nquired indifferently.

De Chauxville bowed. He walked past her and closed the door, which she
happened to have left open.

Then he returned and stood by the window, leaning gracefully on his
rifle. His attitude, his hunting-suit, his great top-boots, made rather
a picturesque object of him.

"Well?" repeated Etta, almost insolently.

"It would have been wiser to have married me," said De Chauxville
darkly.

Etta shrugged her shoulders.

"Because I understand you better; I _know_ you better than your
husband."

Etta turned and glanced at the clock.

"Have you come back from the bear-hunt to tell me this, or to avoid the
bears?" she asked.

De Chauxville frowned. A man who has tasted fear does not like a
question of his courage.

"I have come to tell you that and other things," he answered.

He looked at her with his sinister smile and a little upward jerk of the
head. He extended his open hand, palm upward, with the fingers slightly
crooked.

"I hold you, madame," he said--"I hold you in my hand. You are my slave,
despite your brave title; my thing, my plaything, despite your servants,
and your great houses, and your husband! When I have finished telling
you all that I have to tell, you will understand. You will perhaps thank
me for being merciful."

Etta laughed defiantly.

"You are afraid of Paul," she cried. "You are afraid of Karl Steinmetz;
you will presently be afraid of me."

"I think not," said De Chauxville coolly. The two names just mentioned
were certainly not of pleasant import in his ears, but he was not going
to let a woman know that. This man had played dangerous cards before
now. He was not at all sure of his ground. He did not know what Etta's
position was in regard to Steinmetz. Behind the defiant woman there
lurked the broad shadow of the man who never defied; who knew many
things, but was ignorant of fear.

Unlike Karl Steinmetz, De Chauxville was not a bold player. He liked to
be sure of his trick before he threw down his trump card. His method was
not above suspicion: he liked to know what cards his adversary held, and
one may be sure that he was not above peeping.

"Karl Steinmetz is no friend of yours," he said.

Etta did not answer. She was thinking of the conversation she had had
with Steinmetz in Petersburg. She was wondering whether the friendship
he had offered--the solid thing as he called it--was not better than the
love of this man.

"I have information now," we