"
De Chauxville laughed almost awkwardly, and for a fraction of a second
he changed countenance under Steinmetz's quiet eyes.
"One can never know whom a woman intends to marry," said he carelessly,
"even if they can themselves, which I doubt. But I do not understand how
it is that she is so much better off, or appears to be, since the death
of her husband."
"Ah, she is much better off, or appears to be, since the death of her
husband," said the stout man, in his slow Germanic way.
"Yes."
De Chauxville rose, stretched himself and yawned. Men are not always, be
it understood, on their best behavior at their club.
"Good-night," he said shortly.
"Good-night, my very dear friend."
After the Frenchman had left, Karl Steinmetz remained quite motionless
and expressionless in his chair, until such time as he concluded that De
Chauxville was tired of watching him through the glass door. Then he
slowly sat forward in his chair and looked back over his shoulder.
"Our friend," he muttered, "is afraid that Paul is going to marry this
woman. Now, I wonder why?"
These two had met before in a past which has little or nothing to do
with the present narrative. They had disliked each other with a
completeness partly bred of racial hatred, partly the outcome of diverse
interests. But of late years they had drifted apart.
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