She and Paul went indoors. Georges Laurens was shut up in his tiny study, deep in concentration, so they did not speak to him, but went over to the fire, stripping off jackets and sweaters. For a moment they were silent and Flip knew that Paul did not want to talk about any of the things he had told her, or to have her talk about them. "Papa's been writing all day, except when he went to get you," Paul said, talking nervously as he stared into the fire. "I was afraid that he might forget to go for you, but he didn't." "Thank goodness for that," Flip sighed. Paul stood up. "I'm hungry. I'll go get us some bread and cheese from Thérèse." He disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and came back with a chunk of cheese, half a loaf, and a bone handled carving knife. Flip lay on the hearth, using Ariel as a pillow. "Aunt Colette was over here last night," Paul said, "And that Italian teacher, Signorina what's-her-name." "Signorina del Rossi." "That's right," Paul said. "And they were talking about you." "About me! What did they say?" Flip cried, sitting up. "Well, I didn't hear all of it because I was reading." "But what did they say?" Flip asked again. "Well, Signorina was saying that it was the first time Aunt Colette's ever taken a special interest in any one girl. And Aunt Colette laughed and said that you had great talent and then she said that an artist's life was a hard one but she was afraid you were stuck with it. And then she said--now, don't get angry with me, Flip--" "Go on." "Well, she said you were a nice child when you didn't spoil it by being sorry for yourself." "Oh," Flip said. "Oh." And she lay down again rubbing her cheek against Ariel's fur. "Here," Paul said. "Have some more bread and cheese.... You aren't angry at me, are you, Flip?" "No." "Are you sorry for yourself?" "Yes. I think I am sometimes--" "Why?" "Oh--because I want my mother. And the girls don't like me. Oh, and everything. And I want to be with father instead of at school. But I don't feel that way so much any more, Paul. And if I can learn how to ski it will be wonderful. And I love coming here every week-end. And I'm beginning to like school. Truly I am." "Why do you keep saying that?" Paul asked, holding the loaf against his chest and cutting off another chunk. "You keep saying you like school so much and I don't believe you really do at all." "I _do_," Flip persisted. "I _don't_ hate it the way I used to." And she realized with a start that her words were true. While she didn't actually _like_ school, she no longer hated it with the sickening passion of only a few short weeks ago. "Aunt Colette said something else," Paul went on. "Do you want to hear?" "Of course." "She said you reminded her of Denise." "Who's Denise?" "Her daughter." "What!" Flip yelled. "Her _daughter_!" "Hush. Here she comes. Have some more bread and cheese, Flip," Paul said as Madame Perceval came in carrying a pair of skis.