“When the writing materials come we can get off a note to Barouffski. If he has any explanation he can advance it. Otherwise—on guard!”
After another mouthful he said to Verplank:
“You have fought before?”
“I have not had the occasion.”
“Nor I,” interjected Silverstairs. “It is against the law in England.”
Gravely, as though he were receiving valuable information de Fresnoy bowed. “So it is here. But with us it is custom that rules, not law. No jury would convict an honourable man for fighting a fair fight. Besides, dueling is in our blood. It will not disappear as chivalry has. It will last as long as there are French men—and French women. And yet, in saying that chivalry has disappeared, I am in error. Not later than the week before last a cousin of mine, a young man truly charming, married a monster.”
He pushed aside his plate. “Well, then, Léopold, am I to sit here the entire day?”
Serviceably, a buvard in his hand, the waiter approached. “I have subventioned a new pen for the use of monsieur le baron.”
“There, Léopold, your sins are remitted. See at once if the chasseur is free.”
De Fresnoy looked at Silverstairs. “With your permission, in our joint names, I write.”