She thought she had eclipsed Aix-Les-Bains. She loved to excel. On the way back Philippe protested:
"Our house is at Saint-Martin. It is in the mountains."
"Yes, but we are going to Uriage. You, you sleep like a trunk at night."
"I don't sleep like a trunk. Trunks don't sleep!"
"Grandpa says so. I listen at the open door, and have heard that we were going to Uriage not to Saint Martin. And Grandmother said that papa was dead to us."
"What's that 'dead'?"
"It is when you are buried."
"I don't want papa to be buried."
The little girl glanced at him with superiority and began to explain in trying to recall some new expression that she had overheard.
"Well, not exactly. That's what is so funny; he is not dead at all, and he is dead to us."