Kurt. You will hear from me to-morrow.
Trast. To-morrow--So you sleep on a thing like that? I am accustomed to settling such matters at once.
Kurt. (Chokingly) Immediately.
Trast. (Aside) Thank God! (Aloud) Then we'll go!
Lothar. (Stepping between) Always correct, Kurt. You, as principal, have nothing further to do with the gentleman. (Sharply) In the first place, Count, the Code of Honor permits the challenged as well as the challenger twenty-four hours in which to arrange his affairs. We, my principal and I--shall make use of this rule, unless--and now I come to the second point--we shall be prevented from enjoying that privilege--for you. Sir, have not insulted us----
Trast. Ah!
Lothar. You belong to those who cannot insult us.
Trast. (Merrily) Ah, yes!
Lothar. Will you be kind enough to recall, that the Count von Trast-Saarberg, as we can still see in the register,--on the twenty-fifth of June, 1864, was released, under a cloud, from his regiment, because of unpaid gambling debts. That is all. (Bows negligently)
Trast. (Breaking out into laughter) Gentlemen, I thank you heartily for the little lesson--I certainly deserved it--for the worst crime under heaven is to be illogical! And one thing I see above everything else. No matter how much a man is elevated above the modern Honor he must still remain her slave, even if it is only when he wants to help a poor devil of a friend out of a hole--Gentlemen, I have the honor-- Pardon! I haven't the honor! You have denied me that; so nothing remains but the pleasure--the pleasure of saying "Good-day," but that is better still! (He goes out laughing)