It seemed a lovely day when the sunshine was looked at from the windows of a warm room, but outside, the _bise_ was blowing, and caught the face like a million razor-edges. Felicia put up her muff with a little cry, as soon as they emerged into the open air. “Oh! this dreadful _bise!_” “Ach! It is nothing,” said the other, who prided herself on her pachydermaty. “You English girls would sacrifice everything to your complexions. If your skin cracks you can put on some cold cream. But you will have had your exercise.” Frau Schultz wore an imitation sealskin jacket, a new crape hat with broad strings tied under her chin, and thick grey woollen gloves. Felicia wondered, with not unpardonable vindictiveness, how many cracks would do her appreciable damage. “I don't care a little bit about my complexion,” she replied stoutly, resolved, for the honour of her countrywomen, to face a blizzard, if called upon. “I have felt worse east winds than this in England.” “Ah, your England! It is a wonderful place,” said Frau Schultz. They walked along by the end of the Jardin Anglais, crossed the bridge and proceeded by the Quai du Mont Blanc in the direction of the Kursaal. Frau Schultz was evidently in an atrabiliar mood. Felicia began to be rather grateful to the _bise_, which does not favour conversation. But she had not reckoned with Frau Schultz's voice. As soon as it had found the right pitch, by means of desultory remarks, it triumphed over mere wind, and shrieked continuously. “I asked you to come out because I wanted to talk to you.” “Perhaps she prefers talking in a hurricane,” thought Felicia in comic desperation. But all she said was,-- “Oh?” “Yes. You are so young and inexperienced that I have thought it my duty to advise you. Mme. Boccard is too busy. I am a mother. I brought up my Lottchen excellently, and she married last year. I am clearly the only one in the pension who knows what is suitable for a young girl and what isn't.” Felicia looked at her in some astonishment from under the wind depressed hat brim. “I am sure I am getting on very well.” “Ah, you think so. But you are wrong. You cannot touch pitch without stinking.” Frau Schultz's English was apt to fail her now and then. “Really, I don't understand at all, Frau Schultz.” “I will make myself quite plain. You have become too great a friend with Mrs. Stapleton. She is the pitch.” Felicia stopped short, her eyes watering with wind and indignation. “If you say such things of my friends, Frau Schultz, I shall go home again.” “I did not hear,” said Frau Schultz coming closer. Felicia repeated her observation, with an irritated little patting of her foot.