“Luck, do you call it,” cried his friend, “to be killed!”
“It is better to be killed than to die,” said Lord Quorn faintly.
His Highness called grimly: “Ho, there! Ho, page!”
“Altesse!”
“Boy, go call my chaplain instantly.”
“Pester me with no priests, sir, I beg you!” cried the wicked Lord Quorn. “I was born without one, I have lived without one, I have loved without one, and I can damn well die without one.”
“Then has death no terrors for you, Lord Quorn?”
“Why, sir, I go to meet my Maker with the best heart in the world! I have lived a perfectly delightful life in the best possible way. Can Paradise show a more consummate achievement! Or must one have been bored to death in this world to win eternal life in the next?”
“Then, page,” grimly said His Highness, “go tell the Princess Baba the issue of the duel. Do not spare the truth. Count Rupprecht lies dead in defence of her honour and the honour of Valeria; and Lord Quorn will shortly be answering to God for his sins. And further tell the Princess that she is permitted to say farewell to her lover. Begone!”
“Thank you very much,” sighed Lord Quorn.