e
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