Madame de Maluet to let her leave school,
to go to the station and meet the Dragon (that's the course he himself
suggests: too much trouble even to run out to Versailles and fetch her)
with only me as chaperon. I dare say she's right about Madame, for all
the teachers will be gone day after to-morrow, and Madame herself
invariably collapses the moment school breaks up: she seems to break up
with it, and to have to lie in bed for at least half a week to be
mended.

Madame has really quite a flattering opinion of my discretion. She's
told me so several times. I suppose it's the way I do my hair for
school, which does give me a look of incorruptible virtue, doesn't it?
Fortunately she doesn't know I always change it (if not too tired) ten
minutes after I get home to you.

Well, then, taking Madame's permission for granted, Ellaline points out
that all stumbling-blocks are removed, for she won't count moral ones,
or let me count them.

I'm to see her off for St. Cloud, and wait to receive the Dragon. "Sir,
behold the burnt-offering--I mean, behold your ward!"

And I'm to go on being a burnt-offering till it's convenient for the
real Ellaline to scrape my ashes off the smoking altar.

It's all very well to make fun of the thing like that. But to be
serious--and goodness knows it's serious enough--what's to be done,
little mother? Ellaline has (because I insisted) given me till to-morrow
morning to answer. I explained that my consent must depend on your
consent. So that's why I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast. I
rushed home to write this immense letter to you, and get it off to catch
the post. It will arrive in the morning with your coffee and _petits
pains_--how I wish I were in its place! You can take half an hour to
make up your mind (I'm sure with your lightning wits you wouldn't ask
longer to decide the fate of the Great Powers of Europe) and then
telegraph me simply "Yes," or "No." I will understand.

For my own sake, naturally, I should prefer "No." That goes unsaid,
doesn't it? I should then be relieved of responsibility; for even
Ellaline, knowing that you and I are all in all to each other, could
hardly expect me to fly in your face, just to please her. But, on the
other hand, if you did think I could do this dreadful thing without
thereby becoming myself a Dreadful Thing, it would be a glorious relief
to pay my debt of gratitude to Ellaline, yes, and even _over_-pay it,
perhaps. One likes to ove