The position was too hard for young Vohrenlorf. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. "No, no, I can't," he muttered. Wetter stood still as a rock, looking not at any of us, but down toward the floor. Varvilliers drank a glass of wine and then wiped his mustache carefully with a napkin.
"Your Majesty," said he, "will not do me the injustice to suppose that I am not in everything and most readily at your command. But I would beg the honour of representing your Majesty in this affair."
"Impossible!" said I briefly.
"Consider, sire. To fight you is ruin to M. Wetter."
"As regards that, would not M. Wetter in his turn reflect too late?" I asked stiffly.
Vohrenlorf looked up with a hopeless dazed expression. Varvilliers was at a loss. Wetter's figure and face were still unmoved. A sudden idea came into my head.
"There is no need for M. Wetter to be ruined," said I. "Whatever the result may be it shall seem an accident."
Wetter looked up with a quick jerk of his head. I glanced at the clock.
"In four hours it will be light," I said. "Let us meet at six in the Garden Pavilion at the Palace. Varvilliers, since you desire to assist us, I have no doubt M. Wetter will accept your services. It will be well to have no more present than necessary. The Pavilion, gentlemen, I need hardly remind you, is fitted up for revolver practice. Well, there are targets at each end. It will be unfortunate, but not strange, if one of us steps carelessly into the line of fire."
They understood my idea. But Varvilliers had an objection.