He pressed his hand over his eyes as if to shut out the brightness of the room—­the glaring gas and brilliant decorations—­the shining bottles and the many tables which would not keep still.

“Here,” he said to the man, “give me more beer.”

Presently he rose, and, getting rather clumsily into his sleigh, drove back at the usual breakneck pace to the palace at the upper end of the English Quay.

He sent an ambiguous message to Paul, saying that he had returned and was dressing for dinner.  This ceremony he went through slowly, as one dazed by a great fall or a heavy fatigue.  His servant, a quick, silent man, noticed the strangeness of his manner, and like a wise servant only betrayed the result of his observation by a readier service, a quicker hand, a quieter motion.

As Steinmetz went to the drawing-room he glanced at his watch.  It was twenty minutes past seven.  He still had ten minutes to spare before dinner.

He opened the drawing-room door.  Etta was sitting by the fire, alone.  She glanced back over her shoulder in a quick, hunted way which had only become apparent to Steinmetz since her arrival at Petersburg.

“Good-evening,” she said.

“Good-evening, madame,” he answered.

He closed the door carefully behind him.

CHAPTER XX

AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP

Etta did not move when Steinmetz approached, except, indeed, to push one foot farther out toward the warmth of the wood fire.  She certainly was very neatly shod.  Steinmetz was one of her few failures.  She had never got any nearer to the man.  Despite his gray hair and bulky person she argued that he was still a man, and therefore an easy victim to flattery—­open to the influence of beauty.

“I wonder why,” she said, looking into the fire, “you hate me.”

Steinmetz looked down at her with his grim smile.  The mise en scene was perfect, from the thoughtful droop of the head to the innocent display of slipper.

“I wonder why you think that of me,” he replied.

“One cannot help perceiving that which is obvious.”

“While that which is purposely made obvious serves to conceal that which may exist behind it,” replied the stout man.

Etta paused to reflect over this.  Was Steinmetz going to make love to her?  She was not an inexperienced girl, and knew that there was nothing impossible or even improbable in the thought.  She wondered what Karl Steinmetz must have been like when he was a young man.  He had a deft way even now of planting a double entendre when he took the trouble.  How could she know that his manner was always easiest, his attitude always politest, toward the women whom he despised.  In his way this man was a philosopher.  He had a theory that an exaggerated politeness is an insult to a woman’s intellect.

“You think I do not care,” said the Princess Howard Alexis.