Madame Perceval took the skis away from Flip. "No wonder you couldn't learn on these. They would be too long for Paul. I don't know why Fräulein Hauser didn't notice it at once."
"She probably would have on anybody else. People just expect me to be bad at sports."
Madame Perceval laughed. "You're probably right, Philippa. And Fräulein Hauser certainly has her hands full with beginners this year. Now, there's a pair of very good ash skis back at school that would be just about right for you. One of the girls from last year left them. I think I'll run along back and get them. You and Paul wait inside for me."
"Oh, thank you, Madame!" Flip cried.
"Thank you Aunt Colette," Paul added.
She and Paul went indoors. Georges Laurens was shut up in his tiny study, deep in concentration, so they did not speak to him, but went over to the fire, stripping off jackets and sweaters. For a moment they were silent and Flip knew that Paul did not want to talk about any of the things he had told her, or to have her talk about them.
"Papa's been writing all day, except when he went to get you," Paul said, talking nervously as he stared into the fire. "I was afraid that he might forget to go for you, but he didn't."
"Thank goodness for that," Flip sighed.
Paul stood up. "I'm hungry. I'll go get us some bread and cheese from Thérèse." He disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and came back with a chunk of cheese, half a loaf, and a bone handled carving knife. Flip lay on the hearth, using Ariel as a pillow.
"Aunt Colette was over here last night," Paul said, "And that Italian teacher, Signorina what's-her-name."