"But first, we must discover his residence," suggested Achanna.
"Carl Langfanger, our worthy tavernier, will soon do that for us," said Ludwig.
"I am not unskilful in the use of my sword," said the misguided duke of Albany; "I have already been victor in four duels, three in Paris and one in Flanders, and might be victorious in a fifth. Why should I not challenge and fight him? Count Ludwig, wouldst bear my glove to this man?"
"What, your highness—grace, I mean!" stammered Achanna, with one of his hateful smiles, "would you commit all that is at issue to the chance of an unlucky sword-thrust? Nay, nay, I'll to the earl—this must not be."
"So say I, sangdieu! Der teufel hole dich!" growled Count Ludwig, whose oaths were alternately French and Flemish; "I have a bone to pick with our traveller, and, by Gott in himmel! I will have satisfaction for the slash he gave me on the face."
"Please yourselves," said Albany, with a bored air, applying again to the wine, as if he was in haste to intoxicate himself; "only rid the earl, Lady Murielle, and me of him."
"We will arrange a most lover-like rendezvous, and as sure as the devil hath horns, we shall catch our amorous traveller," said Ludwig; "what say you, Messire Achanna, and you, Monseigneur, Mein Herr, or how der teufel am I to address you?"
"A rendezvous," repeated Achanna, "where?"
"Here."
"At this solitary auberge?"