Then there was another silence. Lucy sniffed. Philip looked round the bare room, and suddenly it came to him that he and Lucy were companions in misfortune, no matter whose fault it was that they were imprisoned. So he said: 'Look here, I don't like you and I shan't pretend I do. But I'll call it Pax for the present if you like. We've got to escape from this place somehow, and I'll help you if you like, and you may help me if you can.' 'Thank you,' said Lucy, in a tone which might have meant anything. 'So we'll call it Pax and see if we can escape by the window. There might be ivy--or a faithful page with a rope ladder. Have you a page at the Grange?' 'There's two stable-boys,' said Lucy, 'but I don't think they're faithful, and I say, I think all this is much more magic than you think.' 'Of course I know it's magic,' said he impatiently; 'but it's quite real too.' 'Oh, it's real enough,' said she. They leaned out of the window. Alas, there was no ivy. Their window was very high up, and the wall outside, when they touched it with their hand, felt smooth as glass. '_That's_ no go,' said he, and the two leaned still farther out of the window looking down on the town. There were strong towers and fine minarets and palaces, the palm trees and fountains and gardens. A white building across the square looked strangely familiar. Could it be like St. Paul's which Philip had been taken to see when he was very little, and which he had never been able to remember? No, he could not remember it even now. The two prisoners looked out in a long silence. Far below lay the city, its trees softly waving in the breeze, flowers shining in a bright many-coloured patchwork, the canals that intersected the big squares gleamed in the sunlight, and crossing and recrossing the squares and streets were the people of the town, coming and going about their business. 'Look here!' said Lucy suddenly, 'do you mean to say you don't know?' 'Know what?' he asked impatiently. 'Where we are. What it is. Don't you?' 'No. No more do you.' 'Haven't you seen it all before?' 'No, of course I haven't. No more have you.' 'All right. I _have_ seen it before though,' said Lucy, 'and so have you. But I shan't tell you what it is unless you'll be nice to me.' Her tone was a little sad, but quite firm. 'I _am_ nice to you. I told you it was Pax,' said Philip. 'Tell me what you think it is.' 'I don't mean that sort of grandish standoffish Pax, but real Pax. Oh, don't be so horrid, Philip. I'm dying to tell you--but I won't if you go on being like you are.' '_I'm_ all right,' said Philip; 'out with it.' 'No. You've got to say it's Pax, and I will stand by you till we get out of this, and I'll always act like a noble friend to you, and I'll try my best to like you. Of course if you can't like me you can't, but you ought to try. Say it after me, won't you?'