Gretli turned to the great quilt which was spread out elaborately on the back of a high settle. She seated herself, taking the unfinished corner in her hands, and began to work with swift, skilful stitches.
“I should have told mademoiselle before about the quilt,” she said. “It is a thing of family, mademoiselle sees. It was begun by my grandmother, of sainted memory, who in her maidenhood designed the whole and worked with her own hands the centre. My mother and her two sisters worked the three corners. The sisters, alas, are no longer with us. They died in youth. To me, then, my mother left the quilt, with directions that I should finish it before my marriage. If I had decided not to marry, I should have left it to my nearest relative, a little cousin far away in the valley. As it is—”
“As it is,” cried Zitli, “here is Big Pierre, who, I fancy, is impatient to see it finished!”
A long shadow fell in the doorway, and was followed by a very tall young man of singular aspect. He was as slender as the Twins were massive, yet strength and vigor were in every line. He was tanned all one color, a deep russet brown, and his eyes were only a shade deeper. He was dressed in bright green, very much like Atli’s Sunday dress, and in his shirt frill was a similar stiff nosegay of dyed edelweiss; in his hand he carried a huge nosegay of alpenrosen.
“Greeting to this house!” said the young man. “Greeting to Gretli, to Zitli, and to the strange young lady!”
“Greeting to thee, Pierre!” said Gretli. “Come in quickly, and be presented to Mademoiselle Honor—the name of mademoiselle’s honored father is not for me to pronounce. We call her Mademoiselle Honor, Pierre. She is of the pupils of our honored Ladies.”
Briefly, she told the story of Honor’s accident, and Big Pierre glowed with sympathy. To turn the ankle, that was painful. He knew well. He himself—here he extended a leg of really unreasonable length—had sprained his, a while ago. Verily, it appeared that he would grow to his chair before he was able to walk again.
Gretli and Zitli chimed in with stories of sprains and other accidents, until Honor felt that she had been very fortunate indeed to get off so easily. Indeed, in her heart of hearts, she was deeply grateful to Bimbo. Without him and his wickedness, she would never have known the delight and wonder and unbelievableness of these days.
Friendly as Big Pierre was, Honor felt shy; felt too that the lovers should be left to themselves. There was only the one living-room. She was about to ask permission to slip into her own room on some pretext of a nap or the like, when Zitli came to the rescue. Would Mademoiselle come with him and see his perch? It was but a few steps. He would guide her carefully.
“You can trust me, my sister,” he said. “She shall not fall, she shall not make the slightest stumble; as for the goats, I will shut them up in the yard and they shall not come near her.”