"I see." Madame nodded. "Now tell me what Paul has told you about himself."
"Why—nothing much," Flip said. "I mean, I know his mother's singing in Italy and Monsieur Laurens is writing a book and Paul is going to be a doctor...."
Madame Perceval nodded again. "I see," she repeated thoughtfully. "Now, Philippa, I suppose you realize that you should be penalized. You've been breaking rules right and left. It's a pretty serious situation."
"I know, Madame. Please punish me. I can stand anything as long as I can see Paul again. If I can't see him again I shall die."
"I don't think you'd die, Philippa. And since you're not a senior you're not allowed to have dates. Not seeing Paul would be automatic before your penalties were even considered."
The color drained from Flip's face and she stared up at Madame Perceval, but she did not move or say anything.
Madame spread cheese on a cracker, handed it absently to Flip, and leaned back in her chair. She held the cheese knife in her hand and suddenly she slapped it against her palm with a decisive motion. "I'm not going to forbid you to see Paul, Philippa," she said, "but you will have to have a penalty and a stiff one, because the fact that it was Paul you were seeing does not lessen the seriousness of your offense, but I'll decide on that tomorrow. In the meantime I want to talk to you about Paul." For a moment Madame Perceval looked probingly at Flip. Then, as though satisfied with what she saw, she continued. "We've been worried about Paul, and I think you can help us."
"Me, Madame?" Flip asked.
"Yes, you. Yes, I think you of all people, Philippa."
"But how, Madame?"