Something just happened and. well, I'll tell you about it later so you'll understand. But right now, I want you to do something. After I leave, you get yourself another little pet, a frog or something. Keep it in this room. She'll know nothing's changed, then. She'll know you haven't been talking to me. Get that frog, Bobbie, and I'll be back so that you can have it always as a friend. Always.
"Goodbye, lad. You'll not be staying with that crazy woman much longer, I promise you."
Robert smiled and watched Drake go toward the door.
"Will you really come back, Drake?"
"Nothing on earth is going to stop me, son. I knew that when I saw you last night; I knew it when you asked me those questions. The first normal things I'd heard for... Yes, son, I'll be back for you."
Robert did not understand much. Only about the frog. He would find himself a pet and keep it.
The movement in the corners had stopped, and Robert could think for only a little while before he fell into a sound sleep. So sound a sleep that he did not hear Miss Gentilbelle coming up the stairs and he did not see her face when she stepped into the room.
"Roberta, you're late. You were told to be downstairs promptly at twelve-thirty and instead I find you resting like a lady of great leisure. Get up, girl!"
Robert's eyes opened and, he wanted to scream.
Then he apologized, remembering to mention nothing of Drake. He put on his dress quickly and went downstairs after Miss Gentilbelle.
He scarcely knew what he was eating; the food was tasteless in his mouth. But he remembered things and answered questions as he always had before.
During dessert Miss Gentilbelle folded her book and laid it aside.
"Mr. Franklin has gone away. Did you know that?"
"No, Mother, I did not. Where has he gone?"
"Not very far--he will be back. He's sure to come back; he always does. Roberta, did Mr. Franklin say anything to you before he left?"
"No, Mother, he did not. I didn't know Mr. Franklin had gone away."
Robert looked at Miss Gentilbelle's hands, watched the way the thin fingers curled about themselves, how they arched delicately in the air.
He looked at the yellow band and again at the fingers. Such white fingers, such dry, white fingers . . .
"Mother."
"Yes?"
"May I go into the yard for a little while?"
"Yes. You have been naughty and kept me waiting dinner but I shall not punish you. See you remember the kindness and be in the living room in one half hour. You have your criticism to write."
"Yes, Mother." Robert walked down the steps and into the yard. A soft breeze went through his hair and lifted the golden curls and billowed out his dress. The sun shone hotly but he did not notice. He walked to the first clump of trees and sat carefully on the grass. He waited.
And then, after a time, a plump frog hopped into the clearing and Robert quickly cupped his hands over it. The frog leapt about violently, bumping its body against Robert's palms, and then it was still.
Robert loosened the thin cloth belt around his waist and put the frog under his dress, so that it did not protrude noticeably.
Then he stroked its back from outside the dress. The frog did not squirm or resist.
Robert thought a while.
"I shall call you Drake," he said.
When Robert re-entered the kitchen he saw that Miss Gentilbelle was still reading. He excused himself and went up to his bedroom, softly, so that he would not be heard, and hid the frog in his dresser.
He began to feel odd then. Saliva was forming inside his mouth, boiling hot.
The corners of his room looked alive.
He went downstairs.
". . . and Jeanne d'Arc was burned at the stake, her body consumed by flames. And there was only the sound of the flames, and crackling straw and wood: she did not cry out once." Miss Gentilbelle sighed. "There was punishment for you, Roberta. Do you profit from her story?"
Robert said yes, he had profited.
"So it is with life. The Maid of Orleans was innocent of any crime; she was filled with the