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 class Parisian is as[96] 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 superstition 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.

[96]

“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[97] were carried by her to the public laundry; there she washed them and then brought them home to iron.

[97]

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.

Even the bravest feels a little squeamish when absolutely alone through the long night. Judy was brave, her father’s own daughter, but those nights alone in 

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