And Both Were Young by Madeleine L'Engle Page B

father always told me my sense of humor was my weak point. It’s awful to be born without a sense of humor. Sort of like being born colorblind.”
    “Sometimes you can grow a sense of humor, you know,” Madame Perceval told her. “Now, I have an idea. Why don’t you turn the tables on the girls and not be here when they come for you?”
    “That would be wonderful,” Flip said. “Only there’s no place I’m allowed to go except the common room and they’reall there. We aren’t allowed in our bedrooms, and if I hide in the bathroom Miss Tulip will come and knock on the door.”
    “Come along with me to my room,” Madame Perceval said. “You’re allowed to be there if I invite you.”
    “Oh, that would be wonderful!” Flip cried. “But—but you were going somewhere.”
    “Just for a walk, and it’s colder than I thought it was. Legs unlimbered?”
    “Yes, thank you.” Flip grinned and shook out her gangly legs.
    “Come along then.” Madame Perceval took her arm in a friendly way and they set out for the school. They walked in silence, Flip desperately trying to think of something to say to the art teacher to show that she was grateful. Every once in a while she stole a look at Madame Perceval’s face, and it was serene and quiet and Flip remembered the way she had looked that evening when she leaned against the tree and looked out over the lake.
    “We’ll go in the back way,” Madame Perceval said, “so we’ll be sure not to bump into anyone.” She took Flip’s hand and opened the small back door and together they crept upstairs like two conspirators. Flip felt ecstatically happy.
    Madame lived on the top floor of the building near the art studio. She was the only person who slept on the fifth floor except for the cook and the maids, who were in the opposite wing of the building. Most of the teachers had single rooms distributed about the school among the girls so that there was at least one teacher to each corridor. Madame Perceval had two curious rooms in one of the turrets, and a tiny kitchen as well. She led Flip into her sitting room. It was octagonal; four of the walls were filled with books; the other four were coveredwith prints. Flip recognized many of her favorites, two Picasso
Harlequins
, Holbein’s
Erasmus
, Lautrec’s
Maybe
, Seurat’s
Study for the Grande Jatte
, a stage design by Inigo Jones, Van Gogh’s
Le Café de Nuit
, Renoir’s
Moulin de la Galette
. Flip looked at them, enthralled.
    Madame Perceval smiled. “I like it too,” she said. “It’s a hodgepodge, but I like it. This bit of privacy is the one privilege I ask for being Mademoiselle Dragonet’s niece. Sit down and I’ll brew us a pot of tea.” She moved the screen away from the grate, stirred up the coals, and added some more. Flip sat down on a stool covered with a patch of oriental rug and stared into the fire. Behind her she could hear Madame Perceval moving about in her tiny kitchen, and then she was aware that the art teacher was standing behind her. “A penny for your thoughts, Philippa,” Madame Perceval said lightly.
    Flip continued to stare into the fire. “I was thinking how happy I was, right now, this very minute,” she said. “And if I could always be happy the way I am now, I wouldn’t mind school so much.”
    “Do you mind school so very much?” Madame Perceval asked.
    Flip realized that she had expressed herself far more fully than she had intended. “Oh, no,” she denied quickly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere that was so beautiful. And at night I can look down the mountain to the lake and it’s like something out of a fairy tale. And when there’s a fog and sometimes you can see the Dents du Midi and then they disappear and then you can see them again—that’s like a fairy tale too. And the kids say we go to Lausanne and Vevey and Gstaad and places at half term and we’re going to climb the Col de Jaman on Tuesday as the new girls’ welcome and Iexpect