But she shrank back. "Ah non, laissez-moi," she cried, and bolted from the room.
Paragot looked at me inquiringly, and shrugged his shoulders.
"The eternal feminine, I suppose. Blanquette like the rest of them."
"It's odd you haven't noticed it before, Master."
"Noticed what?"
I lit a cigarette.
"The eternal feminine in Blanquette," I answered.
"What the deuce do you mean?"
"She was jealous even of my friendship with Madame de Verneuil," said I diplomatically, realising that I was on the point of betraying Blanquette's confidences.
"It never struck me that she was jealous," he remarked simply.