And both were young

by Madeleine L'Engle

"Oh—that's wonderful!" Flip cried. "Oh, Madame, thank you."

"Hello, Signorina," Madame said on the telephone. "Madame Perceval." Then she launched into Italian, which Flip did not understand. There was a good deal of laughter, then Madame hung up and took Flip's cup. "All right, little one. Let me give you some more tea."

So Flip sat there and drank tea and ate Madame Perceval's cakes and felt warmth from far more than the fire seep into her.

Madame passed her the cake plate. "Have another. They come from Zürcher's in Montreux and they're quite special. I blow myself to them every once in a while. What do you want to be after you leave school, Philippa? An artist?"

Flip bit into a small and succulent cake, crisp layers of something filled with mocha cream. "I think so. But my father says it's probably just because he paints and he doesn't want me to do anything just because he does it. Anyhow he says he's not at all sure I have enough talent."

Madame laughed and filled Flip's tea cup for the third time. "I like your father's work. Especially his illustrations for children's books."

"Oh, do you know them?" Flip was excited.

Madame reached up to the bookshelves and pulled down a copy of Oliver Twist.

"Oh!" Flip said, "Oh, that's one of my favorites!"

Madame replaced the book. "Mine too. I keep your father's things next to Boutet de Monvel, which shows you how much I think of him."