Etta made no reply. Instead, she raised her eyes and looked at De Chauxville. "Without going into affairs which do not concern you," said the Frenchman, answering for her, "I think you will recognize that the secret of the Charity League was quite sufficient excuse for me to request a few minutes alone with the princess." Of this Steinmetz took no notice. He was standing in front of Etta, between De Chauxville and the door. His broad, deeply lined face was flushed with the excitement of the moment. His great mournful eyes, yellow and drawn with much reading and the hardships of a rigorous climate, were fixed anxiously on her face. Etta was not looking at him. Her eyes were turned toward the window, but they did not see with comprehension. She was stony and stubborn. "Princess," said Steinmetz, "answer me before it is too late. Has De Chauxville any other hold over you?" Etta nodded, and the little action brought a sudden gleam to the Frenchman's eyes. "If," said Steinmetz, looking from one to the other, "if you two have been deceiving Paul I will have no mercy, I warn you of that." Etta turned on him. "Can you not believe me?" she cried. "I have practised no deception in common with M. de Chauxville." "The Charity League is quite enough for you, my friend," put in the Frenchman hurriedly. "You know no more of the Charity League than you did before--than the whole world knew before--except this lady's share in the disposal of the papers," said Steinmetz. "And this lady's share in the disposal of the papers will not be welcome news to the prince," answered De Chauxville. "Welcome or unwelcome, he shall be told of it to-night." Etta looked round sharply, her lips apart and trembling. "By whom?" asked De Chauxville. "By me," replied Steinmetz. There was a momentary pause. De Chauxville and Etta exchanged a glance. Etta felt that she was lost. This Frenchman was not one to spare either man or woman from any motive of charity or chivalry. "Even if that is so," he said, "the princess is not relieved from the embarrassment of her situation." "No?" "No, my astute friend. There is a little matter connected with Sydney Bamborough which has come to my knowledge." Etta moved, but she said nothing. The sound of her breathing was startlingly loud. "Ah! Sydney Bamborough," said Steinmetz slowly. "What about him?" "He is not dead; that is all." Karl Steinmetz passed his broad hand down over his face, covering his mouth for a second. "But he died. He was found on the steppe, and buried at Tver." "So the story runs," said De Chauxville, with easy sarcasm. "But who found him on the steppe? Who buried him at Tver?" "I did, my friend." The next second Steinmetz staggered back a step or two as Etta fell heavily into his arms. But he never took his eyes off De Chauxville. CHAPTER XXXVII À DEUX