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.”