Deroulede's kisses were still hot upon her hand, his words of love were still ringing in her ears.
And now this awful, deadly peril, which she with her own hand had brought on the man she loved! If in one moment's anguish the soul be allowed to expiate a lifelong sin, then indeed did Juliette atone during this one terrible second.
Her conscience, her heart, her entire being rose in revolt against her crime.

Her oath, her life, her final denunciation appeared before her in all their hideousness.
And now it was too late.
Deroulede stood facing Merlin, his most implacable enemy.

The latter was giving orders to his men, preparatory to searching the house, and there, just on the top of the valise, lay the letter-case, obviously containing those papers, to which the day before she had overheard Deroulede making allusion, whilst he spoke to his friend, Sir Percy Blakeney.
An unexplainable instinct seemed to tell her that the papers were in that case.

Her eyes were riveted on it, as if fascinated.

An awful terror held her enthralled for one second more, whilst her thoughts, her longings, her desires were all centred on the safety of that one thing.
The next instant she had seized it and thrown it upon the sofa.