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.”