"Alain," the man's voice was pleading. "Suppose I showed you a picture I have of you and me when you were little?" After a moment Paul said, "Let me see the picture." "It's up the mountain in the chalet where I'm staying. Come with me and I'll show it to you." "No." Paul's voice was flat and colorless with shock and fear. "Bring it to me." "Very well," the man said. "I'll bring it to your house this evening." "No." Paul said again. "No. You can't go there. I'll meet you somewhere." "Where?" "Bring it to the chateau. Leave it there for me." "I can't leave that picture lying around, Alain. It's all I've had of my son for a long time. But I'll bring it to the chateau tonight after dinner, at eight o'clock, and you can look at it and see if it helps you to remember." "Very well. I'll be there," Paul said. The man moved towards him as though to kiss him, but as Paul drew back in repulsion the man dropped his arms to his side and stood there looking at him. "I suppose it is too much to ask that you should know me all at once; but when we have lived together for a little while I am sure things will be different." "Bring me the picture," Paul cried in a choking voice. "Very well, Alain," the man said. "I will leave you now but I will see you at the chateau this evening." And he turned and started up the mountain and in a moment disappeared in a clump of trees. When he was out of sight Paul bent down and fastened on his skis. His lips were pale and tightly closed and he did not say a word. Flip put on her skis and silently followed him down the mountain. When they got to the gate house Paul said, "Don't tell my father." "What are you going to do, Paul?" "I don't know. But I know I can't tell my father." "Why not?" Paul's voice shook. "He might believe him. If my father believed him I'd have to go with him." "You don't remember him? You don't remember him at all, Paul?" Flip asked. Paul shook his head. "You don't think he is your father?" Flip asked. Paul shook his head again and he was shivering. "We'd better go in," Flip said. "You're cold." Georges Laurens was shut up in his tiny study and Flip and Paul crouched in front of the fire. "Thank goodness Aunt Colette isn't here," Paul said. "She'd guess something was the matter right away." "I wish she _were_ here!" Flip cried. "She'd know what to do." But Paul shook his head again. "I know what I have to do." "What, Paul?" "I have to go to the chateau tonight and see that picture. Maybe that will help me to remember." "You don't look like him," Flip said. "You don't look like him at all." "No." Paul picked up the poker and jabbed miserably at the logs. "But you don't seem as if you looked at all like either your mother or father, from their pictures." "I don't," Flip said. "I look like my grandmother." "Well, you see, then? It doesn't mean anything if I don't look like him. But Flip, I'm sure if I saw my father I'd remember him. Don't you think I would?"