"What! Do you mean my old friend, Tom Kinsella? Where, where? Point him out to me. I'll go and bring him to our box."
He hurried out and made his way to where the Kinsellas were seated. The twenty-five years since he had seen his American friend were forgotten. He remembered him as the glowing, enthusiastic boy, for whom the whole Latin Quarter felt such sympathy when he had to give up his beloved art and go into business. It escaped his mind entirely that time had not stood still with Tom Kinsella any more than with him. Jean d'Ochtè made a very natural mistake. He put his arm lovingly around Pierce and in his impulsive French way said: "Mon cher Tom, je t'embrasse."
Pierce looked up, very much amused at being hugged at the Opera by a distinguished looking French gentleman with a black beard and bushy, gray hair. Mr. Kinsella rose from his seat and clasping the marquis by the hand, exclaimed:
"Jean, how splendid to meet you on this my first night in Paris after all these years! Don't apologize for mistaking my nephew for me," and he introduced Pierce to him, calling him "Monsieur d'Ochtè," being entirely ignorant of the fact of his old friend's having inherited a title and estates. "Now tell me of Madame. I do hope I am to be allowed to see her."
"Certainment, my friend. She now awaits you in the box where we are entertaining Sara's cousins, Mrs. and Miss Brown, of Kentukee, also a charming jeune fille, by name Miss Kean."
Uncle and nephew were led, willing captives, to fill the unoccupied seats in the box. Mrs. Brown and Molly were delighted to see them again, and Judy and Pierce plunged into a discussion of art schools and pictures. The marchioness was overjoyed to meet a friend from the old Bohemian days and her husband was like a boy in his enthusiasm over this long lost companion. Philippe looked a little sad and downcast, although he was studiously polite to the strangers. He had been having such a splendid time with the girls that he could not help resenting the interruption to his pleasure caused by the entrance of these two Americans. He was secretly glad when the curtain went up and the whole party was forced to give their attention to the stage.
The next act, in front of the wine shop, the lover Julien and his companions playing and making horseplay, had the note of true comedy and Molly 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 a delightful quality to feel the reality of the drama and not remember there is any 'behind the scenes'. I fancy at this minute Louise, who got a little husky in that duet with Julien, when she promised to leave her mother and father and come to him, is off in her dressing room spraying her throat and gargling with peroxide to get her voice in trim for the third act. In that she has a long and very beautiful love scene in 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. "You meant to exhaust the sights of Antwerp before leaving, did you not?"
"Well, you see the sights exhausted me before I exhausted them, and then, like Louise, I felt the call of Paris. We got in only an hour ago, and after a very hasty dinner came to the Opera. Louise seemed to me to be the very best introduction I could give my nephew to this wonderful city."