“But, Herr Steinmetz,” she said, “I am not afraid. Please remember that. I have absolute faith in you—and in Paul.”
Steinmetz accepted this statement with his grave smile.
“There is only one thing I would recommend,” he said, “and that is a perfect discretion. Speak of this to no one, especially to no servants. You remember your own mutiny in India. Gott! what wonderful people you English are—men and women alike! You remember how the ladies kept up and brazened it out before the servants. You must do the same. I think I hear the rustle of the princess’s dress. Yes! And there is no news in the papers, you say?”
“None,” replied Maggie.
It may not have been entirely by chance that Claude de Chauxville drove over to Osterno to pay his respects the next day, and expressed himself desolated at hearing that the prince had gone out with Herr Steinmetz in a sleigh to a distant corner of the estate.
“My horses must rest,” said the Frenchman, calmly taking off his fur gloves. “Perhaps the princess will see me.”
A few minutes later he was shown into the morning-room.
“Did I see Mlle. Delafield on snow-shoes in the forest as I came along?” De Chauxville asked the servant in perfect Russian before the man left the room.
“Doubtless, Excellency. She went out on her snow-shoes half an hour ago.”
“That is all right,” said the Frenchman to himself when the door was closed.