“Then I accept, madame,” said De Chauxville, with the engaging frankness which ever had a false ring in it.
If the whole affair had been prearranged in Claude de Chauxville’s mind, it certainly succeeded more fully than is usually the case with human schemes. If, on the other hand, this invitation was the result of chance, Fortune had favored Claude de Chauxville beyond his deserts.
The little scene had played itself out before the eyes of Paul, who did not want it; of Etta, who desired it; and of Catrina, who did not exactly know what she wanted, with the precision of a stage-play carefully rehearsed.
Claude de Chauxville had unscrupulously made use of feminine vanity with all the skill that was his. A little glance toward Etta, as he accepted the invitation, conveyed to her the fact that she was the object of his clever little plot; that it was in order to be near her that he had forced the Countess Lanovitch to invite him to Thors; and Etta, with all her shrewdness, was promptly hoodwinked. Vanity is a handicap assigned to clever women by Fate, who handicaps us all without appeal. De Chauxville saw by a little flicker of the eyelids that he had not missed his mark. He had hit Etta where his knowledge of her told him she was unusually vulnerable. He had made one ally. The countess he looked upon with a wise contempt. She was easier game than Etta. Catrina he understood well enough. Her rugged simplicity had betrayed her secret to him before he had been five minutes in the room. Paul he despised as a man lacking finesse and esprit—a truly French form of contempt. For Frenchmen have yet to learn that such qualities have remarkably little to do with love.
Claude de Chauxville was one of those men—alas! too many—who owe their success in life almost entirely to some feminine influence or another. Whenever he came into direct opposition to men it was his instinct to retire from the field. Behind Paul’s back he despised him; before his face he cringed.
“Then, perhaps,” he said, when the princess was engaged in the usual farewells with the countess, and Paul was moving toward the door—“then, perhaps, prince, we may meet again before the spring—if the countess intends her invitation to be taken seriously.”
“Yes,” answered Paul; “I often shoot at Thors.”
“If you do not happen to come over, perhaps I may be allowed to call and pay my respects—or is the distance too great?”
“You can do it in an hour and a half with a quick horse, if the snow is good,” answered Paul.
“Then I may make it au revoir?” enquired De Chauxville, holding out a frank hand.