French had fortunately improved greatly since her arrival in Paris more than two years before and now she flattered herself that one could not tell she was not Parisienne. The soldier with the ogling eyes and waxed[91] moustache lingered in the shop when his companions had made their purchases and departed. He insisted upon knowing the price of every ware displayed. He asked her to name the various confitures in the tarts, which she did rather wearily as his persistence was most annoying. She went through the test, however, with as good a grace as possible. Shop girls must not be squeamish, she realized. [91] One particularly inviting gooseberry tart was left on the tray. Judy had had her eye on it from the first and trembled every time a purchaser came for tarts. She meant to ask Mère Tricot for it, if only no one bought it. And now this particularly objectionable customer with his rolling black eyes and waxed moustache was asking her what kind it was! Why did he not buy what he wanted and leave? “Eh? Qu’est-ce que c’est?” he demanded with an amused leer as he pointed a much manicured forefinger at that particularly desirable tart. Judy was tired and the French for gooseberry left her as is the way with an acquired language.[92] Instead of groseille which was the word she wanted, she blurted out in plain English: [92] “Gooseberry jam!” “Ah, I have bean pensè so mooch. You may spick ze Eengleesh with me, Mees. Gueseberry jaam! Ha, ha! An’ now, Mees, there iss wan question I should lak a demandè of the so beootifool demoiselle: what iss the prize of wan leetle kees made in a so lufly tart?” He leaned over the counter, his eyes rolling in a fine frenzy. Where was Mère 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[93] with it, saying in his insinuating manner: “You have forgot your
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