I stood my ground, for I noted with a lively satisfaction that the quaver had passed from my voice into his.
"Have a care, Master Buckler!" he continued. "You are no longer in England. You would do well to remember that. There are reasons why I would have no disturbance here to-night. There are reasons. But on my life, if you refuse to obey me, I will have you whipped from here by my servants."
"Ah!" says I, "this is not the first time, Count Lukstein, that some one has stood between you and the bell."
He cast a glance over my shoulder. I saw that he was going to shout, and I whipped out the pistol from my pocket.
"If you shout," I said, "the crack of this will add little to the noise."
"It would go ill with you if you fired it," he blustered.
"It would go yet worse with you," I answered.
And there we stood over against one another, the finest brace of cowards in Christendom, each seeking to overcome the other by a wordy braggadocio. Indeed, my forefinger so trembled on the trigger that I wonder the pistol did not go off and settle our quarrel out of hand.
"What does it mean?" he burst out, screwing himself to a note of passion. "What does it mean? You skulk into my house like a thief."
"The manner of my visit does in truth leave much to be desired," I conceded. "But for that you must thank your reputation."