“My first care must be to communicate with Panine. It will relieve him to know that the duel will not come off.”
“But why shouldn’t it come off?”
“Your opponent is an emperor.”
“And are not we Courtenays the descendants of emperors? ‘Equal to Cæsars,’ is not that our motto?”
“Come! this is mere bravado. You cannot really be serious in saying you will fight the Czar.”
“The Archangel Gabriel himself, if he came between me and the woman I love. It is easy to see how matters stand with the Princess. She hates the Czar’s addresses, but does not know how to repel them. And diplomatists like you would bid me stand aside and let him work his libertine will with the sweet lady who loves me, because, forsooth, he is a Czar, between whom and me an awful gulf is fixed! Czar me no Czar! On this condition only will I withdraw, that he hands the Princess over to me; if not, he fights.”
Lord St. Helens became full of dismay, as he realised that Wilfrid was perfectly serious in his utterance. If Alexander were equally determined there was no power on earth to stay the duel; and since Wilfrid had no peer in swordsmanship, what but ill would befall the Czar in a mortal combat? In cooler moments Wilfrid might not wish to kill the Emperor, but in the hot excitement of the duel, when he saw before him the man who was persecuting the Princess with unwelcome attentions, there was no knowing what might happen, especially if Wilfrid’s anger should be aggravated by the smarting of a wound.
“And pray, sir,” said the Ambassador after vainly expostulating with his nephew, “pray, sir, who is to be your second in this infamous business?”
“I am going to ask you to officiate in that capacity.”
The Ambassador felt as if he were choking.