"But I will challenge him all the same to meet me here," growled Felix.
The old man contemplated him with the greatest concern for a few moments, then rose, filled a liqueur-glass with peppermint-schnaps, and brought it over to him.
"Drink it up, Felixchen," he said, "it'll soothe you." Felix obeyed.
"Leave the matter in the hands of your good, honest old father. Trust him to find in the night some other means of satisfying your so-called sense of honour. Good-night, Felixchen."
"The good, honest old father" had not promised more than he was able to perform.
The next morning, when he met his son at the breakfast table, he asked in an accent of benevolent sympathy--
"Well, Felixchen, have you slept off all those silly notions?"
Felix grew angry. "I told you, father, that on that subject you were----"
"Totally ignorant! Very good, my boy. But I want to be clear on one point. Is it with the Baron von Schranden that you propose to fight a duel, or with Lieutenant Baumgart?"
Felix did not answer at once. A suspicion of what his father was darkly hinting, dawned on him.