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w as stupid to allow myself to cry.
    The coffee was brought in, rather strong and very hot. Celia could only drink it in sips.
    “You are feeling better now?” he asked.
    “Yes, thank you, Mr. St. Pierre.”
    “Tell me,” he said. “How is the work going? Do you like it?”
    “It’s very interesting.”
    “Do you find it hard?”
    “Well—at first I didn’t find it easy. But I am used to it now—I am getting my second wind.”
    “You have not done this kind of work before? ”
    “ No, si r .”
    “What d id you do?”
    “When I left school, it was war-time. I worked in a hospital first. Then I drove for a general in London. After the war, I did secretarial work.”
    “I see.”
    She finished her coffee and set down the cup.
    “A little more?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “This afternoon you are to rest. ”
    “It is my tea duty today.”
    “ Somebody else will do it. You are to rest.”
    “No, really,” she protested. “ I am quite able to do it. And I don’t want to spoil somebody else’s free afternoon.”
    “Celia,” he said sharply, “you hear me. You are to rest . ”
    For a moment her eyes blazed, and she looked into his dark eyes defiantly. Then she remembered that he was her employer, and she said dutifully, and a little wearily:
    “Yes, sir.”
    He heard the weariness in her voice, and knew she was tired.
    “Arm hurting?” he asked. “Headache?”
    “A little of both,” she said truthfully.
    “Then off you go to your room. One of the girls will bring you some tea later.”
    C el ia went to the door. He opened it for her.
    “Thank you so much,” she said. “You were very kind. ”
    Her eyes met his. For a moment, she felt something of the peace she had felt under the touch of his hand. Then she turned her glance away, and went into the corridor and up the stairs to her room.
    “I will sleep this afternoon,” she decided, “ but first I will sit out on the balcony for a while, and get the sun.
    She took the pillow from her bed, and put it on the chaise-lounge on the balcony. Then she lay down with relief, and relaxed.
    This room of hers, up under the roof, had a balcony at the side of the hotel, a very small balcony, but commanding the usual matchless views. She could no longer see the whole length of the superb mountain range, with its snow p eaks and its glaciers, but she could see a good deal of it by looking towards her left, while, in the opposite direction, rose the mountain on which the hotel was built, and immediately before her, the valley, with its rushing river, wound slowly away into the distant mists. Nearer home, she could look down and see the hotel garden, and already some of the guests had finished lunch and were strolling about studying the Alpine plants, or were sitting in the garden chairs reading the papers. From a corner of the garden, a narrow footpath ran along the mounta i nside for perhaps two hundred yards (though Celia could not be sure of the distance from this height), towards the chalet where Kurt had his private rooms; a particularly beautiful chalet, its balcony full of flowers. Celia could see from here the outside staircase that led to the balcony. She was interested to know what the interior was like, but perhaps she would never see it .
    As she watched, she saw Kurt cross the garden towards the footpath, and kept him under observation as he walked towards the chalet. She saw that he used the outside staircase, and went in by a door on the balcony. The sun was making her drowsy—perhaps she would sleep right here. But no, it would grow cold soon. Better perhaps to sleep on her bed. She rose reluctantly from the place where she was so comfortable, and just as she was turning to go into her room, she saw that there was another figure on the footpath to Kurt’s chalet. Golden-haired Anneliese was swinging along briskly, and Celia watched her, too, as she reached the chalet, ran up the outside staircase, and went in by the doorway Kurt had