"You refuse?"

"Most certainly."

"Then you shall fight me."

Paul, thoroughly roused by the duke's arrogant manner, was not at all averse to accepting this challenge.

Then he thought of Barbara. The affair could not be hidden. She would learn that his first act on coming into Czernova was to fight a duel with her future consort. He would thus appear in her eyes as a brawling swashbuckler presuming on her affection to protect him from the consequences of his acts.

"No, your grace, I shall not fight," he replied quietly.

"Finding it easier to meet Afghans than a Czernovese," sneered Bora. "Have you ever noticed, Radzivil, how brave these English are against all the savage races of the world,—how reluctant to face the European? If you will not fight I cannot, of course, compel you. But I can at least brand you as a coward."

And lifting the cane that he carried he brought it down heavily across Paul's cheek.

"Your grace!" exclaimed Radzivil, and filled with disgust and anger he walked away to the far end of the balcony.

The bronze had faded from Paul's face leaving it deadly white save for a livid stripe on the left cheek.