"Very good," he said.
The paces were then measured out. During this labor the Prince gazed indifferently toward the west. The aftermath of the sun glowed on the horizon. The Prince shaded his eyes for a spell.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I believe the Princess is approaching. At any rate here comes the coach. Let us suspend hostilities till she has passed."
A few minutes later the coach came rumbling along in a whirlwind of dust. The stoical cavalrymen kept on without so much as a glance at the quartet standing at the side of the road. Hillars looked after the vehicle till it was obscured from view. Then he shook himself out of the dream into which he had fallen. He was pale now, and his eyebrows were drawn together as the Count held out the pistol.
"Ah, yes!" he said, as though he had forgotten. "There goes the woman who will never become your wife."
"That shall be decided at once," was the retort of the Prince.
"She will marry the gentleman back at the inn."
"A fine husband he will make, truly!" replied the Prince. "He not only deserts her but forsakes her champion. But, that is neither here nor there. We shall not go through any polite formalities," his eyes snapping viciously.
The two combatants took their places in the centre of the road. The pistol arm of each hung at the side of the body.
"Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked the Count, the barest tremor in his voice.