She laughed scornfully.
"I can tell you that. There is only one thing they can think. How these people will hate you who are trying to make mischief between France and England!"
Julien smiled grimly.
"I shouldn't be surprised," he admitted. "It may come to a tussle between us yet."
They pulled up before the door of his rooms. She, too, alighted.
"I want to see what your quarters are like," she said calmly. "I may come up, mayn't I?"
"By all means," he assented.
She followed him up the dark stairs and into his room. He turned on the lights. She looked around at his little salon, with its French furniture, its open windows with the lime trees only a few feet away, and threw herself into an easy-chair with a sigh of content.
"Julien, how delightful!" she exclaimed. "Is there anything for you?"
He walked to the mantelpiece. There was a telegram and a note for him.
The former he tore open and his eyes sparkled as he read it aloud.