Mlle. Dragonet made it a practice to visit the girls in the infirmary, and she came to see Flip that evening, sitting in her erect, stiff manner in the chair Mlle. Duvoisine had drawn up for her. It was the first time Flip had spoken to the principal since the first day of school, and she was very nervous. Mlle. Dragonet held herself aloof from the girls, delegating many duties that would ordinarily have been hers to Madame Perceval, and the bravest of them regarded her with timidity. She conducted a class in seventeenth century French literature for the seniors; she held Morning Exercises in the Assembly Hall; and once a week she presided over a faculty table in the dining room. The little visits to the infirmary were more dreaded than anticipated by the girls, and Flip had forgotten all about the prospect in the other excitements of the day until Mlle. Duvoisine announced Mlle. Dragonet's arrival.
"I'm sorry to hear you aren't well, Philippa," the principal said formally.
"Oh, I'm fine, really, thank you, Mlle. Dragonet," Flip croaked.
"Mlle. Duvoisine tells me you haven't much fever."
"Oh, no, Mlle. Dragonet." Flip looked at the principal and realized with a start that she bore a faint family resemblance to her niece. The thin, aristocratic nose was very like Madame Perceval's, and there was a similarity in the shape of the mouth, though Madame Perceval's had a sweetness that Mlle. Dragonet's lacked. But there was the same flash of humor in the eyes, which were the same gold-flecked grey.
As though reading her thoughts, Mlle. Dragonet said, "Madame Perceval tells me your work in her Art classes is very promising."
"Oh," Flip breathed.
"Your scholastic record is in general quite satisfactory."
"Oh," Flip said again.
"I hope you are enjoying school?"