Paul leaned forward and dragged at his great fair mustache.  He was not a subtle man, analyzing his own thoughts.  Had he been, he might have wondered why he was not more jealous in respect to Etta.

“Or,” went on Steinmetz, “it may have been—­the other thing.  It is a singular thing that many men incapable of a lifelong love, can conceive a lifelong hatred based on that love.  Claude de Chauxville has hated me all his life; for very good reasons, no doubt.  You are now included in his antipathy because you married madame.”

“I dare say,” replied Paul carelessly.  “But I am not afraid of Claude de Chauxville, or any other man.”

“I am,” said Steinmetz.  “He is up to some mischief.  I was calling on the Countess Lanovitch in Petersburg when in walked Claude de Chauxville.  He was constrained at the sight of my stout person, and showed it, which was a mistake.  Now, what is he doing in Petersburg?  He has not been there for ten years, at least.  He has no friends there.  He revived a minute acquaintance with the Countess Lanovitch, who is a fool of the very first water.  Before I came away I heard from Catrina that he had wheedled an invitation to Thors out of the old lady.  Why, my friend, why?”

Paul reflected, with a frown.

“We do not want him out there,” he said.

“No; and if he goes there you must remain in England this winter.”

Paul looked up sharply.

“I do not want to do that.  It is all arranged,” he said.  “Etta was very much against going at first, but I persuaded her to do so.  It would be a mistake not to go now.”

Looking at him gravely, Steinmetz muttered, “I advise you not to go.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders.

“I am sorry,” he said.  “It is too late now.  Besides, I have invited Miss Delafield, and she has practically accepted.”

“Does that matter?” asked Steinmetz quietly.

“Yes.  I do not want her to think that I am a changeable sort of person.”

Steinmetz rose, and standing with his two hands on the marble rail he looked down into the room below.  The music of a waltz was just beginning, and some of the more enthusiastic spirits had already begun dancing, moving in and out among the uniforms and gay dresses.

“Well,” he said resignedly; “it is as you will.  There is a certain pleasure in outwitting De Chauxville.  He is so d—­d clever!”

CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE CHAMPS ELYSEES

“You must accept,” Steinmetz repeated to Paul.  “There is no help for it.  We cannot afford to offend Vassili, of all people in the world.”

They were standing together in the saloon of a suite of rooms assigned for the time to Paul and his party in the Hotel Bristol in Paris.  Steinmetz, who held an open letter in his hand, looked out of the window across the quiet Place Vendome.  A north wind was blowing with true Parisian keenness, driving before it a fine snow, which adhered bleakly to the northern face of a column which is chiefly remarkable for the facility with which it falls and rises again.