"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."