The General hustled Lisa away, muttering oaths beneath his great white moustache.
When Andrew Smallie picked himself up, Carl von Mendebach was standing over him.
“Tell him,” said Carl in German, “that that was my sister.”
I told Smallie.
Then Carl von Mendebach slowly drew off his fur glove and boxed Smallie heavily on the ear so that he rolled over sideways.
“Golossa-a-l,” muttered Von Mendebach, as we went away hurriedly together.
The next morning Carl sent an English-speaking student with a challenge to Andrew Smallie. I wrote a note to my compatriot, telling him that although it was not our habit in England, he would do well to accept the challenge or to leave Gottingen at once. Carl stood over me while I wrote the letter.
“Tell him,” he said, “where he can procure fencing lessons.”
I gave Smallie the name of the best fencing-master in Gottingen. Then we called for beer and awaited the return of our messenger. The student came back looking grave and pale.
“He accepts,” he said. “But—”