They had emerged from the country lane along which they had been traveling and were returning now to Paris along the broad highroad. They were going at a fair speed when suddenly a huge racing car came flashing by them, covered with dust, and with all the indications of having come a great distance. Madame Christophor leaned forward in her seat and clutched her companion's arm. Her eyes were fixed upon the figure of the man leaning back by the side of the driver.
"You see?" she muttered.
"Herr Freudenberg!" Julien gasped.
She nodded. Already the car had vanished in a cloud of dust.
"He is just from Germany or from the frontier. He very seldom comes all the way by rail. The car is always waiting."
"I shall see him, then, to-night," Julien declared. "Already, without a doubt, he knows. Already he is my enemy. What about you, Madame Christophor?"
"My friend," she promised, "you will have nothing to fear from me. So long as I can forget your sex, I rather like you."
"Are you going to answer my question about the little girl who sent me to you?" he asked.
"I will tell you, if you like," she said. "Mademoiselle Senn was once in my service. She occasionally executes commissions for me in London. She knows everybody. It was in obedience to my wishes that she gave you that message."
"But why?" Julien demanded. "What interest had you in me?"