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 Mère 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 roué, a fool. I am henceforth a Frenchman. Mademoiselle iss wan noble ladee. She efen mar her so great beauty to protec her dignitee. I remember ze pain d’epice at Versailles and la grande bouchée. 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 Père 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 Mère Tricot. “I was very glad of the excuse to get it before some one bought it from under my very nose.”