"The prince," continued De Chauxville, turning to Paul, "is a great
sportsman, I am told--a mighty hunter. I wonder why Englishmen always
want to kill something."
Paul smiled, without making an immediate answer. He was not the man to
be led into the danger of repartee by such as De Chauxville.
"We have a few bears left," he said.
"You are fortunate," protested De Chauxville. "I shot one when I was
younger. I was immensely afraid, and so was the bear. I have a great
desire to try again."
Etta glanced at Paul, who returned De Chauxville's bland gaze with all
the imperturbability of a prince.
The countess's cackling voice broke in at this juncture, as perhaps De
Chauxville had intended it to do.
"Then why not come and shoot ours?" she said. "We have quite a number of
them in the forests at Thors."
"Ah, Mme. la Comtesse," he answered, with outspread, deprecatory hands,
"but that would be taking too great an advantage of your hospitality and
your well-known kindness."
He turned to Catrina, who received him with a half-concealed frown. The
countess bridled and looked at her daughter with obvious maternal
meaning, as one who was saying, "There--you bungled your prince, but I
have procured you a baron."
"The abuse of hospitality is the last refuge of the needy," continued De
Chauxville oracularly.
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