"I'd rather smell spinach than American Beauties," she said to herself, "and potato salad beats potpourri."
Her couch was clean and the sheets smelled of lavender. Marie, the little daughter-in-law, had been a _blanchisseuse de fin_ before she became the bride of Jean Tricot. She still plied her trade on the family linen and everything she touched was snow white and beautifully ironed. The clothes were carried by her to the public laundry; there she washed them and then brought them home to iron.
As Judy lay on the soft, clean couch, sniffing the mingled smells of shop and kitchen and fresh sheets, she thanked her stars that she was not alone in the Bents' studio, wondering what she was to do about breakfast and a little nervous at every sound heard during the night.
Even the bravest feels a little squeamish when absolutely alone through the long night. Judy was brave, her father's own daughter, but those nights alone in the studio in Rue Brea had got on her nerves. It was just so much harder because of the gay, jolly winter spent in the place.
"I feel like one who treads alone Some banquet hall, deserted,"
expressed her sentiments exactly. Once she dreamed that Molly Brown was standing over her with a cup of hot coffee, which was one of Molly's ways. She was always spoiling people and often would appear at the bed side with matutinal coffee. The dream came after a particularly lonesome evening. She thought that as Molly stood over her, her hand shook and some of the coffee splashed on her face. She awoke with a start to find her face wet with hot tears.
Here at the Tricots, life was quite different. Mère and Père Tricot were playing a happy duet through the night with comfortable snores. Marie could be heard cooing to her baby as she nursed it and the baby making inarticulate gurgles of joy at being nourished. The feeling of having human beings near by was most soothing. Judy did not mind the snores, but rejoiced in them. Even when the baby cried, as it did once in the night, she smiled happily.
"Edwin, Kent has been gone over two weeks now and not one word from him," announced Molly when Mr. Bud Woodsmall had come and gone, leaving no mail of any great importance. "I can see Mother is very uneasy, although she doesn't say a word."