Before the house next morning, in the dull gray dawn, the two antagonists met. It was bitterly cold and misty, with that wet frost, all shadow and shiver, that precedes the late wintry sun. Gerard drew his cloak around him as he saluted the Count. Under his arm he held a long green baize bag.
“You still wish it to be swords?” he asked.
Count Frechenfels waved his hand in haughty acknowledgment.
“Permit me to precede you,” said Gerard, gravely.
They walked away into the park with quick, ringing steps. Only once Gerard broke the silence. “Excuse me,” he began, looking round, “but I think we had better go some distance. The clash, you know.” The German repeated his gesture.
In silence, then, they reached the little clearing which Gerard had selected. Here he paused. As it happened, the place was the same where Ursula had fought her battle the day before. It was a natural halting-place for those who wandered in the wood.
The robin lay stiff and stark with upturned legs. Gerard kicked it aside.
Count Frechenfels looked to right and left. “Your doctor?” he said at last. “Where is your doctor? At least you have arranged for a medical man?”
“No, indeed; he would have warned the police,” replied Gerard. “What do we want a doctor for?”
The German hesitated. “But it is murder,” he said, half to himself. “No one does such things. Supposing one of us is badly wounded. Mynheer van Helmont, you know that not one man in ten would consent to meet you like this?”