“Well, yes, Jenkins, here I am. What is the matter?”
Through the wall Paul could see the disdainful mouth, turned down with disgust.
“I have come to prevent you from going—from doing this foolish thing.”
“What foolish thing? I have some work at Tunis. I must go there.”
“But you don’t think, my dear child, that—”
“Oh, enough of your fatherly airs, Jenkins. We know what lies underneath it. Speak to me as you did just now. I prefer the bull-dog to the spaniel. I fear it less.”
“Well, I tell you that you must be mad to go over there alone, young and beautiful as you are.”
“And am I not always alone? Would you like me to take Constance, at her age?”
“Or me?”
“You!” She pronounced the word with an ironical laugh. “And what about Paris? And your patients—deprive society of its Cagliostro? Never, on any account.”