He went to the fire and warmed his slim white fingers. There was an evil smile lurking beneath his mustache.
When Etta opened the door a minute later he bowed low, without speaking. There was a suggestion of triumph in his attitude.
“Well?” said the princess, without acknowledging his salutation.
De Chauxville raised his eyebrows with the resigned surprise of a man to whom no feminine humor is new. He brought forward a chair.
“Will you sit?” he said, with exaggerated courtesy. “I have much to say to you. Besides, we have all the time. Your husband and his German friend are miles away. I passed Miss Delafield in the forest. She is not quite at home on her snow-shoes yet. She cannot be back for at least half an hour.”
Etta bit her lip as she looked at the chair. She sat slowly down and drew in the folds of her rich dress.
“I have the good fortune to find you alone.”
“So you have informed me,” she replied coldly.
De Chauxville leaned against the mantel-piece and looked down at her thoughtfully.
“At the bear-hunt the other day,” he said, “I had the misfortune to—well, to fall out with the prince. We were not quite at one on a question of etiquette. He thought that I ought to have fired. I did not fire; I was not ready. It appears that the prince considered himself to be in danger. He was nervous—flurried.”