“Monsieur will dine after all,” she whispered calmly.
“My good girl, I am going to sea to-night.”
“What am I going to do with Madame?” she murmured to herself. “She will insist on returning to Paris.”
“Oh, have you heard of it?”
“I never get more than two hours’ notice,” she said. “But I know how it will be,” her voice lost its calmness. “I can look after Madame up to a certain point but I cannot be altogether responsible. There is a dangerous person who is everlastingly trying to see Madame alone. I have managed to keep him off several times but there is a beastly old journalist who is encouraging him in his attempts, and I daren’t even speak to Madame about it.”
“What sort of person do you mean?”
“Why, a man,” she said scornfully.
I snatched up my coat and hat.
“Aren’t there dozens of them?”
“Oh! But this one is dangerous. Madame must have given him a hold on her in some way. I ought not to talk like this about Madame and I wouldn’t to anybody but Monsieur. I am always on the watch, but what is a poor girl to do? . . . Isn’t Monsieur going back to Madame?”