The Prince laughed. "I suppose, innkeeper, if the result is disastrous to me, it will please you?"
The innkeeper was not lacking in courtesy. "It would be a pleasure, I assure you. There are certain reasons why I cannot fight you myself."
"To be sure."
"It would be too much like murder," continued the innkeeper. "Your hand would tremble so that you would miss me at point-blank. There goes the last of the sun. We must hurry."
With a grimace the Count accepted the box and took out the pistols.
"They are old-fashioned," he said.
"A deal like the innkeeper's morals," supplemented the Prince.
"But effective," said the innkeeper.
The Count scowled at the old fellow, who met the look with phlegm. As an innkeeper he might be an inferior, but as a second at a duel he was an equal. It was altogether a different matter.
The Count carefully loaded the weapons, the innkeeper watching him attentively. In his turn he examined them.