k to Bubu le Vainqueur, whose society for the last three days has
afforded me infinite delectation. Although his views of life may be what
Melford would call depraved, at any rate they are first-hand. He does
not waste his time in futile politeness." Suddenly he paused, and seized
me by the shoulder and shook me, as he had often done before. "Creep out
of that shell of gentility, you little hermit-crab," he cried, "and tell
me how you would like to live in Melford for the rest of your natural
life."

"I shouldn't like it at all," said I.

"Then, how do you expect me to have liked it?"

Blanquette entered with the great white coffee jug and some thick cups
and set the tray on the oilskin-covered table. Seeing Paragot in his
grubby shirt-sleeves, she looked around, with her housewifely instinct
of tidiness, for the discarded garments.

"Where are--"

"Gone," he shouted, waving his arms. "Cast into the flames, and rent in
twain, and scattered to the winds of Heaven."

He laughed, seeing that she did not understand, and poured out a jorum
of coffee.

"The farcical comedy is over, Blanquette," said he gently, "I'm a
_Monsieur_ no longer, do you see? We are going to live just as we did
before you went away in the summer, and I am not going to be married. I
am going to live with my little Blanquette for ever and ever _in saeculo
saeculorum, amen_."

She turned as white as the coffee jug. I thought she was about to faint
and caught her in my arms. She did not faint, but burying her head
against my shoulder burst into a passion of tears.

"What the devil's the matter?" asked Paragot. "Are you sorry I'm not
going to be married?"

"_Mais non, mais non!_" Blanquette sobbed out vehemently.

"I think she's rather glad, Master," said I.

He put down his coffee-cup, and laid his hands on her as if to draw her
comfortingly away from me.

"My dear child--" he began.

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.