In some ways this man was courageous.  He delayed giving Etta her opportunity until there was a question of retiring to bed in view of the early start required by the next day’s arrangements.  It had been finally settled that the three younger ladies should drive over to a woodman’s cottage at the far end of the forest, where luncheon was to be served.  While this item of the programme was arranged De Chauxville looked straight at Etta across the table.

At length she had the chance afforded to her, deliberately, by De Chauxville.

“What did you mean?” she asked at once.

“I have received information which, had I known it three months ago, would have made a difference in your life.”

“What difference?”

“I should have been your husband, instead of that thick-headed giant.”

Etta laughed, but her lips were for the moment colorless.

“When am I to see you alone?”

Etta shrugged her shoulders.  She had plenty of spirit.

“Please do not be dramatic or mysterious; I am tired.  Good-night.”

She rose and concealed a simulated yawn.

De Chauxville looked at her with his sinister smile, and Etta suddenly saw the resemblance which Paul had noted between this man and the grinning mask of the lynx in the smoking-room at Osterno.

“When?” repeated he.

Etta shrugged her shoulders.

“I wish to speak to you about the Charity League,” said De Chauxville.

Etta’s eyes dilated.  She made a step or two away from him, but she came back.

“I shall not go to the luncheon to-morrow, if you care to leave the hunt early.”

De Chauxville bowed.

CHAPTER XXIX

ANGLO-RUSSIAN

At bedtime Catrina went to Maggie’s room with her to see that she had all that she could desire.  A wood fire was burning brightly in the open French stove; the room was lighted by lamps.  It was warm and cheery.  A second door led to the little music-room which Catrina had made her own, and beyond was her bedroom.

Maggie had assured her hostess that she had every thing that she could wish, and that she did not desire the services of Catrina’s maid.  But the Russian girl still lingered.  She was slow to make friends—­not shy, but diffident and suspicious.  Her friendship once secured was a thing worth possessing.  She was inclined to bestow it upon this quiet, self-contained English girl.  In such matters the length of an acquaintance goes for nothing.  A long acquaintanceship does not necessarily mean friendship—­one being the result of circumstance, the other of selection.

“The princess knows Russian?” said Catrina suddenly.

She was standing near the dressing-table, where she had been absently attending to the candles.  She wheeled round and looked at Maggie, who was hospitably sitting on a low chair near the fire.  She was sorry for the loneliness of this girl’s life.  She did not want her to go away just yet.  There was another chair by the fire, inviting Catrina to indulge in those maiden confidences which attach themselves to slippers and hair-brushings.