“What is the meaning of it?” he said at length to Steinmetz, in a dull voice.  Maggie winced at the sound of it.

Steinmetz did not answer at once, but hesitated—­after the manner of a man weighing words which will never be forgotten by their hearers.

“It seems to me,” he said, with a slow, wise charity, the best of its kind, “quite clear that De Chauxville died in trying to save her—­the rest must be only guesswork.”

Maggie had come forward and was standing beside him.

“And in guessing let us be charitable—­is it not so?” he said, turning to her, with a twist of his humorous lips.

“I suppose,” he went on, after a little pause, “that Claude de Chauxville has been at the bottom of all our trouble.  All his life he has been one of the stormy petrels of diplomacy.  Wherever he has gone trouble has followed later.  By some means he obtained sufficient mastery over the princess to compel her to obey his orders.  The means he employed were threats.  He had it in his power to make mischief, and in such affairs a woman is so helpless that we may well forgive that which she may do in a moment of panic.  I imagine that he frightened the poor lady into obedience to his command that she should open this door.  Before dinner, when we were all in the drawing-room, I noted a little mark of dust on the white silk skirt of her dress.  At the time I thought only that her maid had been careless.  Perhaps you noticed it, mademoiselle?  Ladies note such things.”

He turned to Maggie, who nodded her head.

“That,” he went on, “was the dust of these old passages.  She had been down here.  She had opened this door.”

He spread out his hands in deprecation.  In his quaint Germanic way he held one hand out over the two motionless forms in mute prayer that they might be forgiven.

“We all have our faults,” he said.  “Who are we to judge each other?  If we understood all, we might pardon.  The two strongest human motives are ambition and fear.  She was ruled by both.  I myself have seen her under the influence of sudden panic.  I have noted the working of her great ambition.  She was probably deceived at every turn by that man, who was a scoundrel.  He is dead, and death is understood to wipe out all debts.  If I were a better man than I am, I might speak well of him.  But—­ach Gott! that man was a scoundrel!  I think the good God will judge between them and forgive that poor woman.  She must have repented of her action when she heard the clatter of the rioters all round the castle.  I am sure she did that.  I am sure she came down here to shut the door, and found Claude de Chauxville here.  They were probably talking together when the poor mad fools who killed them came round to this side of the castle and found them.  They recognized her as the princess.  They probably mistook him for the prince.  It is what men call a series of coincidences.  I wonder what God calls it?”