And she piloted them about, the parson and
Mrs. Henderson joining their group; the others, with the exception of
the little Widow Gray, who stayed at home to look over Adela's clothes,
and take any last stitches, going off by themselves.
"I do want to see the Venus de Milo," said Polly, quite gone with
impatience. "Oh, Adela, these paintings will wait."
"Well, that old statue will wait, too," cried Adela, pulling her off
into another gallery. "Now, Polly, Mademoiselle says, in point of art,
the pictures in here are quite important."
"Are they?" said poor Polly, listlessly.
"Yes, they are," said Adela, twitching her sleeve, "and Mademoiselle
brings us in this room every single time we come to the Louvre."
"It's the early French school, you know," she brought up glibly.
"Well, it's too early for us to take it in," said Tom. "Come, I'm for
the Venus de Milo. It's this way;" and Adela was forced to follow,
which she did in a discontented fashion.
"Oh!" cried Polly, catching her breath, and standing quite still as she
caught sight of the wonderful marble, instinct with life, at the end of
the long corridor below stairs. "Why, she's smiling at us," as the
afternoon sunshine streamed across the lovely face, to lose itself in
the folds of the crimson curtain in the background.
The parson folded his arms and drew in long breaths of delight. "It's
worth fifty journeys over the ocean to once see that, Sarah," he said.
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