“Go with you! Of course I will! I love the early morning, and the market will be beautiful.”
The streets were very quiet and misty. Paris never gets up very early, and as the cold weather comes, she lies abed later and later. The Gardens of the Luxembourg were showing signs of frost, or was it heavy dew? The leaves had begun to drop and some of them had turned.
There was a delightful nip in the air and as Judy and the old man trudged along, the girl felt really happy, happier than she had for many a day. “It must be having a home that is doing it,” she thought. “Maybe I am a domestic person, after all.
“Père Tricot, don’t you love your home?”
“My home! You don’t think that that shop in Boulevard Montparnasse is my home, eh?”
“But where is your home then?”
“Ah, in Normandy, near Roche Craie! That is where I was born and hope to die. We are saving for our old age now and will go back home some day, the good wife and I. Jean and Marie can run the shop, that is, if——”
Judy knew he meant if Jean came through the war alive.
“The city is not for me, but it seemed best to bring Jean here when he was little. There seemed no chance to do more than exist in the country, and here we have prospered.”
“I have visited at Roche Craie. I think it is beautiful country. No wonder you want to go back. The d’Ochtès were my friends there.”