"It is perfectly legal," said Ráby. "Your protest is useless. In the eyes of the law, a letter written to my wife is a letter written to me."
"It is, I say, a great piece of presumption, to attack a man like this in his own house."
"You need not make such a noise! You may see I carry pistols in my belt." Then adopting a more familiar tone, Ráby added, "It comes to this, either you take one of these two pistols, and we fire according to the prescribed rules, or if you refuse me the satisfaction of a man of honour, I shoot you dead without further ado, as I would a wolf who attacks me on the highway."
The cowardly bully grew pale with fear. To look at him, you would have deemed him a powerful foe to be reckoned with, but he was a very coward at heart, like the braggart that he was.
"All right, I'm not afraid of you, or of anybody else, for that matter. But all this is idle talk! A gentleman does not fight with pistols. That kind of duel exacts no skill. A schoolboy can fire off a pistol. I only fight with swords; so with my sword I am at your service to have it out in proper fashion. Out with yours, and we'll see who is the best man of the two."
"Very well, with swords, so be it," said Ráby quietly, replacing his pistols again in his belt.
"And now you had better make your will, for you don't leave this place alive."
"That our weapons will decide. I have nothing further to say," answered Ráby.
"So, you will venture to draw your sword on me, will you, you silly fellow?"
"With you, or after you. I would not have it said that I drew my sword on an unarmed man," answered his antagonist.