“To Prince Ernest of Hohenlinden. May the demon fly away with him!”
“To Prince Ernest of Hohenlinden, Whew!”
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s a dead shot—the deadliest shot on this side the ocean!”
“That is not saying much for him! I’m a second or third rate marksman on the other side of the ocean. So that makes us about equal. Will you come to my room now, Tredegar? I wish to write my despatch and send it off at once. No time should be lost in these affairs.”
“What! are you in such hot haste to meet your foe? Are your feet so ‘swift to shed blood?’ Will you then rush, as our grand Halleck has it—
‘To death as to a festival?’
Alick, Alick! I am sorry for you!”
“Spare your compassion and come to my room,” said Alexander, rising and leading the way through the halls and corridors that led to his own sumptuous suite of apartments.
Arrived there, Alexander made Francis Tredegar sit down, while he placed himself at his writing-desk and penned his challenge to the prince.