"Because I pity your age and your grey hair,"
"Pity? confess rather, O noble Count, that you are afraid."
At this insult the young man trembled, and his face became livid. The Americans formed a circle round the two men, and anxiously awaited what was going to happen.
"Put an end to this!" Major Melville exclaimed, "kill that mad brute."
"One moment, sir, I beg; let me settle this affair,"
"As you wish it, air, act as you think proper."
"You desire a duel then?" the Count said, addressing White Buffalo, who still stood perfectly calm.
"Yes," he answered, through his clenched teeth, "a duel to the death! two principles, and not two men, will contend here. I hate your race, and you hate mine."
"Be it so."
The Count took two sabres from the hands of the men nearest him, and threw one at the exile's feet. The latter stooped to pick it up, but as he rose again, Ivon aimed a pistol at him, and blew out his brains.