It was true enough that she missed many things about her home at Fontaine Maison, but she only dwelt on these thoughts in bed at night, unable to sleep. She was still troubled from time to time with nightmares of her mother’s death, and more than once her father, awakened by her cries, came in to soothe her. Living here, she saw much more of her father, and Elise had become a close companion. There were few young people for her to associate with, but on the whole she had adjusted very well. As she looked out the window to the street below on a fine August morning, Chantel felt happy. She waved at Robert, who was working in the flower bed, and called to him, “Good morning, Robert!” “Good morning, Miss Chantel. A fine day.” Chantel drew back and started across the room to her desk. Her room was beautifully done, but she sometimes felt uncomfortable in it. Everything was so new and fragile. On the light blue walls hung pictures in delicately carved wood frames. The dark blue carpet on the floor repeated a pattern of lighter blue and white flowers, and the mantel of a small marble fireplace held white china figurines of ballet dancers in various poses.
