to
Molly most wonderful and touching; but when the mother came in and
berated the lover, _Julien_, as "a rascal, a starveling, a dissipator";
and when _Louise_ defended him as being "so good, so courageous," and
the mother retaliated by calling him the pillar of a wine shop and
attempted to beat her daughter, Molly covered her eyes and wept, all
unconscious of the amused glances of the occupants of the neighboring
box.

But in a moment she was watching again: The father has come in and there
is some sort of reconciliation between him and Louise, although her
mother is still furious and slaps her in the face when she takes up for
him; then the father interferes and embraces _Louise_, and they are
finally all seated around the table, the mother with her sewing, the
father with his pipe, when _Louise_ starts to read aloud from the
newspaper: "The Spring Season is most brilliant. All Paris is in holiday
garb." _Louise_ stops reading and after a moment sobs: "Paris----" and
the curtain slowly descends.

There was a storm of applause, and Molly came to the realization that
she was in a fair way to have a red nose if she did not control her
emotions. She gave a sad little smile and hoped that Philippe would talk
to Judy and let her be sure of herself before she trusted her voice.

As she looked out over the "sea of upturned faces," she saw Mr. Kinsella
and Pierce in the pit. They were applauding vigorously but Mr. Kinsella
had an eye on their box, evidently in hopes of recognition. Molly gave
him a delighted bow and then told her mother and the marchioness of his
presence. The marquis overheard her remark.

"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'Ochte 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