"If you go," Flip said, "I'm afraid he'll never let you come back. He
doesn't want me."
"Wouldn't you be afraid to go?"
"Yes," Flip admitted. "I would be. But I'd be more afraid to have you
go than I would be to go myself."
"No," Paul said firmly. "It's wonderful of you to think of it. But it
is impossible."
And Flip knew there was no use arguing with him.
Thérèse came in and stood arms akimbo in the doorway, announcing,
"lunch is on the table and it's good onion soup so come and eat it
while it's hot."
"I'm not hungry," Paul whispered.
"I'm not either," Flip whispered back. "But we've got to pretend we
are. Does Ariel like onion soup?"
"Ariel likes anything."
"Well, that's all right, then," Flip said.
7
A wind came up during the afternoon and by dinner time it was howling
about the gate house. Flip had thought up a scheme in which in spite
of Paul's opposition, she would be the one to make the trip to the
chateau. But it was so daring, so dangerous, that whenever she thought
of it she began to shiver. Her shivers started somewhere deep inside
of her, the way she thought a tidal wave must start deep inside of the
ocean, and then it seemed to break over her like a wave. Gloria said
that when you shivered like that when you weren't cold it meant that
somebody was walking over the place your grave was going to be.
They sat by the fire, Flip and Paul, huddled there all afternoon,
scarcely saying a word, listening to the wind rise. Fortunately Georges
Laurens was absorbed in his work and their silence did not penetrate
his concentration any more than their conversation would have.
"If he'd just leave the picture for me," Paul said.
"He won't. He'll be there. He wants to make sure he gets you." Flip
hugged Ariel for comfort.
After dinner they went upstairs and sat on Paul's bed.
"I'll go in five minutes," Paul said, staring unhappily down at the
floor.
"Paul--" Flip started.
"What?"
"I want to give you something to take with you for good luck."
"I need good luck," Paul said.
"Well, in the old days a knight always carried the handkerchief of his
lady. Would you like to carry my handkerchief?"
"Yes," Paul said.
"It's under my pillow. But it's a clean one."
"I'll get it and then I'll go." Paul got up and crossed the hall to
Flip's room. She followed close at his heels and stood in the doorway,
and when he had reached the head of the big bed and was feeling under
her pillow for the handkerchief she slammed the door on him, the door
that did not open from the inside.
"Flip! What are you doing!" Paul cried. "Open the door!"
"No," Flip called softly through the door. "I'm going to put on your
ski clothes and go to the chateau." And she rushed into Paul's room
and pulled on his brown ski trousers and red sweater, and pulled his
striped stocking cap over her hair.
"Let me out! Flip, you devil! Let me out!" Paul cried, pounding against
the door.
Flip took a hasty look at herself in the mirror as she pulled on
Paul's mittens.--I'll be all right in the dark, she told herself. And
"Good-bye, Paul," she called through the door to him. "I'll be back
with the picture as fast as I possibly can."
Ignoring his frantic shouts she hurried down the stairs. She was afraid
that Georges Laurens would hear the commotion and come to investigate,
but as she tiptoed past his study, she saw that he was deep in
concentration, and Paul's cries were falling on deaf ears. Madame
Perceval had taken Ariel with her so she need not be afraid that the
bulldog would arouse Monsieur Laurens or even Thérèse.
She let herself out of the house.
It was one of the coldest evenings of the winter and the wind slapped
at her face like a cruel hand. Clouds were scudding across the moon
and their shadows on the snow seemed alive and Flip kept jumping with
fear as the shadows moved and made her think they belonged to some
animate creature.
"He is not Paul's father, he is not Paul's father, please God make him
not be Paul's father," she kept saying under her breath.
The chateau loomed up, a gaunt ruin. A night bird flew out of one of
the windows with a cry that sent Flip's heart into her mouth, and
various shutters and loose boards were banging in the vicious wind.
She stood still on the snow for a long time before she dared to go on.
Then she almost ran, jumping sidewise like a startled pony to avoid the
shadows that moved so strangely across the white ground. Although she
was expecting it, when she heard a whispered "Alain" her tense body
jerked and she stopped stock still.
"Alain," the voice came again, and the man moved out from the shadows.
"Here I am," Flip whispered.
"It's cold," he said. "Are you warmly dressed?"
"Yes. Where is the picture?" She kept on whispering because that way
the man was not as apt to realize that it was a girl's voice.
"Come with me and I'll give it to you."
"I want to see it now," Flip whispered.
"You couldn't see it in this light. It's up in my chalet just up the
mountain. It's warm there and I'll have some nice hot soup for you."
"I've finished dinner," Flip whispered, "and I don't want to go to your
chalet. I just want to see the picture."
"You still don't remember that I'm your father?" the man asked, and he
stepped forward and took her wrist in his hand.
"No!" Flip cried, trying to pull away. "No! You promised I could see
the picture! Let me go!"
"And so you shall see the picture, Alain, if you will come with me."
From one of the turrets of the chateau an owl cried, making them both
jump, but the man did not loose his hold on her wrist. He took the bony
fingers of his other hand and held her chin and turned her face up to
the moonlight and said, "You mustn't be afraid of me, Alain, my boy,"
and then he shouted, "What kind of a trick is this? You're the girl!"
Before he knew what she was doing Flip had squirmed out of his grasp
and was pelting across the snow, but he was after her and caught her
with furious fingers. Flip screamed and fought, biting and clawing
like a little wild beast, and the night was full of her screams and
the man's snarls and the banging of boards and shutters and the cries
of disturbed birds. Neither of them saw when a shutter was blown loose
from a turret window and came flying down to strike Flip on the head.
She dropped like a wounded bird to the snow and lay there, motionless.
She did not see the man staring at her limp body in horror, nor know
when he picked her up and went into the chateau with her and dumped her
there in the dark, a small inert bundle on the stone floor.