Molly Brown's Orchard Home

by Nell Speed

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE OPERA.

  The ride through the brilliantly lighted streets; across the Seine withits myriad of small boats with their red and green lanterns; through thePlace du Carrousel where the Louvre loomed up dark and mysterious; underthe arch and across the Rue de Rivoli; then into the Avenue de l'Opera,seemed to Mrs. Brown and Molly the very most delightful experience oftheir "great adventure." It was an old story to Judy but one she couldnot hear too often, this Paris at night; and the marchioness confessedthat after thirty years, the Avenue, if you approached it as they weredoing, gave her a thrill that was ever new and wonderful. They proceededslowly, as the procession of automobiles was endless.

  "The horse is almost an extinct animal in Paris," said the marquis toMrs. Brown, who had remarked that she feared she was coming to Paris toolate to see the much written of type of "cab, cab horse and cabby." Onesees occasionally a specimen of the old days: rickety cab, thin horseand fat, red-faced _cocher_; but such an equipage seems to be in demandonly by the very timid who are afraid to trust themselves to the modernmeans of locomotion. Those poor souls are not, as a rule, on theboulevards at this hour, but shut snugly behind doors, locked andbarred, safe from the "dread Apaches and all the terrors of the night."

  "I love automobiles," exclaimed Molly, "but nothing could ever take theplace of a horse to me, even a poor, abused, old cab horse."

  "Ah then, you can ride!" cried the delighted Philippe. "And you, too,Miss Kean? American girls are the finest on earth surely," (only he said"sholy"). "We have horses at _Roche Craie_ and all of us ride. Mother isa splendid horsewoman."

  "Yes indeed, I am going to ride just as long as a horse can be found bigenough to carry me," laughed the marchioness. "Sometimes I think my poorbeast must look like a pet duck I had when I was a child. It got runover by a wagon, and my old mammy said, 'Yo' lil duck got run over,honey chile. He is right down in the back but still able to bear up!'

  "But it is fine that you girls can ride, and when you come to visit usat _Roche Craie_ you can have some famous gallops. I hate the Englishriding horse with his eternal trotting and the rider working himself todeath posting. Our horses are good Kentucky riding stock with gaits. Ihope you brought your riding habits."

  "I did!" and "I did!" said Molly and Judy almost in the same breath.

  "I never move without my riding habit, bathing suit and skates,"declared Judy. "I learned my lesson about my bathing suit once when Ispent the summer in camp with Papa. I did not know we would have anybathing worthy the name and did not put mine in the trunk. When we gotthere we found that the only form of bath that could be had was in acreek as there was not even a basin in camp, and there was I without abathing suit! Papa was furious at my stupidity. We were miles from anykind of shop. 'Necessity is the mother of invention,' so I took a biglaundry bag, cut slits for arms and legs, tied the draw string around myneck, and with a neat belt I looked quite chic. It did not give me muchfreedom for swimming but I could at least get the necessary bath."

  Every one roared at the picture Judy drew of herself tied up in thelaundry bag and just then they got out of the jam on the Avenue, crossedthe great Boulevard des Italiens, and stopped at the beautiful entranceto the Opera.

  The d'Ochte box was in the first tier and proved very roomy andcomfortable, commanding an excellent view of the house as well as thestage.

  "We have come early on purpose," said the marchioness, "as I wanted youto see the house fill. I can point out any celebrities I happen to knowbefore the performance begins."

  The girls and Mrs. Brown were seated in the front, with the host andhostess and their son in the back of the box. There were two extraseats, but madame declared that she liked to have some left forvisitors.

  "_Louise_ is the opera of all others to introduce strangers to Paris,"explained Philippe to Molly. "It is Paris, Paris sounds, Paris sights,the tragedy and comedy of Paris."

  Molly was devoutly thankful that she had bought the libretto of theopera of _Louise_ when she and her mother had ventured out to see thetomb of Napoleon after the visit of Cousin Sally in the morning; andwhen they were taking their much needed rest before dressing for dinnerin the Faubourg, she had read it aloud to her mother.

  "I was so afraid I might miss something," she explained ingenuously toher cousin. "You see, mother and I want to see and hear everything wecan. We have done so little traveling and seen so little in our livesthat this coming to Paris is like a visit to fairyland to us. I amafraid I'll wake up and find it is all a dream."

  "I feel as though I were in a dream, too," said Philippe. "I have had solittle chance to talk to girls like you and Miss Kean. _La jeune fille_,_bien elevee_, in France is so missish and afraid to speak out to a man.You and your friend look me straight in the eye without the leastaffectation of timidity, just as though you were boys instead of girls;and at the same time you are delightfully feminine. It is a strangething to me to watch one of these girls of my country, with downcasteyes and so much modesty she can hardly speak above a whisper. Themoment she becomes _madame_ all this timidity disappears, and in thetwinkling of an eye she is the charming young married woman, full of allthe arts and graces. The transformation is so sudden, it makes one doubtthe sincerity of the former modesty. Mother says the French girl is thusbecause it is what the average Frenchman wants, the old story of supplyand demand. But I am half Anglo-Saxon and want no such person for mywife. My mother has spoiled me, and I can never be happy with ahypocrite."

  Molly smiled, thinking that while her cousin was declaring himselfAnglo-Saxon, he was certainly not talking like one. Such candor isseldom seen in the male Anglo-Saxon. His warmth and fervor weredecidedly French.

  The house was beginning to fill and many glasses were leveled at the boxof Madame la Marquise d'Ochte. The general verdict was that it was avery effective grouping. Certainly there were not two middle-aged womenin the whole audience more distinguished looking or handsomer than themarchioness and her cousin; nor were there two fresher or sweeterlooking girls, charming in their eagerness to see and not for one momentconscious that they were attracting any attention. The marquis andPhilippe formed a pleasing background of masculinity to these beautifulwomen.

  The opening scene, _Louise's_ garret room in her father's house with theview through the window of her lover's studio; the duet with her loverin which she tells him of her father's refusal to their marriage; andthen her promise to run away with him in event of her parent'spersisting in his hard-hearted resolution to separate them, seemed toMolly most wonderful and touching; but when the mother came in andberated the lover, _Julien_, as "a rascal, a starveling, a dissipator";and when _Louise_ defended him as being "so good, so courageous," andthe mother retaliated by calling him the pillar of a wine shop andattempted to beat her daughter, Molly covered her eyes and wept, allunconscious of the amused glances of the occupants of the neighboringbox.

  But in a moment she was watching again: The father has come in and thereis some sort of reconciliation between him and Louise, although hermother is still furious and slaps her in the face when she takes up forhim; then the father interferes and embraces _Louise_, and they arefinally all seated around the table, the mother with her sewing, thefather with his pipe, when _Louise_ starts to read aloud from thenewspaper: "The Spring Season is most brilliant. All Paris is in holidaygarb." _Louise_ stops reading and after a moment sobs: "Paris----" andthe curtain slowly descends.

  There was a storm of applause, and Molly came to the realization thatshe was in a fair way to have a red nose if she did not control heremotions. She gave a sad little smile and hoped that Philippe would talkto Judy and let her be sure of herself before she trusted her voice.

  As she looked out over the "sea of upturned faces," she saw Mr. Kinsellaand Pierce in the pit. They were applauding vigorously but Mr. Kinsellahad an eye on their box, evidently in hopes of recognition. Molly gavehim a delighted bow and then told her mother and the marchioness of hispresence. The marquis overheard her remark. />
  "What! Do you mean my old friend, Tom Kinsella? Where, where? Point himout to me. I'll go and bring him to our box."

  He hurried out and made his way to where the Kinsellas were seated. Thetwenty-five years since he had seen his American friend were forgotten.He remembered him as the glowing, enthusiastic boy, for whom the wholeLatin Quarter felt such sympathy when he had to give up his beloved artand go into business. It escaped his mind entirely that time had notstood still with Tom Kinsella any more than with him. Jean d'Ochte madea very natural mistake. He put his arm lovingly around Pierce and in hisimpulsive French way said: "_Mon cher Tom, je t'embrasse._"

  Pierce looked up, very much amused at being hugged at the Opera by adistinguished looking French gentleman with a black beard and bushy,gray hair. Mr. Kinsella rose from his seat and clasping the marquis bythe hand, exclaimed:

  "Jean, how splendid to meet you on this my first night in Paris afterall these years! Don't apologize for mistaking my nephew for me," and heintroduced Pierce to him, calling him "Monsieur d'Ochte," being entirelyignorant of the fact of his old friend's having inherited a title andestates. "Now tell me of Madame. I do hope I am to be allowed to seeher."

  "_Certainment_, my friend. She now awaits you in the box where we areentertaining Sara's cousins, Mrs. and Miss Brown, of Kentukee, also acharming _jeune fille_, by name Miss Kean."

  Uncle and nephew were led, willing captives, to fill the unoccupiedseats in the box. Mrs. Brown and Molly were delighted to see them again,and Judy and Pierce plunged into a discussion of art schools andpictures. The marchioness was overjoyed to meet a friend from the oldBohemian days and her husband was like a boy in his enthusiasm over thislong lost companion. Philippe looked a little sad and downcast, althoughhe was studiously polite to the strangers. He had been having such asplendid time with the girls that he could not help resenting theinterruption to his pleasure caused by the entrance of these twoAmericans. He was secretly glad when the curtain went up and the wholeparty was forced to give their attention to the stage.

  The next act, in front of the wine shop, the lover _Julien_ and hiscompanions playing and making horseplay, had the note of true comedy andMolly could find nothing to weep over, for which she was truly thankful.She whispered to Mr. Kinsella that when there was anything to cry over,she simply had to cry, and he said:

  "I see you have what Mr. Dooley calls 'the stage delusion'. It is adelightful quality to feel the reality of the drama and not rememberthere is any 'behind the scenes'. I fancy at this minute _Louise_, whogot a little husky in that duet with _Julien_, when she promised toleave her mother and father and come to him, is off in her dressing roomspraying her throat and gargling with peroxide to get her voice in trimfor the third act. In that she has a long and very beautiful love scenein the little home at the apex of the Butte Montmartre where _Julien_takes her."

  "Why did you come to Paris so soon?" asked Mrs. Brown just then. "Youmeant to exhaust the sights of Antwerp before leaving, did you not?"

  "Well, you see the sights exhausted me before I exhausted them, andthen, like _Louise_, I felt the call of Paris. We got in only an hourago, and after a very hasty dinner came to the Opera. _Louise_ seemed tome to be the very best introduction I could give my nephew to thiswonderful city."

  "That is exactly what I have been saying to my cousin Molly!" broke inPhilippe. "It seems to me that Charpentier has given the true Paris withall of its charm and its dangers. Of course one should see this operafor the first time in the spring of the year, as that is when Paris ismost alluring and in that season the scene is laid."

  "Molly, look in the second tier of boxes almost directly opposite us andsee if that good looking young woman in the rather _outre_ gown is anacquaintance of yours," said the marchioness. "She has been looking atour box steadily ever since we arrived."

  "Her face is familiar but I can't place her. Judy, see if you know her,"said Molly, as she adjusted Mr. Kinsella's opera glasses to her eyes.She and Judy got the focus at the same moment and exclaimed in unison:"Frances Andrews!"

  "She is a girl we knew in our freshman year at college" explained Mollyto her Cousin Sally. "I remember she came to Paris to join hergrandmother, but we have never seen or heard of her since she leftcollege. She was a very peculiar person but clever and bright, andalways awfully nice to me."

  "Humph!" sniffed Judy. "I'd like to see the person who isn't nice toyou, you old saint! The only thing I ever liked about Frances Andrewswas that she got into bigger scrapes than I did and made my misdemeanorsseem small in comparison. She was clever enough, I'll grant you that,but peculiar is a kind adjective to use in describing that girl. Why,Molly, she was the most unpopular girl at Wellington. Even her own classdid not stand by her. She was crooked, as crooked as a snake."

  "Oh, Judy, there was a lot of good in Frances, but she got in bad withher class and could not redeem herself somehow. She was so young, too,and I haven't a doubt that she is vastly improved," and Molly caught theeager eye of the handsome girl in the opposite box and gave her acordial bow.

  In a moment an usher brought a card to the door of the d'Ochte box. Onit was scrawled the following note:

  "Molly darling: I am wild to see you. Give me your address and I'll cometo-morrow.--Frances."

  Molly wrote the address of the _Maison Pace_ and said she would be gladto see her, but had an engagement for the time named. She was a littlesorry that Frances had turned up, as she knew that Judy would refuse tosee any good in her and did not know just how the very sophisticatedyoung woman would impress her mother. But Molly was not one to turn herback on any one who was fond of her and she had always been sorry forFrances, feeling in the old days at college that she had been too easilycondemned by her classmates. "There was good in her," reiterated Mollyto herself, "and there still is, and I am going to be nice to her. Judycan be as stand-offish as she pleases. I know mother will be kind; shealways is."

  The last act of _Louise_ was the most wonderful of all and Molly feltherself becoming so filled with emotion that she feared she would spillover again. She was grateful to Mr. Kinsella when he said to her in anundertone: "The gargle evidently did her good as the huskiness hasgone." She smiled in spite of herself and the tears had to go.

  It was over all too soon. _Louise's_ father, after he realizes that_Louise_ has gone for good to her devoted lover in Montmartre, gazesthrough the garret window at Paris, which, lighted, seems like athousand-eyed monster to the old man. He shakes his fist in a rage andcries, "Oh, _Paris_!"

  As they put on their wraps, Molly heard the marchioness whisper to herhusband: "Ah, Jean, your mother was wise to let us marry, wise and good.How much better it would have been for this poor old man if he couldhave let youth have its say!"

  "Ah, my Sara, indeed she was. And now _ma mere_ can still hear the voiceof Paris calling as did _Louise_ in the first act, and she does not haveto curse it as did _la pere_ in the last." And the marquis disguised afervent hug in the pretext of helping his wife with her cloak.