Prince. There are no principles in time of war! Are you ready, gentlemen—One, two, three!
Helene. [Contemptuously] Why do you not fight him?
Prince. Is there no way, gentlemen, by which this unfortunate affair can be arranged? If not——
Helene. You did not hear me!
Prince. Oh, yes, I heard you, and I am to fight him at sunrise. Your father turned the challenge over to me!
Helene. To you?
Prince. And your father has fled to Paris—it is a serious thing to be a party to a duel in Germany—a sure-enough duel!
Helene. But you are not a swordsman, nor have you ever shot a pistol—you told me so once.
Prince. But I have been practising at the shooting-gallery for two hours. The keeper there says I am a wonderful shot—I hit a plaster-of-Paris rabbit seven times in succession!
[Helene is excited; her thought is that Lassalle, being a sure shot and a brave man, will surely kill the Prince. This will eliminate one factor in the tangle. Lassalle having killed his man will have to flee—the Government only tolerates him now. And she will flee with him—her father in Paris, the Prince dead, exile for Lassalle—the way lubricated by the gods—good.]