It was over all too soon. Louise's father, after he realizes that Louise has gone for good to her devoted lover in Montmartre, gazes through the garret window at Paris, which, lighted, seems like a thousand-eyed monster to the old man. He shakes his fist in a rage and cries, "Oh, Paris!"
As they put on their wraps, Molly heard the marchioness whisper to her husband: "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 could have let youth have its say!"
"Ah, my Sara, indeed she was. And now ma mère can still hear the voice of Paris calling as did Louise in the first act, and she does not have to curse it as did la père in the last." And the marquis disguised a fervent hug in the pretext of helping his wife with her cloak.
CHAPTER IX.
THE POSTSCRIPT.
The Bents' studio apartment proved to be exactly the thing for Mrs. Brown and the girls, and arrangements were made with the artist and his wife to have it turned over to them in ten days, which would just fill out their time at Maison Pace.
The apartment consisted of a large studio, kitchenette and two small bedrooms. The plan was for Mrs. Brown to have one of the bedrooms and Elise O'Brien the other, while Molly and Judy, to their unbounded delight, were to sleep in a balcony that ran across one end of the studio. The Marquise d'Ochtè explained to them that this was quite customary in Bohemia, and that she and her husband had occupied a similar roost for several years during their early married life.
"I am versed in many a makeshift and this minute could come to live in the Latin Quarter on half of what you, with your extravagant American notions, will spend," declared the marchioness, as she showed our friends over the apartment. "Now this is my advice for the conducting of your ménage, Milly, but I am not like Henny Pace to get riled if you do not take it. Get your own breakfast, which is a simple matter in France, having fresh rolls and butter sent in every morning and making your own coffee or chocolate; take your déjeuner à la fourchette, I mean your luncheon at a restaurant; and then leave your dinners to circumstances, sometimes having them at home or going out as the occasion offers.
"Get a servant to come in and clean for you every morning by the hour, but do not have a regular bonne. It would be a useless expense and then there is no sense in your having to slave over housekeeping. The way for foreigners to become acquainted with Paris is to see the restaurants, and there are so many you need not get tired of the cooking in any one. All I ask of you is to have a regular Kentucky supper for me some night with——but never mind what with, it will be sure to be what I want if Molly cooks it."