The answer came quickly and was to the point. With a sudden sweep of his arm Baron Petrescu struck Ellerey sharply across the face with his glove.
Perhaps there was something in Ellerey's expression which made the Baron's companion step hastily to his side. Experience may have taught him that Englishmen have a strange habit of punishing such insults on the spot with a total disregard of all formalities. Perhaps it was his action which prevented Ellerey carrying out his intention. He drew himself up to his full height, the air whistling through his clenched teeth as he caught his breath, and then he bowed slightly to the Baron, who turned away, leaving his companion to settle the matter.
"Monsieur will give me the name of a friend, so that we may arrange for this affair to-morrow."
"Why not to-night? I never sleep upon my quarrels."
"Impossible, monsieur."
"Is not the choice with me?"
"Certainly, but—"
"Then I say to-night," Ellerey answered. "There was a moon when I entered the palace."
The man shrugged his shoulders, disgusted at the utter barbarity of these Englishmen.
"The name of your friend, then, monsieur?"