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Steinmetz was alone in the room, and De Chauxville was evidently almost obviously unaware of his presence. He went to the table and proceeded to search in vain for a newspaper that interested him. He raised his eyes casually and met the quiet gaze of Karl Steinmetz. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Yes," said Steinmetz. "You in London?" Steinmetz nodded gravely. "Yes," he repeated.
"I should not boast of it," answered Etta; "there is nothing to be proud of. It is easy enough to be bold if you are certain of victory." "When defeat would be intolerable, even a certain victory requires care! And I cannot afford to lose." "Lose what?" enquired Etta. De Chauxville looked at her, but he did not answer. The music was soft again.
I have never let off a gun in my life, and I am sensible enough not to begin on bears." De Chauxville made a suitable reply, and remained by the piano talking to the two young ladies until Etta rose and came toward them. He then crossed to the other side of the room and engaged Paul in the discussion of further plans for the morrow.
You must reconcile yourself to the knowledge that you have met your master." He bowed in his graceful way, spreading out his hands in mock humility. Etta did not answer him. For the moment she could see no outlet to this maze of trouble, and yet she was conscious of not fearing De Chauxville so much as she feared Karl Steinmetz.
Besides," he paused, looking round the room, "there are associations within these walls which stimulate the memory." "What do you mean?" asked Etta, in a hard voice. The hand holding the album suddenly shook like a leaf in the wind. De Chauxville had stood upright, his hand at his mustache, after the manner of a man whose small-talk is exhausted.
Catrina Lanovitch, who had never been ruled by those about her, shaped her whole life unquestioningly upon an opinion. They did not speak for some time, and then it was the girl who broke the silence. "I have a confession to make and a favor to ask," she said bluntly. Paul's attitude denoted attention, but he said nothing. "It is about the Baron de Chauxville," she said. "Ah!"
"Kindly give me your attention, madame. Does the prince take an interest in the peasants?" "Yes." "An active interest?" "Yes." "Have you any details?" "No," answered Etta. "Then you will watch him, and procure those details." Etta's face was defiant and pale. De Chauxville never took his eyes from it.
De Chauxville knew and was known of many. He had but recently arrived from London. He found himself called upon to shake hands
And all the world ever knew was that the Princess Howard Alexis was killed by the revolted peasants while attempting to escape by a side door, and that the Baron Claude de Chauxville, who was staying in the neighborhood, met his death in attempting to save her from the fury of the mob.
Now, if a very keen observer had taken the trouble to ignore the throng and watch two persons only, that observer might have discovered the fact that Claude de Chauxville was slowly and purposely making his way toward the man called Vassili.
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