“What do you want of me?” he asked, huskily. “I will shoot you with pleasure whenever and wherever you like.”
“Come out to-morrow morning at seven,” replied Gerard. “It won’t be light sooner. I shall expect you outside. What will you have? Pistols? Swords? Rapiers?”
“Swords,” said the German, walking off.
He hurriedly hunted up Willie van Troyen.
“Your younger cousin,” he said, “he is—peculiar, is he not? There is a suspicion of mental derangement?”
Willie roared with laughter.
“Gerard?” he cried. “No, indeed! Why he very nearly married my wife.”
“A—ah!” said the German, suddenly thoughtful.
Gerard went up-stairs immediately, after a specially tender good-night to “the one loving heart” that would care. He threw open his window, and stood looking out into the frosty night. The Christmas bells came pealing through the stillness. True, it was Christmas Eve.
The bells were ringing their message of peace and good-will. Gerard closed the window again. He had never fought a duel before. He had never been present at one. Duels are as rare in the Netherlands as in England. He wondered how many “encounters” the German had had.