“You're honest—and we both have devils. I forgot; I brought you in to see a picture!”
He threw wide the shutters; the windows were already open, and a rush of air came in.
“Ah!” he said, sniffing, “smells of the earth, nicht wahr, Herr Artist? You should know—it belongs to your father.... Come, here's my picture; a Correggio! What do you think of it?”
“It is a copy.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
“Then you have given me the lie, Signor,” and drawing out his handkerchief Sarelli flicked it in the painter's face.
Harz turned white.
“Duelling is a good custom!” said Sarelli. “I shall have the honour to teach you just this one, unless you are afraid. Here are pistols—this room is twenty feet across at least, twenty feet is no bad distance.”
And pulling out a drawer he took two pistols from a case, and put them on the table.