"That is exactly what I have been saying to my cousin Molly!" broke in Philippe. "It seems to me that Charpentier has given the true Paris with all of its charm and its dangers. Of course one should see this opera for the first time in the spring of the year, as that is when Paris is most alluring and in that season the scene is laid."
"Molly, look in the second tier of boxes almost directly opposite us and see if that good looking young woman in the rather outré gown is an acquaintance of yours," said the marchioness. "She has been looking at our 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 Molly to her Cousin Sally. "I remember she came to Paris to join her grandmother, but we have never seen or heard of her since she left college. She was a very peculiar person but clever and bright, and always awfully nice to me."
"Humph!" sniffed Judy. "I'd like to see the person who isn't nice to you, you old saint! The only thing I ever liked about Frances Andrews was that she got into bigger scrapes than I did and made my misdemeanors seem 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 class did 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 with her 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 the eager eye of the handsome girl in the opposite box and gave her a cordial bow.
In a moment an usher brought a card to the door of the d'Ochtè box. On it was scrawled the following note:
"Molly darling: I am wild to see you. Give me your address and I'll come to-morrow.—Frances."
Molly wrote the address of the Maison Pace and said she would be glad to see her, but had an engagement for the time named. She was a little sorry that Frances had turned up, as she knew that Judy would refuse to see any good in her and did not know just how the very sophisticated young woman would impress her mother. But Molly was not one to turn her back on any one who was fond of her and she had always been sorry for Frances, feeling in the old days at college that she had been too easily condemned by her classmates. "There was good in her," reiterated Molly to herself, "and there still is, and I am going to be nice to her. Judy can be as stand-offish as she pleases. I know mother will be kind; she always is."
The last act of Louise was the most wonderful of all and Molly felt herself becoming so filled with emotion that she feared she would spill over again. She was grateful to Mr. Kinsella when he said to her in an undertone: "The gargle evidently did her good as the huskiness has gone." She smiled in spite of herself and the tears had to go.