's sake, I mean my own form," said Elise. "And what could be better than washing dishes for the complexion? A good steaming is what Mamma has said I need, as she declares I am so sallow, so I shall steam over the dishpan. Let's make a rule never to leave the dishes, no matter how tired we are. Mr. Kinsella says that when he and my father were sharing a studio here in Paris, when they were boys, they used to leave the dishes until they had used up all their supply; and then they would turn them over and eat off the bottoms of the plates. He says those careless ways are what disgust one finally with Bohemia."
"It was certainly kind of Mr. Kinsella to remember me, too, and send me a bunch of violets," said Judy as she wiped the cups Elise was washing.
"Mr. Kinsella is always kind," said Elise. "There never was such a thoughtful man. I feel so grateful to him, and I am going to work like a Trojan to let him see how I appreciate his interest in me." Elise blushed rather more than mere gratitude called for, and Judy thought that the dish water steaming was improving her complexion greatly already. She determined to wash next time herself and let Elise do the drying!
"The only thing that worries me in this delightful arrangement of co-operative housekeeping is the accounts," sighed Mrs. Brown at breakfast the next morning. "I am such a poor hand at arithmetic and a franc is so like a quarter that it is hard for me to remember it is only twenty cents; and a sou is so huge and heavy, I feel that it must be more than a cent. I pin my faith to a five franc piece which is like and is a dollar. I'd turn the money part over to Molly if she were not even worse than I am about it."
"Don't give it to me, please," begged Molly. "You know dear old Nance Oldham used to say I could do without money but I could not keep it."
"Well, Mrs. Brown, you should not be bothered to death about it, and I think we should elect a secretary and treasurer; and since there is no one here fitted to fill the place, I propose a new member to our club." Judy got up and reached from a high plate rack a funny, glazed Toby jug.
"I propose the name of Sir Toby Belch as a member of this club."
"I second the nomination and wish to offer an amendment to the motion," said Elise: "that the said Sir Toby be made secretary and treasurer of this association. All in favor of this amendment say 'Aye,' contrary 'No.' The ayes have it. Now are we ready to vote on the motion?"
The result was that Sir Toby Belch was unanimously elected and Mrs. Brown's duties were lightened. The plan was that every week the four members of the Co-operative Housekeepers' Association should put into Sir Toby a certain amount of money which would be drawn out for expenses as the occasion arose. If Sir Toby should get hungry and empty before the week was up, an assessment was to be made on all of the members and he was to be fed, even if it did happen to be between meals for him. If any member should be out of funds at the time, she could give an I. O. T. (I Owe Toby) which could be cashed when convenient.
"Dear lady, you shall not be worried," said Elise affectionately. "I believe this arrangement with Sir Toby will work beautifully."
And so it did. Sometimes Toby would get very lean and hungry and the few stray sous left in him would clink dismally against his ribs; and again he would be bursting with silver, paper and copper. Sometimes he would have to suspend payment until he could negotiate his I. O. T.'s., and sometimes when the week was up and all outstanding bills settled, he would be so affluent that he would treat the whole crowd to the theater or give a party to the friends in the Latin Quarter. Many a jest was made at his expense and sometimes Mrs. Brown and Judy, both of them able to quote Shakespeare at any point, would give whole pages of "Twelfth Night," impersonating the immortal Sir Toby and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek and the naughty Maria.
Our friends went to many studio teas during their stay in Paris, but the first one with their erratic neighbor, Miss Jo Bill, they never forgot. Her studio was the size of their own but had no apartment attached. The hostess slept in a balcony, similar to the one Judy and Molly occupied, and her housekeeping and sleeping arrangements were much in evidence. Molly, going over ahead of the others to take the three tea cups requested, found Miss Williams washing her own five cups with their varied assortment of saucers and clearing off a table littered with papers and magazines, preparatory to placing the alcohol lamp, kettle and teapot thereon.
"Do let me help you," begged Molly. "Where is your tea towel? I can wipe the cups."
"Tea towel!" exclaimed Miss Williams. "Why, I don't possess such a thing! If the water is good and hot and clean, you don't need a towel. Just let the dishes drain. It is much more sanitary. Towels are awful germ harborers. But if you want to help, you might straighten up this table. Don't ask for a cloth or you will embarrass me."
Molly accordingly went to work and got order out of chaos in a short while. She piled the papers and magazines neatly on a shelf; emptied the teapot of its former drawing of leaves; washed and rinsed it; filled the kettle with fresh water; and replenished the alcohol lamp from a bottle of wood alcohol she found on the shelf.
"Well, if you aren't a peach, Miss Brown!" said the admiring Jo Bill. "I bet you are dying to go up on my roost and clear it out some. I was going to let it alone hoping to make it so interestingen basthat no one would glance up; but if you feel a calling to go up there and stir around a little, you are welcome."
Molly was itching to get her hands on the balcony, which reminded her of Mrs. Jellyby's closet, full to overflowing with every conceivable and inconceivable thing. The floor was strewn with coats, dresses and hats while the shoes were neatly hung on a row of hooks. Very pretty, well-shaped shoes they were, too, as it seemed Jo's feet were her one vanity.
"I never make up my bed, but just kick the covers over the dash board and let it air all day. Much more sanitary than tucking the germs in, giving them chance to multiply. You can make it up if you want to, though, since we are by the way of giving a party. Yes, hang up the dresses if you think it will improve the looks of things. I keep my shoes on the hooks so they can dry well and not be losing themselves all the time. I don't often need the dresses as I usually wear these painting togs. By Jove, speaking of dresses, I fancy I ought to put on one this afternoon! I wonder if your mother would think I was not showing her proper respect if I just put on a clean blouse and didn't try to get into one of those pesky dresses."
"Oh, don't dress up for mother, please! She would feel bad if she thought her coming would make any trouble for you, and besides, you hardly have time to do much; it is after five now," laughed Molly.
So Jo pulled off her workman's blouse and donned a clean one.
"Please tell me what makes you wipe your paint brushes on your back and how you manage it," asked Molly.
"What a question!" roared the amused Jo. "I wipe the brushes on the front of my blouses until it gets too gummy, and then I turn it hind part before. You and your mother must have thought I was some contortionist yesterday," and she extracted a hair brush from one of the shoes hanging on a hook and gave her tousled hair a vigorous punishment.
"Shall I put this tub out of sight?" asked Molly, picking up a great English hat tub.
"No, indeed, leave it there. I always put it where Polly Perkins can see it to shame him. You see he is as tidy as I am careless, but he leads an unhealthy, uncleanly life in spite of all of his pernickity ways, and I am really very sanitary and healthy in spite of all of my untidiness. In the first place, I take a cold bath every morning of my life and sleep in a hurricane of fresh air; and if my bed is in a mess, you notice my sheets are clean; while Polly is one of these once-a-weekers as to baths, and he is afraid of opening windows and letting in dust, and he makes up his bed the minute he gets out of it, animal heat, germs and all."
Molly was vastly amused and interested in her neighbor and her evident rivalry with the long-haired cubist, whom she now saw daintily picking his way across the court, in velveteen jacket and Byronic collar with the loose flowing tie common in the Latin Quarter. In his hand he held a stiff bouquet of red and yellow chrysanthemums, which, bowing low, he presented to Jo as she jerked the door open at his knock.
"The flower which you most resemble, I bring as an offering of——"
"Stuff and nonsense! That's a nice thing to tell a girl: that she looks like a ragged chrysanthemum! I have brushed my hair, too, so your 'comparison is odious.' I have a great mind not to introduce you to Miss Brown just to pay you back for being so saucy."
But Mr. Perkins did not wait for the formal introduction. He came into the studio, his pasty face beaming, and gave Molly's hand a cordial shake. Then the others began to arrive: Mrs. Brown, Judy and Elise, Mr. Kinsella and Pierce.
"Polly, put the kettle on and we'll all have tea," sang Jo, and the obedient Mr. Perkins did her bidding. In a short while the water was boiling and the tea put to draw, and Jo produced from her cupboard a plate of Napoleons (that delicious pastry of Paris) and abrioche.
"Now, Jo Bill, that is mean to go have my kind of cake, too," exclaimed Polly Perkins fretfully. "You know I never have Napoleons at my teas because you call them yours, butbriochehas always been mine; and when I have our neighbors in to my studio, what can I give them? I did not know you could be so sneaky."
Strange to tell, Jo took the repulse quite meekly and confessed that it was low, but there were not enough Napoleons at thepatisserieand she had to fill out with something else.
"Please don't be cross, Polly. I gotbriochebecause I know you like it so much. I like macaroons myself," and she helped the indignant cubist to a generous slice of his favorite cake and he was mollified.
The party was very gay. Jo proved to be a singularly tactful hostess and put them at their ease immediately. The tea was perfect.
"Where on earth do you get it?" asked Mrs. Brown as she accepted a second cup.
"Smuggle it," responded Jo. "Every time I go to California I bring enough back to run me for a year; enough for Polly, too. The custom house officials never hunt through my luggage for tea. They often remark that I am 'not the tea drinking type', but Polly, here, can't bring in a leaf of it without getting found out. He is a regular tea drinking type."
"Are you from California, too?" asked Molly, smiling at Polly and wondering if Jo's frankness hurt his feelings. But if it did he concealed his wounds remarkably well.
"Yes, indeed, Jo and I are from the same town. I have known her ever since she was a little boy. She is an awful clever sort and as kind and good as can be. I never mind her blague. We are the best friends in the world and she likes me as much as I do her. Have you seen her painting? She does the best and highest paid miniature work among the American artists in Paris. She has a very interesting way of working: paints everything big first and then in miniature. She says it keeps her from getting a sissy manner."
"I can't fancy Miss Williams with a sissy manner in anything," laughed Elise, who joined Molly and Mr. Perkins. "I want to see her things so much; and I do hope you will show us some of your work, Mr. Perkins. I hear you are of the new movement in art."
"Yes," said poor Polly sadly. "Jo hates me for it and refuses to think I am sincere or that there is any good in the movement, but I declare that she is the insincere one in not trying to see the good in the cubist movement. Jo is very hard-headed and conventional at heart, in spite of her pants."
The girls burst out laughing at this. The idea of Jo's being conventional was certainly absurd. Hard-headed she no doubt was.
"This will show you how stubborn she is: she pretends she does not remember my name. I don't mind her calling me Polly, but I do think she should address my letters to Mr. Peter Perkins and not Polly. I have known her ever since we were both of us babies and she must remember what my parents call me, even though she never did call me Peter herself," said the poor cubist who looked ready to weep.
Just then there was a diversion caused by a great knocking on a door in the court. It proved to be none other than Mrs. Pace.
"She has come to spy out the nakedness of the land," whispered Judy to Mr. Kinsella, who had been having a long talk with her. Pierce had had so much to say of this delightful young lady that his uncle was determined to make her acquaintance and find out if she were the kind of girl to be a help to his beloved nephew, or if there could be a chance of Judy's being the type that he had unfortunately come in contact with in his youth, causing so much disaster to his happiness. Judy was in her gayest mood and was enjoying herself hugely, and Mr. Kinsella seemed to find her quite as delightful as Pierce had led him to believe her to be. That young man was looking rather disconsolate since his uncle was occupying the place he coveted. He wandered over to where Elise was examining some of Jo's miniatures. Elise, too, was a little wistful. She had looked forward with so much eagerness to meeting Mr. Kinsella again, and now on the first occasion when they might have had a real conversation, here he was spending the whole time laughing and talking with Julia Kean. She was glad of the diversion of Mrs. Pace's entrance, as it necessarily caused some cessation of what looked to her like a flirtation between Mr. Kinsella and Judy.
Enter, Mrs. Pace did, with a scornful sniff. After rapping sharply on the Browns' door and receiving no answer, she had made her way to the studio where the tea was being held. When Jo Bill opened the door, without waiting to tell her whom she was seeking, she swept into the room, "not like a ship in full sail," declared Judy to her companion, "but like a great coal barge in her shiny black satin and her huge jet bonnet."
Mrs. Brown introduced her to the members of the party with whom she was not already acquainted, but she acknowledged the honor only with a slight quiver of the stiff jet trimmings of her headgear.
"Well, Mrs. Brown! Is this what you left my house for?"
Mrs. Brown made no answer but Molly noticed that her nose was what Aunt Mary called "a-wucken'"; and she was wondering what would be the outcome of Mrs. Pace's rudeness, when Polly Perkins saved the day. He was taking tea to the uninvited guests at Jo's bidding. That young woman was totally oblivious and indifferent to Mrs. Pace's scornful attitude. She was Mrs. Brown's friend and she, Jo Bill, knew how to behave in her own house. Mrs. Pace was seated so that the last rays of the setting sun slanted through the window on her bonnet and the lighted lamp on the other hand shone full on her capacious chest, making the large square high lights of which Judy had made such merry jests. Polly handed her the cup of tea and slice ofbriocheand then backed away from her, standing with his eyes half closed and his hands clasped in adoration.
"Well, young man, what are you looking at me that way for?" snapped the irate Henny.
"Oh, Madame, you are so beautiful! You must pardon my raptures, but I am a cubist and you are exactly the type I am looking for to make myself famous withal. As I stand and gaze at you with my eyes half-closed, you present the most wonderful spectacle. I see a series of beautiful cubes, one on top of the other: black and gray, black and gray, and now and then where the light strikes, a brilliant white one. And oh, yourchapeau! I can hardly wait to get to work on your portrait! You will sit to me, won't you?"
During this effusion, Mrs. Pace sat with a pleased smirk on her face. It had been many a long day since any one had called her beautiful, and no one had ever called her beautiful with such enthusiasm or wanted to paint her portrait. To be sure it was nothing but a small, pasty-faced, long-haired artist, but he was a man for all that, and his eyes were kind and earnest and his voice most appealing.
"I am a very busy woman," she answered gently, "but I will pose for you with pleasure, if it will help you in any way."
Her shiny ornaments trembled with emotion and she gave a sentimental sigh that broke the beautiful square high-light, so admired by Polly, into a dozen little ripples.
Mrs. Brown arose to make her adieux, taking Mrs. Pace with her to show the new quarters to the much softened lady. Mrs. Brown knew by the look in Judy's eyes that she would explode with laughter in a moment. Molly and Elise were bending over Jo's miniatures, their shoulders shaking. Pierce was standing in the middle of the floor with an alert expression as though he were in readiness to seize the lunatic, poor Polly, if he should become dangerous. Mr. Kinsella's composure was ominous of an outbreak. Jo Bill stood with arms akimbo and gazed at her former playmate, anger gradually gaining the ascendency over the amusement caused by his outspoken admiration of the ponderous and impolite Mrs. Pace.
As the door closed on the two ladies, Jo suddenly reached out, and grabbing Polly by his flowing tie, she boxed his ears soundly. "There, you goose, I've been wanting to do that for years!"
Polly received the chastisement with the utmost delight and actually seemed to look upon it as a form of caress from the enraged Jo. He whispered to Molly: "I believe Jo is jealous of the beautiful Mrs. Pace."
Mr. Kinsella asked Elise to take a walk with him that evening before dinner and they had the long talk that the girl had been eager for; and the little cloud of—not exactly jealousy, more envy of Judy's powers of attraction than jealousy, was dispelled for the time being.
The winter went merrily on. Elise and Judy worked diligently at Julien's, the hard academic drawing being good for them and helping to counteract a tendency both had to rather slipshod methods. They gave only the morning to the school and in the afternoon looked at pictures or painted at home, if they could get a model among their acquaintances.
Judy made some charming memory sketches of the Paris streets. Seeing some bit that took her fancy, going or coming, she would burn to get her impression on canvas. She could hardly wait to get her hat and coat off, but would come tearing into the studio, pulling off her wraps as she came, hair flying, cheeks glowing, looking very like Brer Rabbit, Molly declared, when he ran down the hill with the six tin plates fer the chillun to sop outen; and the six tin cups fer the chillun to drink outen; the coffee pot fer the fambly; and the hankcher fer hisself, hollerin': "Gimme room, gimme room". They gave her room, all right, especially if her medium happened to be water color, as Judy was a grand splasher and spared neither water nor paint.
Elise was delighting in her steady work, the first she had ever been allowed to do. She lacked Judy's sense of color but on the other hand was very clever at sketching and getting a likeness, and had inherited her father's inimitable powers of caricature.
"Oh," sighed Judy, "if I could only get the people in my memory sketches to stand on their legs and seem to move as yours do, Elise, how happy I should be!"
"And I," said Elise, "would give anything if I could see and put on canvas the lovely colors that you can. I can't see anything but drab, somehow. It must be a somberness of disposition that affects my eyesight."
"But, Elise," broke in Molly, "you are not somber at all. You are full of jokes andbon mots."
"Oh, that is just my way here with all of you lovely, good, happy people. I am usually very dull and sober. Mamma says I can be the stupidest company in all the world, and I am sure she is right."
Elise had indeed blossomed in the congenial atmosphere in which she found herself for the first time in her life. Mr. Kinsella watched her eagerly, seeing many things about her to remind him of his old friend George O'Brien; and when the girl occasionally let drop some of the worldly cynicism that she had perforce learned from her mother, the sad look in his eyes would make her quickly repent her bitterness, and her endeavors to bring back his rarely sweet smile were almost pathetic in their eagerness. Mrs. Brown understood the girl thoroughly and did everything in her power to make her feel that she was one of the little coterie and a valued member; but Elise found it difficult to look upon herself as anything but an outsider. She was sensitively afraid of being in the way where Molly's and Judy's intimacy was concerned, and the girls often had to force her to join them on a lark unless Mrs. Brown was one of the party.
Pierce was "making good," as he expressed it, at the school. He had gone through several years of hard drawing at the League in New York, so decided that he could give his time to the painting that was to be his life's work. His uncle was delighted with his progress, and felt that his own youth was not lost at all but reincarnated in the glowing genius of his beloved nephew.
Molly was studying at the Sorbonne, where her Cousin Philippe d'Ochtè had duly installed her. It did not seem like studying, but more like going to the theater for several hours a day. The lecturers were so charming, so vivacious; their delivery was so dramatic, their gestures so animated. She drank in every word and found herself understanding French as she had never dreamed that she could.
She wrote on her stories when she was not attending the lectures. The Latin Quarter had given her several good plots and she was eager to work them out before Professor Green should put in his appearance, as she was anxious to let him see she had accomplished something during her Paris winter. That poor young man was still teaching the young idea how to shoot at Wellington and saw no hope of his release before March.
Kent Brown wrote cheerful letters from Kentucky. He was very busy in his chosen field of architecture and was learning French in a night class to fit himself for the Beaux Arts when he would finally be able to get to Paris. Aunt Clay was fighting the Trust vindictively as only she could fight and was dying hard, but Kent predicted that the end was near; and as soon as the suit was settled, he intended to take the first steamer abroad.
Mrs. Brown was not concerning herself in the least about her financial affairs. She felt sure that sooner or later she would realize on the sale of oil lands, and in the meantime the economy she and Molly were compelled to practice was rather exciting and interesting than annoying. Mrs. Brown had the happy faculty of adaptability, and living on Rue Brea she found there were many American students who were compelled to exercise the greatest thrift to exist.
Poor Polly Perkins was a sad example of the unproductive consumer. He had never earned a cent in his life and it looked as though he never would earn one, but still he stayed on in Paris, hoping against hope that his luck would change and that he could either sell a picture or that his cubist theories would become so popular that pupils would flock to him to sit at the feet of learning. He had a small monthly remittance from home that enabled him to pay his rent and by the strictest economy to clothe himself in the artistic garb of the Quarter (velveteen is fortunately very durable and not very costly); also to feed and partly nourish his far from robust little body. Mrs. Brown and Molly felt very sorry for Polly.
"He is such a sad little fellow," said Molly, "and he is very kind and good and takes Jo's teasing and bossing so patiently. He is really sincere about his art, and just because we can't see his way, we ought not to laugh at him. I believe Jo likes him a lot more than she knows she does. It nearly kills her for him to make himself ridiculous. I am crazy to see his portrait of Mrs. Pace. I do hope I can keep my face straight when he unveils it for us."
"Mrs. Pace declares it is wonderful. She told your Cousin Sally and me that it was a speaking likeness."
"Well, any likeness of Mrs. Pace would have to be a speaking likeness," laughed Molly.
Mrs. Brown and Molly were having one of their confidential talks, rather rare at that time, as Judy and Elise were usually at home when Molly was; or if mother and daughter did have a few moments alone, they were interrupted by callers: the Kinsellas or the d'Ochtès, Jo Williams or Polly Perkins or some of the new acquaintances they had made among the students.
"Mother, don't you notice a kind of sadness about Elise lately? She does not seem to me to be quite herself. Sometimes that old bitter way of talking gets hold of her and although she knows it pains Mr. Kinsella, she takes especial delight in giving vent to this satire when he is present. I am glad he has gone off to the Riviera for a change. She is devoted and grateful to him for influencing her mother to let her have the winter in Paris, but she has taken a strange way to show her gratitude in the last week or so.
"Did you see an almost noisy flirtation she was having with Philippe the last time we had all of them in to tea? She was not a bit like her sincere self, the natural, well-bred Elise that we all love so much, but more like her mother with her smart-set manner and flippant witticisms. I thought Cousin Sally was a little concerned about her precious Philippe. Cousin Sally is much more Frenchified in her soul than she dreams. I believe she is going to control the destiny of her son just as much as any mother in France."
Mrs. Brown smiled. She had an idea that she knew what Sally Bolling's plans for her son were: namely, her own Molly Brown. But since Molly herself had no idea of it, she was the last woman in the world to suggest it to her. She felt sure of her Molly, sure that no rank or wealth would influence her in choosing a mate (if choose one she must). She was confident that Molly liked Professor Green better than any man she knew, and that Philippe d'Ochtè with all his charm and good looks, wealth and position, did not appeal to her little daughter as did Edwin Green, the quiet, scholarly professor with no wealth at all. She had mentioned the professor only casually to her cousin, Sally d'Ochtè, as she did not feel it was incumbent upon her to speak of him as Molly's lover, since Molly herself did not consider him as one.
As for Philippe's heart, she did not think there was any danger of its being broken. She had carefully observed her young cousin and could see no sign of the languishing lover. That young man seemed to find difficulty in deciding which young lady he considered the most attractive. Molly was all that was lovely and sweet and delightful; Judy had a singular charm for him, with her vivacious manner and originality; Elise O'Brien evidently amused him and interested him greatly; and now a new star had come on his horizon: Frances Andrews, whom he had met at the Browns' and found very fascinating, a mixture of American and French. Philippe had, in truth, met too many charmers in too short a space of time and they had proved an embarrassment of riches, as it were.
His Cousin Mildred Brown knew what safety in numbers there was for him, and hoped he would not come to the conclusion that her Molly was the one of all others for him. Not that she did not like him. She was very fond of him and fully appreciated all of the d'Ochtè kindness to her and her little crowd of girls; but she had in a measure given her word to Edwin Green: that if he would not speak to Molly of his love for her for a year, he would find her daughter still unattached. She felt that she had done right in asking this of Professor Green. She was confident that she knew Molly's inmost thoughts and feelings, and that if she had any preference at all, it was for the young professor.
There were times when this anxious mother realized that one could not be too cocksure about the heart of anyone, even of one's own flesh and blood. Molly had noticed that Elise was not herself, and Mrs. Brown had noticed that none of her girls were quite themselves. For the last few days there had been a condition in the apartment in the Rue Brea of nerves at high tension; tempers a little uncertain; feelings a little tender. Mrs. Brown held her peace and endeavored tactfully to steer their littleménagesafely over the shoals.
She thought she understood Elise. The poor girl was suffering with jealousy of Judy, who had plunged into an intimacy with the Kinsellas, uncle and nephew alike. She and Pierce would go on long tramps into the country and play a kind of game of memory sketches, seeing which one could bring home the greater number of impressions. Mr. Kinsella had become interested in their game and had joined them on one of their walks, becoming so fired with enthusiasm that he had actually tried to do some painting himself. He had been quite successful, considering the number of years that had passed since he had even so much as squeezed paint out of a tube. They had asked Elise to join them, but she had coldly refused. After those walks had become so popular with the trio, then it was that Elise had begun a rather half-hearted flirtation with Philippe d'Ochtè.
Judy was in one of her gayest and most irritating moods. "Getting ready for what she calls 'a Judy Kean scrape,' I am afraid," thought Mrs. Brown. "Our winter has been so peaceful and harmonious; but this mist will clear away soon, I know."
Judy seemed to realize that she was hurting Elise in some way but to be perfectly careless of the result. She never lost an opportunity to give Molly a dig about Frances Andrews, and when that young woman had come to the studio to tea, Judy had been very cold and almost rude to her. Molly, on her side, was a little distrait and listless and very touchy.
"What is the matter with my girls?" thought poor Mrs. Brown. "For the last week they have been like naughty children."
When Molly and her mother were having the little confidential talk recorded above, the elder lady did not realize that two American mails had come and that neither Judy nor Molly had received the bulky epistles that they usually did,—Judy one from Kentucky, and Molly one from Wellington. This was the cause of their unreasonable tempers. And had she but known it, on the other side of the Atlantic her own son Kent was eaten up with the green-eyed monster all because Judy had mentioned the name of Kinsella six times in her last letter! And he, Kent, had only that morning called his brother Paul "a conceited ass" because Paul had on a cravat to match his socks; and he had been equally unreasonable with a misguided waiter who brought him macaroni when he ordered spaghetti.
As for the dignified Professor Green, he had actually "hollered" at a poor freshman who had in reading some poetry pronounced "unshed tears" as though unshed were in one syllable. "'Unched tears', I could almost shed them," said the much-tried teacher; and all because a certain Molly Brown had a cousin Philippe who was kind enough to see that she heard all the lectures worth while at the Sorbonne.
Mrs. Brown decided to take Molly into her confidence and divulge to her her ideas concerning Elise and Mr. Kinsella. Molly was astonished and delighted.
"Oh, mother, how wise you are and how blind I am! I realize now how Elise must have suffered and all for nothing. I just know Mr. Kinsella adores her. I see it all. He went off just because he thought Elise was serious about Philippe and he could not stay to see it. How I wish he would come back and it could all be set right, and dear Elise could make up to him for all the suffering her mother caused him! I do wish I could put a flea in Judy's ear and she would behave."
"But you must not do that, my dear," said Mrs. Brown. "That would not be quite fair to Elise. You see it is only surmise on our part."
"Right as usual, mother, but it is going to be hard to see things going wrong when a word would right them. Judy means no harm and is really doing nothing. She takes long walks with Mr. Kinsella and Pierce, and Mr. Kinsella delights in Judy's frankness and originality. He likes to be with her, but as for thinking of her in any other light than as Pierce's playmate,—I don't believe it has entered his head."
"I am sure it hasn't; but Elise has had very few friends and has been brought up in such a selfish world, that she is perhaps prone to see the wrong motive. Molly, do you feel well? I have fancied you were a little pale lately and not quite so enthusiastic as usual."
Just then there was a knock on the door and the concierge's little son entered, bringing a stack of mail. One from Wellington was on top, and Molly was able truthfully to tell her mother that she never felt better in her life.