“It is possible,” he went on in his strong, quiet, inexorable voice, “that Stepan Lanovitch knows now.”

Etta did not move.  She was staring into the fire—­staring—­staring.

Then she slowly fainted, rolling from the low chair to the fur hearth-rug.

Paul picked her up like a child and carried her to the bedroom, where the maids were waiting to dress her.

“Here,” he said, “your mistress has fainted from the fatigue of the journey.”

And, with his practised medical knowledge, he himself tended her.

CHAPTER XXV

OSTERNO

“Always gay; always gay!” laughed Steinmetz, rubbing his broad hands together and looking down into the face of Maggie, who was busy at the breakfast-table.

“Yes,” answered the girl, glancing toward Paul, leaning against the window reading his letters.  “Yes, always gay.  Why not?”

Karl Steinmetz saw the glance.  It was one of the little daily incidents that one sees and half forgets.  He only half forgot it.

“Why not, indeed?” he answered.  “And you will be glad to hear that Ivanovitch is as ready as yourself this morning to treat the matter as a joke.  He is none the worse for his freezing, and all the better for his experience.  You have added another friend, my dear young lady, to a list which is, doubtless, a very long one.”

“He is a nice man,” answered Maggie.  “How is it,” she asked, after a little pause, “that there are more men in the lower classes whom one can call nice than among their betters?”

Paul paused between two letters, hearing the question.  He looked up as if interested in the answer, but did not join in the conversation.

“Because dealing with animals and with nature is more conducive to niceness than too much trafficking with human beings,” replied Steinmetz promptly.

“I suppose that is it,” said Maggie, lifting the tea-pot lid and looking in.  “At all events, it is the sort of answer one might expect from you.  You are always hard on human nature.”

“I take it as I find it,” replied Steinmetz, with a laugh, “but I do not worry about it like some people.  Now, Paul would like to alter the course of the world.”

As he spoke he half turned toward Paul, as if suggesting that he should give an opinion, and this little action had the effect of putting a stop to the conversation.  Maggie had plenty to say to Steinmetz, but toward Paul her mental attitude was different.  She was probably unaware of this little fact.

“There,” she said, after a pause, “I have obeyed Etta’s instructions.  She does not want us to begin, I suppose?”

“No,” replied Paul.  “She will be down in a minute.”

“I hope the princess is not overtired,” said Steinmetz, with a certain formal politeness which seemed to accompany any mention of Etta’s name.

“Not at all, thank you,” replied Etta herself, coming into the room at that moment.  She looked fresh and self-confident.  “On the contrary, I am full of energy and eagerness to explore the castle.  One naturally takes an interest in one’s baronial halls.”