Steinmetz bowed gravely.
“I have no doubt of it.”
“And yet you say that she must not be told.”
“Certainly not. A secret is considerably strained if it be divided between two people. Stretching it to three will probably break it. You can tell her when you are married. Does she consent to live in Osterno?”
“Oh, yes. I think so.”
“Um—m!”
“What did you say?”
“Um—m,” repeated Steinmetz, and the conversation somewhat naturally showed signs of collapse.
At this moment the door was opened, and a servant in bright livery, with powdered wig, silk stockings, and a countenance which might have been of wood, brought in a letter on a silver tray.
Paul took the square envelope and turned it over, displaying as he did so a coronet in black and gold on the corner, like a stamp.