Julien stepped out onto the landing and returned.
"There is no one about at all," he assured her.
She drew a little sigh.
"But it is rash, this! Monsieur Sir Julien, you are glad—you are pleased to see me? Make me one of your pretty speeches at once or I shall go."
"But, mademoiselle," Julien said, wheeling a chair towards her, "who indeed could be anything but glad to see you at any time? Yet forgive me if I am stupid. Tell me why you have come to see me this afternoon and why you are afraid that you are followed?"
"Why?" she murmured, looking up into his eyes. "Ah, Monsieur Sir
Julien, it is hard indeed to tell you that!"
Mademoiselle Ixe was without doubt an extraordinarily pretty young woman. She was famous even in Paris for her figure, her looks, the perfection of her clothes, the daintiness and distinction of those small adjuncts to her toilette so dear to the heart of a Parisienne. Julien looked at her and sighed.
"Perhaps, mademoiselle," he said, "you will find it hard also to tell me whether you come of your own accord or at the instigation of Herr Freudenberg?"
She looked genuinely hurt. Julien, however, was merciless.
"It is, perhaps, because Herr Freudenberg has told you that I once lost great things through trusting a woman that you think to find me an easy victim?" he went on. "Come, am I to give you those sheets over there," he added, pointing to his writing-table, "and promise for your sake never to write another line, or have you more serious designs?"