"The little manicure girl whom I met in the Soho restaurant," he replied promptly, "what on earth was her reason for wishing me to come and see you? Why did you want me to come?"
"I thought," she murmured, "that we had agreed not to speak of those matters for the present."
"That was some time ago. Things are changing around us every day. It is possible that within a very short time I may find myself in such a position here that I am forced to know exactly who are my friends and who my enemies."
"Can you believe," she asked, "that you would ever find me among the latter?"
Julien thought for several moments.
"I shall not ask you," he proceeded, "not to be offended with me for what I am going to say. It was a chance remark I heard—no more. It certainly, however, did suggest some association. There is a man who comes often to Paris, who calls himself a maker of toys. He says that he comes from Leipzig and that his name is Herr Freudenberg."
She sat as still as a statue. Not a line of her features was changed. Julien turned a little in his seat. As he watched, he saw that her bosom underneath the lace scarf which she wore was rising and falling quickly. Her teeth came suddenly together. He saw the lids droop over her eyes as though she were in pain.
"Herr Freudenberg," she repeated, "what of him?"
"I knew him in the days when I counted for something in the world," Julien explained. "Don't you remember that on the night when we dined together at the Maison Léon d'Or he sent one of his emissaries for me? He was a man in whom I had always felt the greatest, the most complete interest. I went to him gladly. Since then, as you will know if you read the papers, events have moved rapidly. I am beginning to realize now how completely and absolutely that man is the enemy of my country."
"It is true, that," she murmured.