“Nothing, my dear young lady—­yet,” he answered, coming forward and rubbing his broad palms slowly together.

Maggie was reading an English newspaper.  She turned its pages without pausing to notice the black and sticky obliterations effected by the postal authorities before delivery.  It was no new thing to her now to come upon the press censor’s handiwork in the columns of such periodicals and newspapers as Paul received from England.

“Because,” she said, “if there is you need not be afraid of telling me.”

“To have that fear would be to offer you an insult,” replied Steinmetz.  “Paul and I are investigating matters, that is all.  The plain truth, my dear young lady, is that we do not know ourselves what is in the wind.  We only know there is something.  You are a horsewoman—­you know the feeling of a restive horse.  One knows that he is only waiting for an excuse to shy or to kick or to rear.  One feels it thrilling in him.  Paul and I have that feeling in regard to the peasants.  We are going the round of the outlying villages, steadily and carefully.  We are seeking for the fly on the horse’s body—­you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

She gave a little nod.  She had not lost color, but there was an anxious look in her eyes.

“Some people would have sent to Tver for the soldiers,” Steinmetz went on.  “But Paul is not that sort of man.  He will not do it yet.  You remember our conversation at the Charity Ball in London?”

“Yes.”

“I did not want you to come then.  I am sorry you have come now.”

Maggie laid aside the newspaper with a little laugh.

“But, Herr Steinmetz,” she said, “I am not afraid.  Please remember that.  I have absolute faith in you—­and in Paul.”

Steinmetz accepted this statement with his grave smile.

“There is only one thing I would recommend,” he said, “and that is a perfect discretion.  Speak of this to no one, especially to no servants.  You remember your own mutiny in India.  Gott! what wonderful people you English are—­men and women alike!  You remember how the ladies kept up and brazened it out before the servants.  You must do the same.  I think I hear the rustle of the princess’s dress.  Yes!  And there is no news in the papers, you say?”

“None,” replied Maggie.

It may not have been entirely by chance that Claude de Chauxville drove over to Osterno to pay his respects the next day, and expressed himself desolated at hearing that the prince had gone out with Herr Steinmetz in a sleigh to a distant corner of the estate.

“My horses must rest,” said the Frenchman, calmly taking off his fur gloves.  “Perhaps the princess will see me.”

A few minutes later he was shown into the morning-room.

“Did I see Mlle. Delafield on snow-shoes in the forest as I came along?” De Chauxville asked the servant in perfect Russian before the man left the room.