“I said nothing of the kind,” began the Count.
“And twice a liar,” amended Gerard. “And I hope you will give me an opportunity of proving that I am neither.”
“I am at your service,” said the Count, stiffly. “You are quite unintelligible to me, but I am fully at your service. I shall ask Mynheer van Troyen to act for me.”
He was passing on with another bow.
“Oh, no nonsense about seconds,” cried Gerard. “That’ll stop the whole business. I’ll arrange with you whatever you want arranged.”
The Prussian noble’s eyebrows rose in undisguised dismay.
“Mynheer,” he cried, “must I teach you the alphabet of honor? A duel without seconds? Am I speaking to an officer and a gentleman? It would be murder. Of course I refuse.”
Gerard barred his way, white to the lips.
“Count Frechenfels,” he said, gently, “allow me to call you a coward.”
The Prussian stopped, suddenly frozen into bronze. The Iron Cross gleamed, alive, on his breast.