"Now you know that Herr Freudenberg is my husband," she asked, "are you not a little afraid to be sitting here by my side?"
"Why should I be?"
"Don't you know," she continued, "that he is your enemy?"
Julien looked grave.
"No, I have scarcely realized that," he answered. "I think, perhaps, when he reads yesterday's papers he may be feeling like that. At present, so far as he knows, what have I done?"
"You," she said, "were the only man who ever stood up to him, who ever dealt a blow at his political supremacy. At the Conference of Berlin you triumphed. German papers politely, and in a very veiled manner, reminded him of his defeat. It was not a great matter, it is true, but none the less the Conference of Berlin was the first diplomatic failure in which he had ever been concerned, and you were responsible for it."
"You think, then," Julien remarked, "that he still harbors a grudge against me for that?"
"Without a doubt. Now tell me what you mean when you speak of yesterday's papers?"
"I am writing a series of articles," Julien told her. "They commenced yesterday. They will appear in a French paper—Le Grand Journal—and in the English Post. They are written with the sole idea of attacking Herr Freudenberg. When he reads the first, he will understand—he will be my enemy."
She held out her hand.