There was a little pause. Never had that silent room been so noiseless.
“In after-life,” Steinmetz went on, “it was our fate to be at variance several times. Our mutual dislike has had no opportunity of diminishing. It seems that, before you married, De Chauxville was pleased to consider himself in love with Mrs. Sydney Bamborough. Whether he had any right to think himself ill-used, I do not know. Such matters are usually known to two persons only, and imperfectly by them. It would appear that the wound to his vanity was serious. It developed into a thirst for revenge. He looked about for some means to do you harm. He communicated with your enemies, and allied himself to such men as Vassili of Paris. He followed us to Petersburg, and then he had a stroke of good fortune. He found out—who betrayed the Charity League!”
Paul turned slowly round. In his eyes there burned a dull, hungering fire. Men have seen such a look in the eyes of a beast of prey, driven, famished, cornered at last, and at last face to face with its foe.
“Ah! He knows that!” he said slowly.
“Yes, God help us! he knows that.”
“And who was it?”
Steinmetz moved uneasily from one foot to the other.
“It was a woman,” he said.
“A woman?”
“A woman—you know,” said Steinmetz slowly.