With engaging frankness De Chauxville accepted every thing.  It is an art soon acquired and soon abused.  There is something honest in an ungracious acceptance of favors.  Steinmetz suggested that perhaps M. de Chauxville had lunched sparsely, and the Frenchman admitted that such was the case, but that he loved afternoon tea above all meals.

“It is so innocent and simple—­I know.  I have the same feeling myself,” concurred Steinmetz courteously.

“Do you ride about the country much alone?” asked Paul, while the servants were setting before this uninvited guest a few more substantial delicacies.

“Ah, no, prince!  This is my first attempt, and if it had not procured me this pleasure I should say that it will be my last.”

“It is easy to lose yourself,” said Paul; “besides”—­and the two friends watched the Frenchman’s face closely—­“besides, the country is disturbed at present.”

De Chauxville was helping himself daintily to pate de foie gras.

“Ah, indeed!  Is that so?” he answered.  “But they would not hurt me—­a stranger in the land.”

“And an orphan, too, I have no doubt,” added Steinmetz, with a laugh.  “But would the moujik pause to enquire, my very dear De Chauxville?”

“At all events, I should not pause to answer,” replied the Frenchman, in the same, light tone.  “I should evacuate.  Ah, mademoiselle,” he went on, addressing Maggie, “they have been attempting to frighten you, I suspect, with their stories of disturbed peasantry.  It is to keep up the lurid local color.  They must have their romance, these Russians.”

And so the ball was kept rolling.  There was never any lack of conversation when Steinmetz and De Chauxville were together, nor was the talk without sub-flavor of acidity.  At length the centre of attention himself diverted that attention.  He inaugurated an argument over the best cross-country route from Osterno to Thors, which sent Steinmetz out of the room for a map.  During the absence of the watchful German he admired the view from the window, and this strategetic movement enabled him to say to Etta aside: 

“I must see you before I leave the house; it is absolutely necessary.”

Not long after the return of Steinmetz and the final decision respecting the road to Thors, Etta left the room, and a few minutes later the servant announced that the baron’s horse was at the door.

De Chauxville took his leave at once, with many assurances of lasting gratitude.

“Kindly,” he added, “make my adieux to the princess; I will not trouble her.”

Quite by accident he met Etta at the head of the state staircase, and expressed such admiration for the castle that she opened the door of the large drawing-room and took him to see that apartment.

“What I arranged for Thursday is for the day after to-morrow—­Tuesday,” said De Chauxville, as soon as they were alone.  “We cannot keep them back any longer.  You understand—­the side door to be opened at seven o’clock.  Ah! who is this?”