Robert. First I must have personal satisfaction.
Trast. So you insist on fighting a duel with him?
Robert. Yes.
Trast. Don't be so old-fashioned.
Robert. Old-fashioned--I may be. Perhaps because I came into the world as a plebeian and because my conception of honor was acquired. I haven't the strength to rise to the heights of your standpoint. Let me go down in my own narrowness if I must.
Trast. But suppose he won't give satisfaction?
Robert. I shall find some way to force him.
Trast. Aha! (Aside) the revolver!--One thing more, my boy; if you have made up your mind to let Herr Kurt put a bullet through you, you must take away every pretext for his refusing.
Robert. Heavens, yes! you are right!
Trast. (Drawing out his pocket-book) Does that embarrass you?