She clapped her hands. "Lisa Jones!" she said. "Please to run and fetch zee man who cleans zee floors!" Lisa ran out the door and headed for the janitor's room.

    Madame turned back to me. I was standing there with all my weight on my right leg. My left one didn't seem to want to hold me up. "How does zee onkle feel?" she asked me, looking intently into my eyes.

    I couldn't lie. "It - it hurts," I said. All I wanted to do was to keep on dancing. I could hardly stand the fact that I'd interrupted rehearsal for the third time in a row. But my ankle did hurt. A lot.

    "Come," said Mme Noelle. She walked with me over to the side of the room (or rather, she walked; I limped), sat me down on a chair, and knelt in front of me. "Let's take a look," she said.

    She picked up my foot and examined my ankle. Mme Noelle has seen a lot of injuries in her years of dancing - ballerinas are always hurting themselves. So she knew what she was doing. Anyway, even I could see that my ankle was swelling up and beginning to look bruised.

    "Not so bad," said Mme Noelle. "It is not sprained, I sink. Just a strain. But you must see zee doctor." She looked into my face. "Tell me," she said. "Why were you performing zee tour jete!" "What do you mean?" I asked. "That's what we were supposed to be doing, wasn't it?" She shook her head. "You were not listening well, mademoiselle. I said nossing about zee tour jete. You were all to show me your best glissade change." I felt like such a fool. I must have misunderstood Carrie. "I'm so sorry, Madame Noelle," I said. "You're right. I wasn't listening well." I hung my head, ashamed. I just hate to disappoint her.

    "It is all right, Jessica," said Mme Noelle gently. "Zee important sing for now is for your onkle to have zee chonce to heal." She smiled at me.