“But I am not sure that you can fight so soon.”
“Why?”
“You ’ave ze bad head.”
“Bah! a mere nothing. I am ready; but of course, as you say, it cannot be here. Listen! Is not that some one on the stairs?”
They were not left in doubt, for Keren-Happuch came in, round-eyed and wondering, with a couple of cards held in her apron-guarded thumb and finger.
“Please, Mr Dale, sir, here’s two doctors come to see you.”
“Ma foi! two,” cried Leronde. “One is bad, too much. Send zem away, my friend.”
“Bah! Show them up,” said the artist; and Keren-Happuch hurried out. “Look,” continued Armstrong; “Italians—his friends, I suppose.”
“Aha! that is good,” cried Leronde, holding out the cards. “He shallenge then. I am glad, for I was get in head muddled after all vezzer you ought to shallenge. Now we are quite square.”
A minute later two important-looking men were ushered in, to whom Leronde at once advanced with a dignified mien, receiving them and listening to the declaration of their mission, and after a few exchanges of compliments on one side of the studio, away from where Armstrong sat scowling, they left with the understanding that Leronde was to wait upon them shortly to arrange all preliminaries.