During the last week a fuller state--a greater
ceremony--had been observed by Paul's orders, and Steinmetz had thought
more than once of that historical event which appealed to his admiration
most--the Indian Mutiny.
Maggie was in the drawing-room alone. She was leaning one hand and arm
on the mantel-piece, looking thoughtfully into the fire. The rustle of
silk made her turn her head. It was Etta, beautifully dressed, with a
white face and eyes dull with suspense.
"I think it is warmer to-night," said Maggie, urged by a sudden
necessity of speech, hampered by a sudden chill at the heart.
"Yes," answered Etta. And she shivered.
For a moment there was a little silence and Etta looked at the clock. It
was ten minutes to seven.
A high wind was blowing, the first of the equinoctial gales heralding
the spring. The sound of the wind in the great chimney was like the
moaning of high rigging at sea.
The door opened and Steinmetz came in. Etta's face hardened, her lips
closed with a snap. Steinmetz looked at her and at Maggie. For once he
seemed to have no pleasantry ready for use. He walked toward a table
where some books and newspapers lay in pleasant profusion. He was
standing there when Paul came into the room. The prince glanced at
Maggie. He saw where his wife stood, but he did not look at her.
Steinmetz was writing something on half a sheet of notepaper, in pencil.
Pages:
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425