"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 could be 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?"