“Let me go in,” she urged. “I may be able to help.”
Steinmetz shook his head.
“Better not!” he said. “Besides, your life is too precious to these poor people to run unnecessary risks.”
She gave a strange, bitter laugh.
“And what about you?” she said. “And Paul?”
“You never hear of Paul going into any of the cottages,” snapped Steinmetz sharply. “For me it is different. You have never heard that of Paul.”
“No,” she answered slowly; “and it is quite right. His life—it is different for him. How—how is Paul?”
“He is well, thank you.”
Steinmetz glanced down at her. She was looking across the plains beyond the boundless pine forests that lay between Thors and the Volga.
“Quite well,” he went on, kindly enough. “He hopes to ride over and pay his respects to the countess to-morrow or the next day.”