At the great gates of the park they paused, and Paul gave the mayor of Osterno a few last words of advice.  While they were standing there the other man who had been following joined them.

“Is that you, Steinmetz?” asked Paul, his hand thrust with suspicious speed into his jacket pocket.

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Watching you,” answered Karl Steinmetz, in his mild way.  “It is no longer safe for either of us to go about alone.  It was mere foolery your going to that kabak.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

A TROIS

Of all the rooms in the great castle Etta liked the morning-room best.  Persons of a troubled mind usually love to look upon a wide prospect.  The mind, no doubt, fears the unseen approach of detection or danger, and transmits this dread to the eye, which likes to command a wide view all around.

The great drawing-room was only used after dinner.  Until that time the ladies spent the day either in their own boudoirs or in the morning-room looking over the cliff.  Here, while the cold weather lasted, Etta had tea served, and thither the gentlemen usually repaired at the hour set apart for the homely meal.  They had come regularly the last few evenings.  Paul and Steinmetz had suddenly given up their long drives to distant parts of the estate.

Here the whole party was assembled on the Sunday afternoon following Paul’s visit to the village kabak, and to them came an unexpected guest.  The door was thrown open, and Claude de Chauxville, pale, but self-possessed and quiet, came into the room.  The perfect ease of his manner bespoke a practised familiarity with the position difficult.  His last parting with Paul and Steinmetz had been, to say the least of it, strained.  Maggie, he knew, disliked and distrusted him.  Etta hated and feared him.

He was in riding costume—­a short fur jacket, fur gloves, a cap in his hand, and a silver-mounted crop.  A fine figure of a man—­smart, well turned out, well-groomed—­a gentleman.

“Prince,” he said frankly, “I have come to throw myself upon your generosity.  Will you lend me a horse?  I was riding in the forest when my horse fell over a root and lamed himself.  I found I was only three miles from Osterno, so I came.  My misfortune must be my excuse for this—­intrusion.”

Paul performed graciously enough that which charity and politeness demanded of him.  There are plenty of people who trade unscrupulously upon these demands, but it is probable that they mostly have their reward.  Love and friendship are stronger than charity and politeness, and those who trade upon the latter are rarely accorded the former.

So Paul ignored the probability that De Chauxville had lamed his horse on purpose, and offered him refreshment while his saddle was being transferred to the back of a fresh mount.  Farther than that he did not go.  He did not consider himself called upon to offer a night’s hospitality to the man who had attempted to murder him a week before.