Flat Stanley's Worldwide Adventures #11 (3 page)

“We do not know,” Agent Lunette said. A statue of a woman with wings but no head towered over them. “They were swapped with fakes, without anyone noticing until it was too late.”

They walked through hall after hall lined with paintings in gold-colored frames and filled with glowing faces against dark backgrounds.

Finally Agent Lunette and the other officer set the crate down gently. “Because of the thefts, all museums in Paris are closing early. The Louvre will close at three o'clock this afternoon. You will guard the
Mona Lisa
until then.”

Agent Lunette carefully lifted Stanley's frame and peered into his eyes. “You are a spy here, Monsieur Lambchop,” he whispered. “Do not give yourself away. Do not smile. Do not sneeze. Do not move a muscle. You are a great painting by a Renaissance master. Act like it.”

“Absolument!
” said Stanley, pulling himself up straighter as he said his fourth French phrase. Agent Lunette hung him carefully on the wall and stepped back to assess the painting. Then he moved forward and straightened Stanley's frame.

“Très bien
,” he said. “That means ‘very good.'”

He turned to walk away. “If by some chance you are stolen, do not panic,” Agent Lunette murmured. “We will find you eventually.”

Stanley's eyes widened. “What?”

Agent Lunette looked at his watch. “The museum opens in three minutes and will remain open until three o'clock. After that, you will be able to stretch your legs before returning to your aunt's for dinner at seven.
Bonne chance
, Monsieur Lambchop.” And then he translated: “Good luck.” He marched out of the room without another word.

Stanley adjusted his arms and was freezing himself into position when he looked up and saw her. Directly across from him, on the opposite wall of the gallery, was the most famous painting of all: the
Mona Lisa.

It was much smaller than Stanley had expected—no larger than one of the big art books his parents kept in the living room. But even from here, he could see her face: She had the slightest trace of a smile, as if she knew a secret. Her hands were folded calmly before her.

“Mr. Dart says
bonjour
,” Stanley whispered.

Moments later the gallery began filling with people. Stanley quickly made his face a blank. A crowd gathered around the
Mona Lisa
, with many people jostling one another to take a photograph of her. Stanley kept his eyes trained on her smile.

It wasn't easy. Every time someone came close to Stanley's painting, he grew terribly nervous.

A group of Asian tourists talked excitedly about his painting for a long time. They must know I'm a fake! he thought.

A man in dark sunglasses studied Stanley's frame. He's plotting to steal me! thought Stanley.

A little girl pointed right at him. She can see my heart beating! thought Stanley.

But eventually everyone moved on to the next painting. Hundreds of people from all over the world walked by. Some barely glanced at Stanley. Some studied him silently for minutes on end.

Hours passed. Stanley grew tired.
Mona Lisa
continued to smile her mysterious smile.

Then a pair of young men walked up and stood in front of Stanley. One said, “Here's another one! Why is everyone in these paintings so serious?”

“Yeah,” said the other. “It's like the
Mona Lisa
is the only one with a sense of humor around this place.”

Stanley imagined the
Mona Lisa
bursting into laughter. And in that moment he was overcome by an emotion far worse than nervousness or boredom.

Oh no! he thought. I'm getting the giggles!

He bit the inside of his lip.

A woman with an English accent observed Stanley's painting and dryly told her husband, “This painting is more lifelike than you are.”

Stanley's sides ached from holding in laughter.

Then a pair of French girls about his age came up to look at him. They were wearing school uniforms. The one on the right had big blue eyes and shiny dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She tilted her head, looked at Stanley's face, and murmured something to her friend. They both burst out laughing.

At that moment Stanley couldn't help himself! A loud guffaw escaped his lips!

The girls gasped in shock.

An Artist's Eye

Stanley froze quickly. His face went slack. His eyes focused on
Mona Lisa
's smile.

The girls stared, their mouths hanging open. One of them imitated the sound of Stanley's momentary burst of laughter. They giggled and whispered to each other.

Suddenly their teacher appeared behind them. She was a tall spidery woman in a long black dress. She said something quick and stern in French. The girls looked at the floor and mumbled apologetically.

One of the girls went across the gallery to the
Mona Lisa.
The girl with blue eyes stayed where she was, pulled out a sketchbook, peered up at Stanley intently, and started drawing.

Stanley had never seen a person concentrate so hard. As she worked with her pencil and eraser, feelings blew across the girl's face like seasons: She was disappointed, then frustrated, and finally pleased.

Stanley was very, very curious: What did her drawing look like? Did it look like him?

After nearly an hour, the girl paused. She held the book at arm's length, judging her work. Stanley's curiosity got the best of him, and he peeled his head forward to see.

The girl looked up, and he immediately snapped back into place.

Her big blue eyes narrowed. She took a step forward, studying him more closely than ever.

Stanley didn't dare move. The
Mona Lisa
was smiling as if she knew what a fool he'd been.

Then the strict teacher's voice barked something, and the girl snapped to attention. She fumbled to put away her pencil and sketchbook.

A guard by the door made an announcement, and people started exiting the gallery. The museum was closing!

The girl crept close to Stanley's painting.
“Au revoir
,” she whispered, and rushed out after her classmates. As she did, her sketchbook, which she'd shoved into a pocket of her satchel, fell out and onto the floor.

Stanley almost called out after her, but he caught himself. Soon the gallery was empty.

When he was sure the coast was clear, Stanley slipped from his frame and dropped to the floor. Creeping over to the girl's sketchbook, he picked it up, opened it, and found page after page of sketches—one painting after another, drawn in fine detail. There was even one of the
Mona Lisa.
Finally Stanley came to the girl's latest sketch.

Stanley was impressed. It looked just like him, except with a beard and a floppy hat. The girl with big blue eyes was very,
very
talented.

He turned back to the front cover. It read:

Le livre du

Etoile Dubois

L'école d'Art

22 rue d'Excaver

Montmartre, Paris

Her name is Etoile, Stanley realized. I have to return this to her!

Stanley looked up at the
Mona Lisa.
No one had tried to steal her . . . yet. She was safe for the night. Surely it would be okay for Stanley to stretch his legs after hanging on the wall all day—as long as he stayed in disguise and was back at his aunt's in time for dinner?

Stanley crept through the museum, moving silently along the walls and floors. He slipped behind one guard, and then another. He passed paintings by artists with names like Degas and Caravaggio. Stanley slithered down a staircase. He passed the pale bust of a woman whose arms had broken off; a sign said she was called
Venus de Milo.

Finally Stanley found his way back to the front of the museum. The last of the visitors were leaving, and he caught a glimpse of a girl in a school uniform and a dark ponytail walking out the front doors—Etoile!

Stanley slipped into the coatroom. In a corner he found a large cardboard box labeled
Perdus et Trouvés.
Inside was a jumble of items, including clothing, umbrellas, and hats. This must be the lost and found, Stanley realized. He rummaged through the box and found a trench coat, a scarf, a dark hat, gloves, and tall boots. The coat and the boots were a little big, but Stanley felt that his shape was well hidden. He found a box of tissues and took off his beard and makeup. Then he put Etoile's sketchbook in the coat's pocket.

He walked out of the coatroom, across the lobby, and into the sunshine.