"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've _got_ to 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 you _couldn't_ come? 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.