CHAPTER THREE
The Escape from the Dungeon
Paulsaw her almost at once and quickly shook his head, and Flip heaved a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, oh, thank goodness, Jackie and Solvei had their backs to the door and had seen neither Paul nor his signal.
But Jackie said, "What's the matter, Pill? You look as though you'd seen a ghost."
Flip pretended to choke and said, "I just swallowed the wrong way. May I have the butter, please, Solvei?"
2
On ThursdayFlip received one of the proprietary letters from Eunice that always upset her. Luckily she was assigned to Madame Perceval's table that day, and this special stroke of luck cheered her a little, for Madame Perceval's tact and humor seemed to act like a magnet drawing everyone into awarm circle of friendliness and sympathy. Erna was with her again and said as they sat down after grace, "We seem to stick together like glue, don't we, Pill?"
Flip nodded and grinned, because Erna's tone had been friendly.
During dinner they began discussing their parents. Esmée Bodet's father was a lawyer. Erna's father was a surgeon and had done operations on the battlefields. Polly Huber, an American girl from Alabama who had been at the school for three years, had a father who was a newspaper man, and Maggie Campbell's father taught Greek at the University of Edinburgh.
"And your father's a painter, isn't he, Pill?" Erna asked.
"Yes."
"Well, our house needs painting. Do you think he'd do it cheap for us since I know you?"
All the girls laughed loudly except Flip, who colored angrily and looked down at her plate with a sulky expression.
After dinner when everybody stood up, Madame Perceval said quietly to Flip, "Please wait, Philippa." And all the girls exchanged glances, because that was the tone Madame used when she was not pleased and intended to say so. Flip stood nervously behind her chair and looked down at the table with the empty dessert dishes and the crumbs scattered about and at Madame Perceval's coffee cup with a small amount of dark liquid left in the bottom.
"Philippa," Madame said gravely when they had the dining room to themselves except for the maids who were clearing away, "I haven't seen you a great deal with the other girls but several of the teachers have told me that you are alwaysoff somewhere sulking and that your attitude is unfriendly in the extreme."
"I don't mean to sulk," Flip said. "I didn't know I sulked. And I don't mean to be unfriendly. I don't, truly, Madame." If I had been thinking of Paul instead of Eunice I wouldn't have behaved the way I did, she thought.
"When Erna suggested that your father paint her house she was making a joke and you took it seriously and looked hurt and wounded."
"I know," Flip said. "It was stupid of me."
"But you always do it, don't you?"
"Yes," Flip admitted. "I guess I do, most of the time."
"I know you're not happy here, Philippa, but when you make it so easy for the girls to tease you, you can't blame them for taking advantage of it. Girls can be very cruel, especially when they get the idea that someone is 'different'."
"But Iamdifferent," Flip said desperately.
"Why?"
"I'm so clumsy and I'm the tallest girl in the class. I'm as tall as lots of the seniors. And I fall over things and I'm not good at athletics, and I wasn't blitzed or underground or anything during the war."
Now Madame Perceval sounded really severe. "I didn't expect to hear you talk quite so foolishly, Philippa. You are tall, yes, but you can turn that into an advantage later on. And perhaps right now you're a little awkward, but you'll outgrow that. Incidentally, have you forgotten that Maggie Campbell's sister, Liz, has a brace on her leg? and she's one of the most popular girls in her class. And as for being blitzed or underground, remember that the girls who are in the difficult and defensive position are the German girls.They've had a hard time of it here, some of them. It wasn't easy for Erna, for instance."
"Yes," Flip persisted stubbornly, "but they were all in it and I wasn't in it at all."
"Neither were the other Americans," Madame said sharply. "I'm beginning to realize what the other teachers meant."
Flip looked as though Madame Perceval had struck her. She pleaded, "Please don't hate me because I've been the—the way I've been. Please. I'll try not to be. I'll try to be different. I do try. I just don't seem to know how. But I'll try harder. And I know it's all my own fault. Truly."
"Very well," Madame Perceval said. "Go on back to the Common Room now until time for Study Hall."
"Yes, Madame." Flip started to leave but when she got to the dining room she turned and said desperately, "Madame, thank you for telling me. I—I guess I needed to be told how awful I am."
For the first time Madame Perceval smiled at her, but all she said was, "All right, Philippa. Run along." And she gave her a little spank.
3
Flipspent the rest of the week waiting for Saturday and sighed with relief when Paul was at his usual place by the shutter when she reached the chateau. Ariel ran dashing to meet her, jumping up and down and barking. I feel as though I'd come home, Flip thought as she waved at Paul.
"Hello, Flip!" Paul called. "Down, Ariel! Down! Come here this instant, sir!"
Ariel went bounding back to Paul who held him by the collar and Flip thought again how much he looked like the page in the tapestry.
"Hello," she said, her heart leaping with pleasure because Paul was so obviously glad to see her. She had dug Eunice's discarded gift of Chanel No. 5 out of her bottom drawer and put a little behind her ears, and had brushed her hair until it shone.
"Come on," Paul urged. "I want to show you something." He went into the chateau and Flip and Ariel followed. They went across the empty hall and up the wide stairs, then down a broad corridor and up more stairs, and it seemed that every time Paul led her down a dim passage there was another flight of stairs at the end. At last he opened a door and started up a very steep, circular iron stairway. Openings were cut in the thick stones of the walls and through them Flip could see the sky, very blue, and puffs of snowy clouds. The stairs were white with bird droppings and Flip could hear the birds just above their heads. A swallow sat on the stones of one of the openings and watched them. Ariel laboriously climbed up three steps, then sat down to wait, a patient expression on his ferocious bulldog's countenance. Flip followed Paul on up. At the top of the stairs was a small platform and more openings looking out over the country on all four sides. The birds flew in and out, scolding excitedly. Flip rushed to one of the windows and there was the valley of the Rhône spread out before her, Montreux and Territet, Vevey and Lausanne, lying in a pool of violet shadows, and the lake like melted silver and across the lake the mountains rising proudly into the sky, with the snow descending further and further down their strong flanks in ever-lengthening streaks.
"Like it?" Paul asked.
"Oh—yes!" Flip breathed. "Oh, Paul—"
"This is my place," Paul said. "I never thought I'd bring anyone here. But I knew you'd feel about it the way I do."
Paul leaned back against the cold stones of the turret wall, his scarlet sweater bright against the grey stone. "Still worrying about that Eunice?"
"I can't help it," Flip said.
"School any better?"
"No."
"Still hate it?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't blame you. It must be very unpleasant living in an institution."
"I don't think it's the school," Flip told him with unwilling honesty. "I think it's just me. Lots of the girls love it."
Paul shook his head. "I don't think I'd ever like a place where I couldn't leave when I chose."
"I'd like it better," Flip said with difficulty, "if anybody liked me. But nobody does." She leaned her elbows on one of the ledges and stared out over the valley towards the Dents du Midi so that she would not have to look at Paul.
"Why don't they like you?" Paul asked.
"I don't know."
"But I like you."
Flip did not insult him by saying "do you really?" Instead she asked, "Why do you like me, Paul?"
Paul considered. "I knew right away that I liked you so I never bothered to think why. I just—well, I like the way you look. Your eyes are nice. I like the way you see things. And I like the way you move your hands. You couldbe a surgeon if you wanted to. But you want to be an artist."
"Yes," Flip said, blushing at his words. "I want to paint and paint. Everything in the world. Mostly people, though.
"Paul—" she asked, hesitantly.
"What?"
"It doesn't make you like me any less because—"
"Because what?"
"Because the girls at school don't like me...."
Paul looked at her severely. "You can't think much of me if you think I'd stop liking you just because a few silly girls in school haven't any sense. If they don't like you, it's because they don't know you. That's all."
"It's funny," Flip said, "how you can know someone for years and years and never know them and how you can know someone else all at once in no time at all. I'll never know Eunice. I'll always feel funny with her. But the very first day I saw you I felt as though I knew you, and when I'm with you I can talk.... I'd better go now. It's getting awfully late. See how dark the towns are getting down by the lake."
"Can you come back tomorrow?" Paul asked.
"Yes. I know they'll catch me sooner or later and then it'll be awful, but I'll come till they catch me."
"They wouldn't give you permission to see me if you asked?"
"Oh, no! Nobody except seniors are allowed to see boys—except brothers."
"Well—I'll think of something." Paul sounded so convincing that Flip almost believed he really would be able to work out a plan. "Come on," he said. "Ariel and I'll walk as faras the woods with you but I think it would be dangerous if I went any further. We mustn't run any risk of being seen together."
As she followed Paul down from the tower Flip felt so happy over their friendship that she almost wanted to cry, it was so wonderful. She said good-bye to Paul at the edge of the woods and was nearly back at school when something terrible almost happened. She had cleared the ring of trees and was scurrying across the lawn, when Martha Downs and Kaatje van Leyden came around the corner of the building. Flip saw them and started to hurry towards the side door, but Martha called her. Flip was awed by both of them at the best of times—Martha, the beautiful and popular Head Girl of the school, and Kaatje, the equally popular and formidable Games Captain and Head Monitor; and Flip knew that this was anything but the best of times. She felt as though her guilt were sticking all over her like molasses.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Martha asked.
"Nowhere," Flip answered. "I just went for a walk."
"All by yourself?"
"Yes."
"Couldn't you find anyone to go with you?"
"I wanted to be by myself," Flip said.
"That's all right," Kaatje interposed kindly. "We all like to be by ourselves once in a while. She wasn't breaking any rules."
Flip was sure that they would ask her where she had been, but Martha said instead, "You're Philippa Hunter, aren't you?"
Flip nodded.
"I'm glad we bumped into you," Martha told her. "I've been meaning to look you up. I had a letter a few days ago from a friend of my mother's, Mrs. Jackman."
"Oh," Flip said.
"And she asked me to keep an eye on you."
"Oh," Flip said again. Why did Eunice have to pursue her even at school?
"She said she was a very dear friend of your father's, and that it was through her you had come here."
That's right, Flip thought. It's all because of Eunice.
But she knew she couldn't really blame Eunice and anyhow, now that there was Paul, being miserable while she was actually at the school didn't matter so much any more.
"Everything all right?" Martha asked. "You're all settled and everything?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Anything I can do for you?"
"No, thank you."
"Well, if you ever want me for anything, just come along and give a bang on my study door."
"I will. Thank you very much," Flip said, knowing that she wouldn't. And she went back into the Common Room and sat at the big billiard table, a legacy from the days when the school had been a hotel, and tried to write a letter to her father. But she could not concentrate. Images of Eunice kept crowding themselves into her mind. Eunice. Eunice and her father. Once Eunice had even said to her something about her father being young and probably marrying again—but not Eunice! Please, not anybody, but especially please, not Eunice!
4
The nextmorning when she woke up, Flip's throat was raw and her head was hot and when she opened her mouth to speak her voice came out in a hoarse croak.
"You'd better report to the nurse," Erna told her.
Flip shook her head violently. "I'm all right. Just getting a cold."
"Sounds as though you'd got one, ducky," Gloria said.
"Oh, well, it's nothing," Flip creaked in a voice like a rusty hinge.
Nothing, she thought, nothing must keep her from going up to the chateau to see Paul.
Fortunately it was Sunday and breakfast was unsupervised; she might have escaped detection if it hadn't been for Madame Perceval. Madame Perceval was planning an art exhibit and, after chapel, she came into the Common Room and walked over to the corner where Flip sat, readingAnna Karenina.
"Philippa," she said as Flip scrambled clumsily to her feet.
"Yes, Madame?"
"I want to use two of your paintings in my exhibit and you haven't signed either of them. Come up to the Studio with me and do it now."
"Yes, Madame," Flip croaked.
"What on earth is the matter with your voice, child?"
"Oh, nothing, Madame, really. I'm just a little hoarse."
"After you've finished signing your pictures you'd better report to Mlle. Duvoisine."
Mlle. Duvoisine was the school nurse and since she wasa special friend of Miss Tulip's, Flip rather distrusted her. "Oh, no, Madame, I'm all right, truly. Please, I promise you."
"We'll leave that up to Mlle. Duvoisine. Come along, please, Philippa."
As they walked along the corridor and started up the stairs Madame Perceval said in her pleasant voice, "You've been trying hard, Philippa. Keep it up."
Flip bowed her head and muttered something unintelligible, blushing with pleasure that her efforts had been noticed.
After she had signed her pictures, writingHUNTERcarefully in one corner the way her father did, Madame Perceval walked back to the infirmary with her. Mlle. Duvoisine was sitting at the infirmary desk, knitting a heather-colored sweater, and she looked up and dropped a stitch as they approached.
Madame Perceval smiled. "Pick up your stitch," she said. "We can wait."
Mlle. Duvoisine picked up her stitch, rolled up the knitting, put it in a drawer, and said, "There. Now what can I do for you, Madame Perceval?"
Madame Perceval pushed Flip forward. "This child sounds like a frog with a cold and I thought you'd better have a look at her."
"Open your mouth," Mlle. Duvoisine said to Flip. She peered down her throat, said "hm," and pulled her thermometer out of her pocket, popping it in Flip's mouth.
Madame Perceval sat on the desk, opened the drawer and pulled out the sweater. "A work of art," she sighed. "My knitting always looks as though a cat had nested in it."
"My skiing looks as though I had my skis on backwards," Mlle. Duvoisine said. "Radio says snow tonight. What do you think?"
"Smells like it, and it's about time we had some. Fräulein Hauser's been opening the window in the faculty room every ten minutes to sniff the air, and freezing the rest of us to death."
Mlle. Duvoisine drew the thermometer out of Flip's mouth and looked at it. "Well, it's barely ninety-nine, but with that throat and voice I think you'd better come to the infirmary over night, Philippa. You won't be missing any classes. If your temperature's normal tomorrow I'll let you up."
"Oh, please!" Flip begged, dismay flooding her face. "Please don't make me go to bed, please! I feel wonderful, just wonderful, really!" Her voice cracked and almost disappeared.
"I knew the infirmary was referred to as the Dungeon," Mlle. Duvoisine said, "but I didn't think it was considered as terrible as all that. Go get your night things and your toothbrush, Philippa."
"But I'm not sick," Flip protested hoarsely.
Mlle. Duvoisine looked at Madame Perceval and raised her eyebrows. "I don't want any more nonsense," she said briskly. "Go get your things and be back here in ten minutes."
Flip opened her mouth to speak again, but Madame Perceval said quietly, "Philippa," and she turned and ran miserably down the corridor.
"Really!" she heard Mlle. Duvoisine exclaim. "Now what's the matter with the child?"
Oh, dear, Flip thought. Now Madame will think I'm sulking again and Paul will think I've broken my word.
And she gathered up her pajamas and toothbrush and trailed miserably back to the infirmary.
5
When shewas in bed with the hot water bottle Mlle. Duvoisine had brought her as a peace offering, she could think of nothing but way after impossible way to let Paul know why she couldn't come to the chateau that afternoon.
"You look as though you had something on your mind, Philippa." Mlle. Duvoisine said when she brought in the lunch tray.
"I have," Flip answered in the strange raucous voice that issued in so unwelcome a manner from her throat. "Please, couldn't I get up, Mlle. Duvoisine? I'm not sick, truly, and I do so hate being in bed."
"What is this nonsense?" Mlle. Duvoisine asked sharply. "You can hear what you sound like yourself. I know you aren't ill, but I have you in bed so that you won't be, and so that you won't give your germs to anyone else. If you dislike me so intensely that you can't bear to be around me, just get well as quickly as you can."
"Oh, no, Mlle. Duvoisine, it isn't that!" Flip protested. "It isn't anything to do with you. I just promised someone I'd do something this afternoon, and I don't know what they'll think if I don't keep my word."
"I can give anyone a message for you, explaining that you're in the infirmary," Mlle. Duvoisine said, and her voice was kind.
"I'm afraid you couldn't, to this person," Flip answered mournfully. "Thank you ever so much anyhow, Mlle. Duvoisine, and I'm sorry to be such a bother."
"All right, Philippa." Mlle. Duvoisine put the lunch tray down and left.
When she brought in Flip's tea she said, "Since you're the only victim in my dungeon at present, Philippa, I think I'll run down to the Faculty Room for an hour. If you want me for anything all you need do is press that button. It's connected with the Faculty Room as well as my desk and Miss Tulip or I will come right away."
"Thank you very much," Flip said. "I'm sure I won't need anything."
"I've filled your hot water bottle for you," Mademoiselle said kindly, and stopped at the window screwing in the top. "It's just beginning to snow. Now Fräulein Hauser and Madame Perceval and all the skiers will be happy. Sure you don't mind my leaving you?"
"Oh, no, Mademoiselle!"
This was the opportunity Flip had not dared hope for. When Mlle. Duvoisine had left she sprang out of bed and got her clothes out of the closet. She dressed without giving herself time to think. If Mlle. Duvoisine were going to be gone an hour she would have just time, if she ran, to get to the chateau, tell Paul what had happened, and get back to the infirmary. That is, as long as she wasn't caught. But she knew that she must not let herself even think about being caught. Desperately she shoved her pillows under the covers so that they looked like someone asleep, peered out the door, saw that the way down the corridor was clear, and pelted for the back stairs. The girls were strictly forbidden to use the back stairs which afforded a means of entrance and exit that could not be detected by the teacher on duty at the desk in the lounge, but Flip was too desperate to care. When she gotout the small back door she looked around wildly, and ran for the woods like one pursued. Thank heaven everyone was at tea. When she got in sight of the chateau she was winded, her knee ached, and her hair was flecked with the first falling flakes of snow. She did not see Paul and her heart sank.
"Paul!" Flip cried, her throat dry, her voice coming out in an ineffectual squeak. "Paul!"
There was no answer. She tried to call again but this time her voice seemed to have left her completely and only her lips shaped the syllables of Paul's name. Then she heard the familiar baying bark and Ariel came bounding out of the chateau to meet her, jumping up at her and knocking her down in his pleasure. She scrambled to her feet, hugging him on the way up, and then she saw Paul come running around a corner of the chateau.
"What happened to you, Flip!" he cried. "I thought you weren't coming."
"So did I," Flip croaked, "and I can't stay."
"What's the matter with your voice?"
"I have a cold, they've got me in the infirmary, I managed to escape but I've got to rush back or I'll be caught, I'll come next Saturday unless something awful happens to keep me away." The words came out in one hoarse gasp.
"Flip, you idiot!" Paul cried. "What do you mean by coming here."
"But I said I'd come!" Flip panted. "I've got to get back."
"Not until you rest and get your breath back," Paul commanded. "You'll make yourself really ill."
"But, Paul," Flip wailed, "I'vegotto get back. If Mlle. Duvoisine finds out I've gone I'll be expelled!" Tears rushed to her eyes.
Paul took her hand and shook his head. "Flip, Flip," he said. "Don't you realize what a little idiot you were to make this dangerous trip just to tell me youcouldn'tcome? You should know that I understand you well enough to know that if you didn't come you'd have a reason. You should never have gotten out of bed and come all this way through the snow. But—" and suddenly his eyes were warm with affection. "It was just like you to do it. Now, go back and take care of yourself."
"I will—good-bye." And she turned back down the mountain.
Flip ran. Going down the mountain was quicker, though not much easier, than coming up had been. Several times she slipped on the wet pine needles and almost fell. The snow was coming more thickly now, and a cloud had folded itself about the school, so that its outlines were lost in grey fuzziness. As she slipped in the small side door she heard someone coming down the back stairs. It was Fräulein Hauser, on her way to the ski room to wax her skis. Flip pressed into the shadows, until Fräulein Hauser passed on down the damp corridor and then Flip suddenly wilted against the wall. But every moment that she was away from the infirmary was dangerous; there was no time for her to lean there limply and catch her breath; so she gave herself a shake and hurried up the stairs. She opened the door at the third floor and peered out. The corridor was empty. She held her breath and ran for the infirmary, and opened the door a crack. Mlle. Duvoisine's desk was unoccupied. She made a mad dash for her room, threw off her clothes, dumped them onto the floor of the closet, and scrambled into bed, pushing the pillows out of her way.
She was safe.
She lay in bed, her heart knocking against her chest. Through the window she could see the snow coming down in great soft white petals. The snow clouds in which the school lay obscured everything. She could not see the Dents du Midi or the lake or even the big elm trees that girdled the school. Everything was a soft grey filled with the gently dropping snow.
She was still a little shaky when Mlle. Duvoisine came in. "All right, Philippa?"
"Yes, thank you, Mlle. Duvoisine." She hoped the hoarseness would account for the breathlessness of her voice.
Mlle. Duvoisine took her pulse. "Good heavens, child, your pulse is racing," she exclaimed, and took Flip's temperature. But the thermometer registered only ninety-nine. Mlle. Duvoisine put her hand on Flip's forehead and Flip was terrified that the nurse would feel her wet hair, but all she said was, "Have you been asleep? Have you too many covers? You seem to be perspiring."
"I'm very comfortable," Flip told her. "The hot water bottle's lovely. I hope you had a pleasant tea, Mademoiselle."
"Yes. Thanks. Everybody's very pleased about the snow though Madame Perceval says it's going to stop soon and there won't be enough for skiing."
"In Connecticut where I was born," Flip said, trying to sound casual so that Mlle. Duvoisine would think she had just been lying in the bed all afternoon, "people talk about the first snowfly. I think that's beautiful, don't you? Snowfly."
"Yes, beautiful," Mlle. Duvoisine said. "Think you can eat your supper?"
"Oh, yes," Flip cried hoarsely. "I'm famished." And she was.
6
Mlle. Dragonetmade it a practice to visit the girls in the infirmary, and she came to see Flip that evening, sitting in her erect, stiff manner in the chair Mlle. Duvoisine had drawn up for her. It was the first time Flip had spoken to the principal since the first day of school, and she was very nervous. Mlle. Dragonet held herself aloof from the girls, delegating many duties that would ordinarily have been hers to Madame Perceval, and the bravest of them regarded her with timidity. She conducted a class in seventeenth century French literature for the seniors; she held Morning Exercises in the Assembly Hall; and once a week she presided over a faculty table in the dining room. The little visits to the infirmary were more dreaded than anticipated by the girls, and Flip had forgotten all about the prospect in the other excitements of the day until Mlle. Duvoisine announced Mlle. Dragonet's arrival.
"I'm sorry to hear you aren't well, Philippa," the principal said formally.
"Oh, I'm fine, really, thank you, Mlle. Dragonet," Flip croaked.
"Mlle. Duvoisine tells me you haven't much fever."
"Oh, no, Mlle. Dragonet." Flip looked at the principal and realized with a start that she bore a faint family resemblance to her niece. The thin, aristocratic nose was very like Madame Perceval's, and there was a similarity in the shape of the mouth, though Madame Perceval's had a sweetness that Mlle.Dragonet's lacked. But there was the same flash of humor in the eyes, which were the same gold-flecked grey.
As though reading her thoughts, Mlle. Dragonet said, "Madame Perceval tells me your work in her Art classes is very promising."
"Oh," Flip breathed.
"Your scholastic record is in general quite satisfactory."
"Oh," Flip said again.
"I hope you are enjoying school?"
Flip knew that Mlle. Dragonet wanted her to say "yes," so she answered, "Oh, yes, thank you."
"You are enjoying the other girls?"
"Oh, yes, thank you."
"Sometimes the Americans find our European girls are younger for their years, less sophisticated."
"Oh," Flip said. "I hadn't noticed."
"You have friends you enjoy?"
Flip hesitated; then she thought of Paul, and answered, "Oh, yes, thank you."
Mlle. Dragonet rose, and Flip, with sudden insight, realized that the principal, though so calm and fluent when speaking to a group of girls, was almost as shy as she herself was when confronted with an individual, and these infirmary visits cost her a real effort.
Mlle. Dragonet ran her fingers in a tired fashion over her grey hair. "It has been a long day," she said to Flip, "and now the snow has started and the girls will be happy and we will have numerous sprained ankles from over-enthusiastic skiers. But as long as the girls are happy perhaps that is all right. If anything should ever trouble you, remember you have only to come to me."
"Thank you very much, Mlle. Dragonet," Flip said. "I'll remember."
7
Gettingto the chateau was difficult the next Saturday, although Madame Perceval had been right and the snow had stopped and temporarily dashed the skiers' hopes. But enough snow remained on the ground so that Flip put on her spiked ski-boots to help her climb the mountain. Up above her the mountain had a striped, zebra-like look, long streaks of snow alternating with rock or the darker lines of the evergreens. The air was cold and clear and sent the color flying to her cheeks.
Paul greeted her with a relieved shout, crying, "Are you all better, Flip?"
"Oh yes, I feel fine now."
"I was worried about you. I was afraid you might have caught more cold from coming last Sunday. You shouldn't have, you know."
"I had to," Flip said. "I promised."
"I knew something you couldn't help had kept you. Of course I was a little afraid you'd been caught and they were keeping you from coming. Did you have any trouble getting here today? What will you do when there's arealsnow, Flip? You'll never be able to make it."
"I'll make it," Flip assured him. "Where's Ariel?"
"He's home with my father. Flip, I—I've done something that may make you angry."
"What?"
"Well, I got to thinking. It's so terribly cold in the chateau; I'm sure that's why you caught cold, and I didn't think we should go back there in the damp today so I told my father about you. He won't give us away, Flip, I made him promise."
"Are you sure?" Flip asked anxiously.
"Quite sure. My father would never break his word. Anyhow he's a philosopher and things like girls schools and rules and regulations and things don't seem as important to him as they do to other people. He told me to bring you home with me and he said he'd fix some real hot chocolate for us. So come along."
Flip followed Paul over the snow, past the chateau, and down an overgrown driveway. Grass and weeds and bits of stubble poked up through the snow and it did not look like much of a snowfall here though the drifts had seemed formidable enough on her way up the mountain from school.
A tall, stooped man, whom Flip recognized as the one she had seen Paul with in the chalet on the Col de Jaman, met them at the door to the lodge. Ariel came bounding out to welcome them noisily.
"My father," Paul announced formally. "Monsieur Georges Laurens. Papa, my friend, Miss Philippa Hunter."
Georges Laurens bowed. "I am happy indeed to meet you, Miss Hunter. Come in by the fire and get warm." He led them into a room, comfortable from the blazing fire in the stone fireplace, and gently pushed Flip into an easy chair. She looked about her. Two beautiful brocades were hung on the walls and there were what seemed like hundreds of books in improvised bookshelves made of packing cases. Two or three lamps were already lit against the early darkness whichhad settled about the mountain side by this time of the afternoon, and Flip saw a copper saucepan filled with hot chocolate sitting on the hearth.
"Flip's afraid you'll let the cat out of the bag, papa," Paul said.
Georges Laurens took a long spoon, stirred the chocolate, and poured it out. He handed a cup to Flip and pushed Ariel away from the saucepan. "Watch out, you'll burn your nose again." Then he turned to Flip. "Why should I let the cat out of the bag? You aren't doing anyone any harm and you're giving a great deal of pleasure to my lonely Paul. In fact, I like so much the idea of Paul's having your companionship that my only concern is how to help you continue your visits. As soon as we have a heavy snow you won't be able to climb up the mountains through the woods to us, and in any event someone would be sure to find you out sooner or later and you would be forbidden to come if nothing else. These are facts we have to face, isn't that so?"
"Yes, that's so," Flip said.
"She has to come," Paul said very firmly.
Georges Laurens took off his heavy steel-rimmed spectacles and wiped them on his handkerchief. Then he took the tongs and placed another log on the fire. "My suggestion is this: Why don't I go to the headmistress of this school and get permission for Miss Flip to come to tea with us every Saturday or Sunday afternoon. That would be allowed, wouldn't it?"
"I don't know," Flip said. "Esmée Bodet's parents are spending a month in Montreux and she has dinner with them every Sunday. But Paul's a boy and we're not allowed to have dates until we're Seniors."
"I think if I were very charming," Georges Laurens refilled her cup with hot chocolate from the copper saucepan, "I could manage your headmistress. What is her name?"
"Mlle. Dragonet," Flip told him. "We call her The Dragon," she said, then added, remembering the visit in the infirmary, "but she's really quite human."
Georges Laurens laughed. "Well, I shall be St. George, then, and conquer the dragon. I will brave her in her den this very afternoon."
"And now I suggest that you get back to your school and tomorrow we will have a proper visit, and I will come for you and bring you over." He held out his hand. "I promise."
8
It neveroccurred to Flip that on this last forbidden trip to the chateau she might be caught. Luck had been her friendly companion in the venture and now that the visits to Paul were about to be approved by authority, surely fortune would not forsake her. But, just as she came to the clearing where the railroad tracks ran through the woods, she saw two figures in warm coats and snow boots and recognized Madame Perceval and Signorina del Rossi. She darted behind a tree, but they had evidently caught a glimpse of her blue uniform coat, for Signorina put a gloved hand on Madame Perceval's arm and said something in a low voice, and Madame Perceval called out sharply,
"Who is it?"
Flip thought of making a wild dash for safety, but sheknew it would be useless. They were between her and the school and they would be bound to recognize her if she tried to run past them. So she stepped out from behind the tree and confronted them just as a train came around the bend. In a moment the train was between them; she was not sure whether or not they had had an opportunity to recognize her in the misty dark; the school uniforms were all identical and there were dozens of girls with short fair hair. Now was her chance to run and hide. They would never find her in the dark of the woods and the train would give her a good chance to get a head start. But somehow, even if this meant that she would never be given permission to see Paul, she could not run like a coward from Madame Perceval, so she stood very quietly, cold with fear, until the train had passed. Then she crossed the tracks to them.
"Thank you for waiting, Philippa," Madame Perceval said.
She stood, numbly staring at the art teacher, her fingers twisting unhappily inside her mittens.
"Did you know you were out of bounds, Philippa?" Madame Perceval asked her.
She shook her head. "I didn't remember where the bounds were." Then she added, "but I was pretty sure I was out of them."
Signorina stood looking at her with the serene half-smile that seldom left her face even when she had to cope with the dullest and most annoying girls in her Italian classes. "Where were you going, little one?"
"Back to school."
"Where from?"
"I was—walking."
"Was it necessary to go out of bounds on your walk?" Madame Perceval asked coldly. "Mlle. Dragonet is very severe with girls who cross the railroad tracks."
Flip remembered the walk on which she had first met Ariel, and how, somehow, it had been necessary to go up, up, the mountain. "I wanted to climb."
"Were you alone?" Madame Perceval looked at her piercingly but the dark hid the girl's expression. When she hesitated, Madame pursued, "Did you meet anyone?"
"Yes," Flip answered so low that she could scarcely be heard.
"You'd better come back to the school with me," Madame Perceval said. She turned to Signorina. "Go along, Signorina. Tell them I'll come when I can."
In silence Flip followed Madame down the mountain. When she slipped on a piece of ice and her long legs went flying over her head, Madame helped her to pick herself up and brush off the snow, but she said nothing. They left the trees and crossed the lawn, covered with patches of snow, and went into the big Hall. Madame Perceval led the way upstairs, and Flip followed her, on up the five flights and down the hall to Madame's own rooms. Madame switched on the lights and when she spoke her voice was suddenly easy and pleasant.
"Sit down, Philippa." Flip's spindly legs seemed to collapse under her like a puppy's as she sat on the stool in front of the fire. "Now," Madame went on. "Can you tell me about it?"
Flip shook her head and stared miserably up at Madame, "No, Madame."
"Who did you go to meet?"
"I'd rather not say. Please."
"Was it anybody from school?"
"No, Madame."
"Did anybody at school have anything to do with it?"
"No, Madame. There wasn't anybody else but me."
"And you can't tell me who it was you went to meet?"
"No. I'm sorry."
"Philippa," Madame said slowly. "I know you've been trying hard and that the going has been rough for you. I understand your need for interests outside the school. But the rules we have here are all for a definite purpose and they were not made to be lightly broken."
"I wasn't breaking them lightly, Madame."
"Once a girl ran away and was killed crossing the railroad tracks. They are dangerous, especially after dark. You see they are placed out of bounds for a very good reason. And if there's anybody you want to see outside school it's not difficult to get permission. If you were one of the senior girls I might think you were slipping away to meet one of the boys from the school up the mountain. But I know that's not the case. I don't like having to give penalties and if you'll tell me about it I promise you I'll be as lenient as I can."
But Flip's thoughts were rushing around in confusion, and she thought, if I tell now they'll never give me permission to see Paul.
So she just shook her head while she continued to stare helplessly at the art teacher.
Madame started to speak again, but just then the telephone rang and she went over to it. "Yes?... Yes, Signorina!" She listened for a moment, then burst out laughing and continued the conversation in Italian. Flip could tell that she was pleased and rather excited about something. They talkedfor a long time and Flip could tell that Madame was asking Signorina a great many questions. When she hung up she turned to Flip, and her face was half smiling, half serious. "Philippa," she said, "I know I can trust you."
"Yes, Madame."
"And I want you to prove yourself worthy of my trust. Will you?"
"I'll try, Madame."
"So it's Paul you've been running off to meet," Madame Perceval said with a smile.
Flip jerked erect on her stool. "How did you know!"
Now Madame laughed, a wonderful, friendly laugh that took Flip and made her part of a secret they were to share together. "Paul's father, Georges Laurens, is my brother-in-law."
Flip's jaw dropped open. "But Madame!" she sputtered. "But Madame!"
Madame laughed and laughed. Finally she said, "I think you and I had better have another little tea party," and she reached for the telephone. "Fräulein Hauser," she said, "I am excusing Philippa Hunter from tea." Then she went into her little kitchen and put the kettle on. When she came back she said, "Signorina and I were on our way over to borrow a book from Georges and have a visit with him and Paul when we bumped into you. Now tell me how you found Paul."
Flip told her about the way Ariel had come jumping out of the undergrowth at her and how he led her to the chateau and to Paul.
"I see." Madame nodded. "Now tell me what Paul has told you about himself."
"Why—nothing much," Flip said. "I mean, I know his mother's singing in Italy and Monsieur Laurens is writing a book and Paul is going to be a doctor...."
Madame Perceval nodded again. "I see," she repeated thoughtfully. "Now, Philippa, I suppose you realize that you should be penalized. You've been breaking rules right and left. It's a pretty serious situation."
"I know, Madame. Please punish me. I can stand anything as long as I can see Paul again. If I can't see him again I shall die."
"I don't think you'd die, Philippa. And since you're not a senior you're not allowed to have dates. Not seeing Paul would be automatic before your penalties were even considered."
The color drained from Flip's face and she stared up at Madame Perceval, but she did not move or say anything.
Madame spread cheese on a cracker, handed it absently to Flip, and leaned back in her chair. She held the cheese knife in her hand and suddenly she slapped it against her palm with a decisive motion. "I'm not going to forbid you to see Paul, Philippa," she said, "but you will have to have a penalty and a stiff one, because the fact that it was Paul you were seeing does not lessen the seriousness of your offense, but I'll decide on that tomorrow. In the meantime I want to talk to you about Paul." For a moment Madame Perceval looked probingly at Flip. Then, as though satisfied with what she saw, she continued. "We've been worried about Paul, and I think you can help us."
"Me, Madame?" Flip asked.
"Yes, you. Yes, I think you of all people, Philippa."
"But how, Madame?"
"First of all simply by seeing him. Signorina told me that Georges was planning to get permission for you to come to the gate house to see Paul once a week. I shall see that you get the permission. And remember, Philippa, that I am doing this for Paul's sake, not yours."
"Yes, Madame. But Madame—"
"But what, Philippa?"
"Monsieur Laurens asked what Mlle. Dragonet's name was. Wouldn't he know?"
Madame Perceval laughed. "He was just playing along with Paul. Paul didn't want you to know he had any connection with the school."
"Oh. But—"
"But what, Philippa?"
"Why are you worried about Paul, Madame?"
"I can't tell you that now, Flip. Paul will let you know himself sooner or later. In the meantime, the best way that you can help him is to continue trying to get on with the girls here at school, and to become really happy here. That sounds like rather a tall order to you, doesn't it? But I think you can do it. You'd like to, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, Madame, you know I would. But please—I don't see—how would that help Paul?"
"Perhaps you've discovered already," Madame said, "that Paul has a horror of anything he can label an institution. He knows that you hatethisinstitution. Because he respects you, if he could watch you grow to like it here he might be willing to go back to school himself. Georges is tutoring him but he needs regular schooling. If he really wants to be a doctor he cannot dispense with formal education, and I believe that one day Paul will make a very brilliant doctor. I know this is allvery confusing to you, Philippa, but you must trust me as I am trusting you. All I can tell you is that I think you can help Paul and because of this I am willing to disregard the manner in which you have been seeing him up to now and to see that you have official permission to see him in the future." Madame Perceval stood up. "You'd better report to me tomorrow and I'll tell you what your penalties are. I'm afraid this has been a very slim tea for you, Philippa. If you hurry down to the dining room there may be a few scraps left."
"I'm not hungry," Flip said. "Thank you for—for everything, Madame."
Madame put her hand on Flip's shoulder. "I'm very glad this happened to you, Philippa, instead of—say one of your roommates. Very glad." She was smiling warmly and Flip's heart leaped with joy at this great praise. Madame gave her a little shove. "Run along now," she said.
9
Flipwas ready and waiting in the big Hall when Monsieur Laurens came for her the next afternoon. The girls were all curious and rather envious, when, in answer to their questions they learned that Flip had been given special permission to have tea with Madame's nephew; and she felt that her stock had gone up with them.
"My aunt, Pill, it's really a date!" Gloria whistled.
"I bet Pill's never been out with a boy before," Esmée said. "Have you, Pill? Usually the Americans have more dates than the rest of us but I bet this is Pill's first date. Are you going to let him kiss you, Pill?"
"Don't be silly," Flip said.
"Anyhow Black and Midnight said it wasn't a date," Sally added. "I bet this nephew's just a child."
Erna whispered to Flip, "Esmée and Sally're just boy crazy. Don't mind them. Personally I think boys are dopes."
At the gate house an hour later, Flip and Paul lay on the great rug in front of the fire and roasted chestnuts while Georges Laurens watched from his chair, and Ariel rested his head on his master's knee.
"So you don't like school?" Georges Laurens asked Flip.
"No, sir."
"Why not."
"I can't seem to fit in. I'm different."
"And I suppose you despise the other girls?" Georges Laurens asked.
Flip looked surprised for a moment, then hesitated, thinking his question over as she opened and ate a chestnut. "No. I don't despise them. I'm just uncomfortable with them," she answered finally, chewing the delicate tender meat and staring at the delicate unicorn in the tapestry on the wall above her.
"But you want to be like them anyhow?" Georges Laurens pursued.
She nodded, then added, "I want to be like them and like myself, too."
"You think quite a lot of yourself?"
"Oh, no!" She shook her head vehemently. "It isn't that at all. I think I'm—I'm not anything I want to be. It's just that there are certain things outside me and the way I feel about them that I wouldn't want changed. The way I feel about the mountains and the lake. And stars. I love them sovery much. And I don't think the others really care about them. I don't think they really see them. And it's the way I feel about things like the mountains and the lake and stars that I wouldn't want changed."
"You want a great deal, my little Flip," Georges Laurens said, gently stroking Ariel's head, "when you want to be exactly like everybody else and yet be different at the same time."
Paul reached for another chestnut and rolled lazily onto his back. "I sympathize with you, Flip. It's horrible to be in an institution. Couldn't you have stayed at home with your parents?"
"I wanted to," Flip said, "but Gram's in New York and right now my father's in China, and my mother's dead. I wanted to travel around with father but he said he was going to go to all sorts of places I couldn't go, and I couldn't miss school anyhow." Remembering her promise to Madame Perceval she added, "and I don't hate school nearly as much as I used to, Paul. Truly I don't."
"What do you like about it?" Paul asked bluntly.
"Oh, lots of things," Flip said vaguely. "Well—look at all the things you can learn at school you couldn't learn by yourself. I mean not only dull things. Art, for instance. Madame Perceval's taught me all kinds of things in a few months."
"Go on," Paul said.
"And skiing—Fräulein Hauser's going to teach me to ski."
"I know how to ski," Paul said.
Flip tried again. "Well, there's music. They teach us lots about music and that's fun."
"This is the best way to learn about music," Paul said, going to the phonograph and turning it on. "You don't have to be in school to listen to good music."
Flip gave up.
The record on the victrola was Bach'sJesu Joy of Man's Desiring. It was music that Flip knew and she sat quietly staring into the fire and listening. It was the first time in three years that she had been able to listen to that music. At home in New York in the Christmases of her childhood her mother had played it and played it. The Christmas after her mother's death Flip had found the record broken and was glad. But now she was listening to it with a kind of peace. She looked over at Paul and said softly, "My mother used to love that...."
But Paul did not hear. He jumped up and turned off the record before it had played to the end and said, "Let's go for a walk."
Flip followed him outside. The evening was still and cold and there was a hint of blue-green left in the sky. The stars were beginning to come out. Flip looked up at the first one she saw and made a wish.—I wish Paul may always like me. Please, God. Amen. She wished on the star and there was a sudden panic in her mind because the Paul walking beside her was not the Paul with whom she had spent the afternoon. His face in the last light as she glanced at it out of the corner of her eye seemed stern, even angry, and he seemed to be miles and miles away from her. He had withdrawn his companionship and she searched desperately for a way to bring him back to her.
"Paul," she hesitated, then gathered her courage and went on, "do you remember Christmas when you were very little?"
"No," he answered harshly, "I don't remember."
She felt as though he had slapped her. Why wouldn't he remember? She remembered those first Christmases so vividly. Was he just trying to keep her from talking? Had she unwittingly done something to make him angry?
She glanced at him again but his face was unrelenting and she clenched her mittened hands tightly inside her pockets and said over and over to herself,—please God, please God, please God....
"I don't remember!" Paul suddenly cried out and abruptly stopped his rapid walking and wheeled about to face her. "I don't remember." His voice was no longer harsh but he spoke with an intensity that frightened Flip.
She could only ask, "But why, Paul? Why?"
He reached out for her hands and held them so tightly that it hurt. "I don't know why ... that's the hardest part. I don't remember anything at all beyond the last few years."
Flip tried to make it seem unimportant—to say something, anything that would make Paul relax. None of this was as serious as he thought—lots of people had poor memories. Anyway it had nothing to do with their friendship. "Paul," she began—but he was not listening. He was not even conscious that she had spoken.
"I don't want to frighten you," Paul said, "but Flip I have to tell you—I don't know who I am."