So young and girlish did she look in her soft, white muslin frock that at sight of her the tension in Déroulède's face seemed to relax. Instinctively he had thrown the papers back into the desk, but his look had softened, from the fire of obstinate energy to that of inexpressible tenderness. Blakeney was quietly watching the young girl as she stood in the doorway, a little bashful and undecided. "Madame Déroulède sent me," she said hesitatingly, "she says the hour is getting late and she is very anxious. M. Déroulède, would you come and reassure her?" "In a moment, mademoiselle," he replied lightly, "my friend and I have just finished our talk. May I have the honour to present him?--Sir Percy Blakeney, a traveller from England. Blakeney, this is Mademoiselle Juliette de Marny, my mother's guest." CHAPTER VII A warning. Sir Percy bowed very low, with all the graceful flourish and elaborate gesture the eccentric customs of the time demanded. He had not said a word, since the first exclamation of warning, with which he had drawn his friend's attention to the young girl in the doorway. Noiselessly, as she had come, Juliette glided out of the room again, leaving behind her an atmosphere of wild flowers, of the bouquet she had gathered, then scattered in the woods. There was silence in the room for awhile. Déroulède was locking up his desk and slipping the keys into his pocket. "Shall we join my mother for a moment, Blakeney?" he said, moving towards the door. "I shall be proud to pay my respects," replied Sir Percy; "but before we close the subject, I think I'll change my mind about those papers. If I am to be of service to you I think I had best look through them, and give you my opinion of your schemes." Déroulède looked at him keenly for a moment. "Certainly," he said at last, going up to his desk. "I'll stay with you whilst you read them through." "La! not to-night, my friend," said Sir Percy lightly; "the hour is late, and madame is waiting for us. They'll be quite safe with me, and you'll entrust them to my care." Déroulède seemed to hesitate. Blakeney had spoken in his usual airy manner, and was even now busy readjusting the set of his perfectly-tailored coat. "Perhaps you cannot quite trust me?" laughed Sir Percy gaily. "I seemed too lukewarm just now." "No; it's not that, Blakeney!" said Déroulède quietly at last. "There is no mistrust in me, all the mistrust is on your side." "Faith!--" began Sir Percy. "Nay! do not explain. I understand and appreciate your friendship, but I should like to convince you how unjust is your mistrust of one of God's purest angels, that ever walked the earth." "Oho! that's it, is it, friend Déroulède? Methought you had foresworn the sex altogether, and now you are in love." "Madly, blindly, stupidly in love, my friend," said Déroulède with a sigh. "Hopelessly, I fear me!" "Why hopelessly?"