She did not say that she half expected Mr. Kinsella back that afternoon and could not bear to be out of Paris when he returned. Mr. Kinsella had been off on a three weeks' jaunt, and during his absence Elise had taken herself severely to task for her behavior to him and to everyone. She had reasoned herself into seeing how absurd her jealousy was toward Judy, and when Mr. Kinsella should return, he was to find a much chastened Elise.
"But, Judy," continued Elise, "if you do go, you will skip a criticism from the master; and then, isn't it a little imprudent for you to go out to the country all alone?"
"Oh, I am glad to skip a criticism from old C——, he is such an old fogy. All he can say is: 'Ça va mieux, mademoiselle, ça va mieux!' As for being imprudent going to the country alone, why, I am surely big enough, old enough and ugly enough to take care of myself," and Judy made a face and assumed a militant air.
"Well, you are ridiculous enough to carry through any project," laughed Elise. "And where will you go, you big, ugly, old thing?"
"Oh, not far. St. Cloud, perhaps. I fancy I'll be back before you get home. I am not so crazy about being by myself when I once get there. I am a gregarious animal when all is told. Good-by, my love to old C——," and Judy swung off, determined to take one of the little boats to St. Cloud.
It was a glorious day. The water of the Seine was clear and blue; the little boats were puffing up and down; the fishermen lined the walls and patiently and diligently cast their hooks. Judy stood on the Pont Neuf glad she was living; glad she was in Paris and had eyes to see it and ears to hear it; glad of her truancy; gladdest of all when one old fisherman actually caught a fish and she was there to behold it. She had been told that none were ever caught, that the fishermen sat there day after day, year after year, with never a reward for their patience. She wandered up the quay, not certain whether she would take a boat to St. Cloud or go to the station and catch a train for Versailles. As she loafed along, an ogling old man joined her and with voluble protestations assured her of his admiration of her beauty. Judy gave him a withering glance and, quickening her pace, soon left him far behind.
"That is exactly what Papa warned me against," she thought. "He said: 'Never loaf along the streets when you are alone. Have some business to attend to and attend to it and no one will have anything to say to you.' I must assume some business if I have it not."
She accordingly put on an air of great purpose, grasped her sketching kit very firmly, and went and got on a little "penny puff puff" that was just starting out for Sèvres and St. Cloud.
St. Cloud was beautiful, indeed. The sap was rising in the trees and a few buds were showing their noses on bush and shrub. There was a haze over everything like a tulle veil, and Judy had an idea if that would lift, she could catch a glimpse of spring. She remembered that these groves were the ones that Corot loved to paint and indeed the effect was very much that obtained by that great artist: a soft, lovely, misty atmosphere, with vistas through the trees, and an occasional glimpse of shining water. Judy made several tiny "postage stamp" sketches. "Taking notes from nature," she called it.
"I wish some nymphs would come dancing out now," she exclaimed. "Corot could call them up at any time, and why not I? 'I can call spirits from the vasty deep. And so can I, and so can any man; but will they come when you do call them thus?'" No nymphs came, but a wedding party appeared, the buxom bride dressed in white with a long veil and wreath of artificial orange blossoms, the groom in dress coat, gray trousers, and red cravat.