De Chauxville shook hands with the new-comers, and, while the countess prepared tea for him, launched into a long description of the preparations for the bear-hunt of the following day.  He addressed his remarks exclusively to Paul, as between enthusiasts and fellow-sportsmen.  Gradually Paul thawed a little, and made one or two suggestions which betrayed a deep knowledge and a dawning interest.

“We shall only be three rifles,” said De Chauxville, “Steinmetz, you, and I; and I must ask you to bear in mind the fact that I am no shot—­a mere amateur, my dear prince.  The countess has been good enough to leave the whole matter in my hands.  I have seen the keepers, and I have arranged that they come to-night at eleven o’clock to see us and to report progress.  They know of three bears, and are attempting to ring them.”

The Frenchman was really full of information and enthusiasm.  There were many details upon which he required Paul’s advice, and the two men talked together with less constraint than they had hitherto done.  De Chauxville had picked up a vast deal of technical matter, and handled his little knowledge with a skill which bade fair to deprive it of its proverbial danger.  He presently left Steinmetz and the prince engaged in a controversy with the countess as to a meeting-place at the luncheon-hour.

Maggie and Catrina were at the piano.  Etta was looking at a book of photographs.

“A charming house, princess,” said De Chauxville, in a voice that all could hear while the music happened to be soft.  But Catrina’s music was more remarkable for strength than for softness.

“Charming,” replied Etta.

The music rose into a swelling burst of harmonious chords.

“I must see you, princess,” said De Chauxville.

Etta glanced across the room toward her husband and Steinmetz.

“Alone,” added the Frenchman coolly.

Etta turned a page of the album and looked critically into a photograph.

“Must!” she said, with a little frown.

“Must!” repeated De Chauxville.

“A word I do not care about,” said Etta, with raised eyebrows.

The music was soft again.

“It is ten years since I held a rifle,” said De Chauxville.  “Ah, madame, you do not know the excitement.  I pity ladies, for they have no sport—­no big game.”

“Personally, monsieur,” answered Etta, with a bright laugh, “I do not grudge you your big game.  Suppose you miss the bear, or whatever it may be?”

“Then,” said De Chauxville, with a brave shrug of the shoulders, “it is the turn of the bear.  The excitement is his—­the laugh is with him.”

Catrina’s foot was upon the loud pedal again.

“Nevertheless, madame,” said De Chauxville, “I make so bold as to use the word.  You perhaps know me well enough to be aware that I am rarely bold unless my ground is sure.”

“I should not boast of it,” answered Etta; “there is nothing to be proud of.  It is easy enough to be bold if you are certain of victory.”