À TROIS
Of all the rooms in the great castle Etta liked the morning-room best.
Persons of a troubled mind usually love to look upon a wide prospect.
The mind, no doubt, fears the unseen approach of detection or danger,
and transmits this dread to the eye, which likes to command a wide view
all around.
The great drawing-room was only used after dinner. Until that time the
ladies spent the day either in their own boudoirs or in the morning-room
looking over the cliff. Here, while the cold weather lasted, Etta had
tea served, and thither the gentlemen usually repaired at the hour set
apart for the homely meal. They had come regularly the last few
evenings. Paul and Steinmetz had suddenly given up their long drives to
distant parts of the estate.
Here the whole party was assembled on the Sunday afternoon following
Paul's visit to the village kabak, and to them came an unexpected guest.
The door was thrown open, and Claude de Chauxville, pale, but
self-possessed and quiet, came into the room. The perfect ease of his
manner bespoke a practised familiarity with the position difficult. His
last parting with Paul and Steinmetz had been, to say the least of it,
strained. Maggie, he knew, disliked and distrusted him. Etta hated and
feared him.
He was in riding costume--a short fur jacket, fur gloves, a cap in his
hand, and a silver-mounted crop. A fine figure of a man--smart, well
turned out, well-groomed--a gentleman.
"Prince," he said frankly, "I have come to throw myself upon your
generosity. Will you lend me a horse? I was riding in the forest when my
horse fell over a root and lamed himself. I found I was only three miles
from Osterno, so I came. My misfortune must be my excuse for
this--intrusion."
Paul performed graciously enough that which charity and politeness
demanded of him. There are plenty of people who trade unscrupulously
upon these demands, but it is probable that they mostly have their
reward. Love and friendship are stronger than charity and politeness,
and those who trade upon the latter are rarely accorded the former.
So Paul ignored the probability that De Chauxville had lamed his horse
on purpose, and offered him refreshment while his saddle was being
transferred to the back of a fresh mount. Farther than that he did not
go. He did not consider himself called upon to offer a night's
hospitality to the man who had attempted to murder him a week before.
With engaging frankness De Chauxville accepted every thing. It is an art
soon acquired and soon abused. There is something honest in an
ungracious acceptance of favors. Steinmetz suggested that perhaps M. de
Chauxville had lunched sparsely, and the Frenchman admitted that such
was the case, but that he loved afternoon tea above all meals.
"It is so innocent and simple--I know. I have the same feeling myself,"
concurred Steinmetz courteously.
"Do you ride about the country much alone?" asked Paul, while the
servants were setting before this uninvited guest a few more substantial
delicacies.
"Ah, no, prince! This is my first attempt, and if it had not procured me
this pleasure I should say that it will be my last."
"It is easy to lose yourself," said Paul; "besides"--and the two friends
watched the Frenchman's face closely--"besides, the country is disturbed
at present."
De Chauxville was helping himself daintily to pâté de foie gras.
"Ah, indeed! Is that so?" he answered. "But they would not hurt me--a
stranger in the land."
"And an orphan, too, I have no doubt," added Steinmetz, with a laugh.
"But would the moujik pause to enquire, my very dear De Chauxville?"
"At all events, I should not pause to answer," replied the Frenchman, in
the same, light tone. "I should evacuate. Ah, mademoiselle," he went on,
addressing Maggie, "they have been attempting to frighten you, I
suspect, with their stories of disturbed peasantry. It is to keep up the
lurid local color. They must have their romance, these Russians."
And so the ball was kept rolling. There was never any lack of
conversation when Steinmetz and De Chauxville were together, nor was the
talk without sub-flavor of acidity. At length the centre of attention
himself diverted that attention. He inaugurated an argument over the
best cross-country route from Osterno to Thors, which sent Steinmetz out
of the room for a map. During the absence of the watchful German he
admired the view from the window, and this strategetic movement enabled
him to say to Etta aside:
"I must see you before I leave the house; it is absolutely necessary."
Not long after the return of Steinmetz and the final decision respecting
the road to Thors, Etta left the room, and a few minutes later the
servant announced that the baron's horse was at the door.
De Chauxville took his leave at once, with many assurances of lasting
gratitude.
"Kindly," he added, "make my adieux to the princess; I will not trouble
her."
Quite by accident he met Etta at the head of the state staircase, and
expressed such admiration for the castle that she opened the door of the
large drawing-room and took him to see that apartment.
"What I arranged for Thursday is for the day after to-morrow--Tuesday,"
said De Chauxville, as soon as they were alone. "We cannot keep them
back any longer. You understand--the side door to be opened at seven
o'clock. Ah! who is this?"
They both turned. Steinmetz was standing behind them, but he could not
have heard De Chauxville's words. He closed the door carefully, and came
forward with his grim smile.
"À nous trois!" he said, and the subsequent conversation was in the
language in which these three understood each other best.
De Chauxville bit his lip and waited. It was a moment of the tensest
suspense.
"À nous trois!" repeated Steinmetz. "De Chauxville, you love an epigram.
The man who overestimates the foolishness of others is himself the
biggest fool concerned. A lame horse--the prince's generosity--making
your adieux. Mon Dieu! you should know me better than that after all
these years. No, you need not look at the door. No one will interrupt
us. I have seen to that."
His attitude and manner indicated a complete mastery of the situation,
but whether this assumption was justified by fact or was a mere trick it
was impossible to say. There was in the man something strong and good
and calm--a manner never acquired by one who has anything to conceal.
His dignity was perfect. One forgot his stoutness, his heavy breathing,
his ungainly size. He was essentially manly, and a presence to be
feared. The strength of his will made itself felt.
He turned to the princess with the grave courtesy that always marked his
attitude toward her.
"Madame," he said, "I fully recognize your cleverness in raising
yourself to the position you now occupy. But I would remind you that
that position carries with it certain obligations. It is hardly
dignified for a princess to engage herself in a vulgar love intrigue in
her own house."
"It is not a vulgar love intrigue!" cried Etta, with blazing eyes. "I
will not allow you to say that! Where is your boasted friendship? Is
this a sample of it?"
Karl Steinmetz bowed gravely, with outspread hands.
"Madame, that friendship is at your service, now as always."
De Chauxville gave a scornful little laugh. He was biting the end of his
mustache as he watched Etta's face. For a moment the woman stood--not
the first woman to stand thus--between two fears. Then she turned to
Steinmetz. The victory was his--the greatest he had ever torn from the
grasp of Claude de Chauxville.
"You know," she said, "that this man has me in his power."
"You alone. But not both of us together," answered Steinmetz.
De Chauxville looked uneasy. He gave a careless little laugh.
"My good Steinmetz, you allow your imagination to run away with you. You
interfere in what does not concern you."
"My very dear De Chauxville, I think not. At all events, I am going to
continue to interfere."
Etta looked from one to the other. She had at the first impulse gone
over to Steinmetz. She was now meditating drawing back. If De Chauxville
kept cool all might yet be well--the dread secret of the probability of
Sydney Bamborough being alive might still be withheld from Steinmetz.
For the moment it would appear that she was about to occupy the
ignominious position of the bone of contention. If these two men were
going to use her as a mere excuse to settle a lifelong quarrel of many
issues, it was probable that there would not be much left of her
character by the time that they had finished.
She had to decide quickly. She decided to assume the role of peacemaker.
"M. de Chauxville was on the point of going," she said. "Let him go."
"M. de Chauxville is not going until I have finished with him, madame.
This may be the last time we meet. I hope it is."
De Chauxville looked uneasy. His was a ready wit, and fear was the only
feeling that paralyzed it. Etta looked at him. Was his wit going to
desert him now when he most needed it? He had ridden boldly into the
lion's den. Such a proceeding requires a certain courage, but a higher
form of intrepidity is required to face the lion standing before the
exit.
De Chauxville looked at Steinmetz with shifty eyes. He was very like the
mask of the lynx in the smoking-room, even to the self-conscious,
deprecatory smile on the countenance of the forest sneak.
"Keep your temper," he said; "do not let us quarrel in the presence of a
lady."
"No; we will keep the quarrel till afterward."
Steinmetz turned to Etta.
"Princess," he said, "will you now, in my presence, forbid this man to
come to this or any other house of yours? Will you forbid him to address
himself either by speech or letter to you again?"
"You know I cannot do that," replied Etta.
"Why not?"
Etta made no answer.
"Because," replied De Chauxville for her, "the princess is too wise to
make an enemy of me. In that respect she is wiser than you. She knows
that I could send you and your prince to Siberia."
Steinmetz laughed.
"Nonsense!" he said. "Princess," he went on, "if you think that the fact
of De Chauxville numbering among his friends a few obscure police spies
gives him the right to persecute you, you are mistaken. Our friend is
very clever, but he can do no harm with the little that he knows of the
Charity League."
Etta remained silent. The silence made Steinmetz frown.
"Princess," he said gravely, "you were indignant just now because I made
so bold as to put the most natural construction upon the circumstances
in which I found you. It was a prearranged meeting between De Chauxville
and yourself. If the meeting was not the outcome of an intrigue such as
I mentioned, nor the result of this man's hold over you on account of
the Charity League, what was it? I beg of you to answer."
Etta made no reply. Instead, she raised her eyes and looked at De
Chauxville.
"Without going into affairs which do not concern you," said the
Frenchman, answering for her, "I think you will recognize that the
secret of the Charity League was quite sufficient excuse for me to
request a few minutes alone with the princess."
Of this Steinmetz took no notice. He was standing in front of Etta,
between De Chauxville and the door. His broad, deeply lined face was
flushed with the excitement of the moment. His great mournful eyes,
yellow and drawn with much reading and the hardships of a rigorous
climate, were fixed anxiously on her face.
Etta was not looking at him. Her eyes were turned toward the window, but
they did not see with comprehension. She was stony and stubborn.
"Princess," said Steinmetz, "answer me before it is too late. Has De
Chauxville any other hold over you?"
Etta nodded, and the little action brought a sudden gleam to the
Frenchman's eyes.
"If," said Steinmetz, looking from one to the other, "if you two have
been deceiving Paul I will have no mercy, I warn you of that."
Etta turned on him.
"Can you not believe me?" she cried. "I have practised no deception in
common with M. de Chauxville."
"The Charity League is quite enough for you, my friend," put in the
Frenchman hurriedly.
"You know no more of the Charity League than you did before--than the
whole world knew before--except this lady's share in the disposal of the
papers," said Steinmetz.
"And this lady's share in the disposal of the papers will not be welcome
news to the prince," answered De Chauxville.
"Welcome or unwelcome, he shall be told of it to-night."
Etta looked round sharply, her lips apart and trembling.
"By whom?" asked De Chauxville.
"By me," replied Steinmetz.
There was a momentary pause. De Chauxville and Etta exchanged a glance.
Etta felt that she was lost. This Frenchman was not one to spare either
man or woman from any motive of charity or chivalry.
"Even if that is so," he said, "the princess is not relieved from the
embarrassment of her situation."
"No?"
"No, my astute friend. There is a little matter connected with Sydney
Bamborough which has come to my knowledge."
Etta moved, but she said nothing. The sound of her breathing was
startlingly loud.
"Ah! Sydney Bamborough," said Steinmetz slowly. "What about him?"
"He is not dead; that is all."
Karl Steinmetz passed his broad hand down over his face, covering his
mouth for a second.
"But he died. He was found on the steppe, and buried at Tver."
"So the story runs," said De Chauxville, with easy sarcasm. "But who
found him on the steppe? Who buried him at Tver?"
"I did, my friend."
The next second Steinmetz staggered back a step or two as Etta fell
heavily into his arms. But he never took his eyes off De Chauxville.