The Baron sighed in despair. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation:
"Ach! Since for each of us it is all or death, let at least one of us have all! You must admit, our stakes are equal or nearly so. I repeat, I should suffer as much from the Baroness's marriage to Rothenstein as you would from mademoiselle's falling into the hands of the Landgrave. So let us appeal to chance. If you win the throw, you shall both go free, you and the lady; I will go back without her, and take the consequences. But if I win, the lady shall go back with me."
"You consider," said Dick, with a faint smile, "that even chances are preferable to the certainty of mademoiselle's taking the poison."
"Good God, monsieur, do you not consider likewise? Come. If you lose, you can at least die, as I shall do if I lose. It is the honor and happiness of your sweetheart against the self-respect and happiness of mine, the life and happiness of yourself against the life and happiness of myself. Why, if you lose, mademoiselle, too, can die, if she wishes, after I have taken her back to the Landgrave. So you are no worse off for abandoning your position of certain destruction for us all, and for allowing chance to save one of us for happiness."
"The issue is too important to leave to chance," said Dick, quietly. "Let us determine it by skill."
"Very well; but what game of skill have we here the means of playing?"
"There is a game of skill that gentlemen play with swords," said Dick.
"Excellent!" cried Von Sungen, understanding. "And the game in our case has this advantage, it can be so played that the loser need not survive his loss. Let it be a duel to the death, monsieur, so that the unfortunate one shall not be under the necessity of killing himself."
"Agreed," said Dick.
"But I will not consent," cried Catherine. "Even if you fight and lose, I will not go back to the Landgrave; I will take the poison."