Erna and Jackie pushed her forward and all her long-legged clumsiness returned to her as she crossed the blazing expanse of snow between the girls and the judges' box. She tripped over a boot lace, fell to her knees, and got up, grinning, as everybody laughed and clapped. When Madame Perceval handed her the cup and stood there smiling down at her the storm of applause was so deafening that she knew they were glad she had won this most desired of all the awards, and that the applause was an honor as great as the cup itself. All the judges shook hands with her, and Fräulein Hauser said, rather awkwardly, "I seem to have made a big mistake, Philippa. I'm very glad." Then the girls came clustering about her, shouting, "Well done, Flip! Good old Pill! Good for you, Philippa!" And she was laughing and blushing and stammering until she was swept off her feet and her father's arms were about her and he was exclaiming, "I'm proud of my girl!" "Oh, father!" she cried. "You _did_ come!" "I managed to get away at the last minute," he told her. "So Colette--Madame Perceval--and I came over together." Then Flip felt herself caught in someone else's arms and Madame Perceval kissed her on both cheeks. "I knew you'd make us proud of you, my darling," she cried. "Oh, Madame!" Flip said, and all she seemed to be able to say was "Oh." 14 She sat that night in front of the fire in the lodge, leaning back, her head against her father's knee, and watched the flames roar up the chimney, and a deep feeling of content like the warmth from the fire filled her whole body. Paul sat sprawled beside her, pulling patient Ariel's ear, and Colette Perceval sat on the sofa next to Philip Hunter. Monsieur Laurens had retreated into his study after dinner. "I'm so happy," Flip said, "that I haven't room for one drop more. One drop more and I'll burst." She leaned back against him. Her body felt heavy and tired and comfortable and her stomach was full of Thérèse's onion soup and her heart was so full of happiness that she could feel it swelling inside her. "Remember how you were going to be the prisoner of Chillon, Flippet?" her father asked. "I remember," she said, and smiled because she felt so full of freedom, and she knew that the freedom was in herself, just as the prison had been. She stood up and said, "I'll be back in a minute," because the happiness in her chest had grown so big that she knew she had to go outside and let some of it escape into the night or she really would burst with it. She pulled her coat off the peg in the hall and pushed into it as she opened the door and slipped outside. She looked down the mountain to the lake, and across the lake to the mountains, and above the mountains to the stars. The night was all about her, wild and cold and beautiful, and she let her happiness spread out into it, so that it became part of the night, part of the lake and the mountains and the stars. Then she turned and Paul was standing in the doorway.