“When defeat would be intolerable, even a certain victory requires care!  And I cannot afford to lose.”

“Lose what?” enquired Etta.

De Chauxville looked at her, but he did not answer.  The music was soft again.

“I suppose that at Osterno you set no value upon a bear-skin,” he said after a pause.

“We have many,” admitted Etta.  “But I love fur, or trophies of any description.  Paul has killed a great deal.”

“Ah!”

“Yes,” answered Etta, and the music rose again.  “I should like to know,” she went on, “upon what assumption you make use of a word which does not often—­annoy me.”

“I have a good memory, madame.  Besides,” he paused, looking round the room, “there are associations within these walls which stimulate the memory.”

“What do you mean?” asked Etta, in a hard voice.  The hand holding the album suddenly shook like a leaf in the wind.

De Chauxville had stood upright, his hand at his mustache, after the manner of a man whose small-talk is exhausted.  It would appear that he was wondering how he could gracefully get away from the princess to pay his devoirs elsewhere.

“I cannot tell you now,” he answered; “Catrina is watching us across the piano.  You must beware, madame, of those cold blue eyes.”

He moved away, going toward the piano, where Maggie was standing behind Catrina’s chair.  He was like a woman, inasmuch as he could not keep away from his failures.

“Are you advanced, Miss Delafield?” he asked, with his deferential little bow.  “Are you modern?”

“I am neither; I have no desire for even the cheapest form of notoriety.  Why do you ask?” replied Maggie.

“I was merely wondering whether we were to count you among our rifles to-morrow.  One never knows what ladies will do next; not ladies—­I apologize—­women.  I suppose it is those who are not by birth ladies who aspire to the proud name of women.  The modern Woman—­with a capital W—­is not a lady—­n’est ce pas?”

“She does not mind your abuse, monsieur,” laughed Maggie.  “So long as you do not ignore her, she is happy.  But you may set your mind at rest as regards to-morrow.  I have never let off a gun in my life, and I am sensible enough not to begin on bears.”

De Chauxville made a suitable reply, and remained by the piano talking to the two young ladies until Etta rose and came toward them.  He then crossed to the other side of the room and engaged Paul in the discussion of further plans for the morrow.

It was soon time to dress for dinner, and Etta was forced to forego the opportunity she sought to exchange a word alone with De Chauxville.  That astute gentleman carefully avoided allowing her this opportunity.  He knew the value of a little suspense.

During dinner and afterward, when at length the gentlemen came to the drawing-room, the conversation was of a sporting tendency.  Bears, bear-hunting, and bear stories held supreme sway.  More than once De Chauxvilie returned to this subject.  Twice he avoided Etta.