She had no time to say more. Anne Mie was still looking at her in awed and mute surprise, when Merlin entered the room.
In his hand he held a leather case, all torn, and split at one end, and a few tiny scraps of half-charred paper. He walked straight up to Juliette, and roughly thrust the case and papers into her face.
"These are yours?" he said roughly.
"Yes."
"I suppose you know where they were found?"
She nodded quietly in reply.
"What were these papers which you burnt?"
"Love letters."
"You lie!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"As you please," she said curtly.
"What were these papers?" he repeated, with a loud obscene oath which, however, had not the power to disturb the young girl's serenity.
"I have told you," she said: "love letters, which I wished to burn."
"Who was your lover?" he asked.
Then as she did not reply he indicated the street, where cries of "Déroulède! Vive Déroulède!" still echoed from afar.
"Were the letters from him?"
"No."
