“you cannot possibly mean to suggest——”

The young man laughed pleasantly.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “ladies have their own ways of paying debts. If you don’t like it——” and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh,” said I, smiling, “I misunderstood you.”

“It is, of course,” said the older man, speaking for the first time, and in a loud whisper, “of vital importance that His Royal Highness’ name should not appear.”

This really began to be mysterious and interesting. I nodded.

“That goes without saying,” said the young man. “And you’ll be ready?”

“Ready!” I said. “But when?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Oh, six o’clock to-morrow morning.”

“That’s early hours.”

“Well, you must, you know,” he answered.

“And,” added the older man, “the countess hopes you’ll come to breakfast afterward at ten.”

“I’ll be there, never fear,” said I, “and it’s very kind.”

“Bravo!” said the young man, clapping me on the shoulder (for we had risen from table). “You take it the right way.”

As may be supposed, I was rather puzzled by this time, and decidedly vexed to find I should have to be up so early. Still, the mention of His Royal Highness and the countess decided me to go on for the present; probably the real man—for, unless it were all a mad joke, there must be a real man—would appear in the course of the evening. I only hoped my new friends would, in their turn, take it in the right way when that happened.

“Have you a servant with you?” asked the young man, as we said good-night.

“No,” said I; “I am quite alone.”

“You are a paragon of prudence,” he answered, smiling. “Well, I’ll call you, and we’ll slip out quietly.”

Just as I was getting into bed, the waiter knocked at my door and gave me a note. It bore no address.

“Is it for me?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “You are the gentleman who dined with Herr Vooght and M. Dumergue?”

I supposed I was, and opened the note.

“You are generous and forgiving, indeed,” it said (and said it in English). “What reward will you claim? But do be careful. He is dangerous.—M.”

“The devil!” I exclaimed.

The next morning I was aroused at five o’clock by my two friends.

“Good-morning, Herr Vooght,” said I, looking just between them.

“Good-morning,” answered the older man.

“Now, my dear fellow, come along. There’s a cup of coffee downstairs,” said the other, whom I took to be Dumergue.

After coffee, we got into a close carriage with a pair of horses, and drove two or three miles into the country; my companions said little. Dumergue twice asked in a joking way how I felt, and Vooght puzzled me very much by remarking:

“They are bringing all the necessaries; but I don’t know what they will choose.”

When this was said, Dumergue was humming a tune. He went on for five minutes, and then said, with a touch of scorn:

“My good Vooght, they know our friend’s reputation. They will choose pistols.”

I could not repress a start. No doubt it was stupid of me not to have caught the meaning of this early expedition before, but it really never struck me that our business might be a duel. However, so it seemed, and apparently I was one of the principals. Dumergue noticed my little start.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Do they know my name?” said I.

“My dear friend, could you expect the baron to fight with an unknown man? The challenge had to be in your name.”

I had clearly been the challenger. I was consumed with curiosity to know what the grievance was, and how the countess was concerned in the matter.

“The countess assured us,” said Vooght, “that she had your authority.”

“As fully as if I had been there,” I answered, and Dumergue resumed his tune.

I was sincerely glad that the name of my original had been given, for his reputation for swordsmanship had evidently saved me from a hole in my skin. I was a fair hand with a pistol; but, like most of my countrymen, a mere bungler with the rapier. It was very annoying, though, that my friends’ exaggerated prudence prevented them mentioning my name: it would have been more convenient to know who I was.

I had not long for reflection, for we soon drew up by a roadside inn, and, getting out of the carriage, walked through the house, where we were apparently expected, into a field behind. There were three men walking up and down, and two of them at once advanced to meet Vooght and Dumergue. I remained where I was, merely raising my hat, and the third man—a big, burly fellow, with a heavy black mustache—followed my example.

This one, no doubt, was the baron. To be frank, he looked a brute, and I had very little hesitation in assuming that the merits of the quarrel must be on my side. I was comforted by this conclusion, as I had no desire to shoot an unoffending person. Preliminaries were soon concluded. I overheard one of the baron’s representatives mention the word apology, and add that they would meet us halfway, but Dumergue shook his head decisively. This defiant attitude became Dumergue very well; but I, for my part, should have been open to reason.

The baron and I were placed opposite one another at twelve paces. There were to be two shots—unless, of course, one of us were disabled at the first fire; after that, the seconds were to consider whether the matter need go further.

The word was just about to be given, when to my surprise the baron cried:

“Stop!”

Everyone looked at him in astonishment.

“Before we fire,” he went on, “I wish to ask this gentleman one question. No—I will not be stopped!”

His seconds, who had advanced, fell back before his resolute gesture, and he continued, addressing me:

“Sir, will you do me the honor to answer one question? Are you the person who accompanied——”

Vooght struck in quickly:

“No names, please!”

The baron bowed, and began again.

“On your honor, sir, are you the gentleman who accompanied the lady in question to the masked ball on the night in question?”

These gentlemen were all diplomatic. I thought I would be diplomatic too.

“Surely this is grossly irregular?” I said, appealing to my supporters.

“I ask for an answer,” said the baron.

“It’s nothing but a new insult,” said I.

“I have my reasons, and those gentlemen know them.”

This was intolerable.

“You mean to fight, or you don’t, M. le Baron,” said I. “Which is it?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Your master is well served,” he said with a sneer.

His seconds looked bewildered: Vooght bit his nails, and Dumergue swore furiously, and, coming near me, whispered in my ear:

“Shoot straight! Stop his cursed mouth for him!”

I had not the least intention of killing the baron, if I could avoid it without being killed myself; but I thought a slight lesson would improve his manners, and, when the word came, I fired with a careful aim. He evidently meant mischief, for I heard his ball whiz past my ear; I missed him clean, being much out of practice, and, I dare say, rather nervous. I pulled myself together for the second shot,