Galabin interposed. “My dear Osbert, what does it matter?”
But the Lieutenant made a gesture to silence him. His face was stern, and the eyes which met the Count’s had an angry gleam. “It does matter,” he insisted. “There are not so many ladies in the neighbourhood capable of fighting a duel that the withholding of the name should hurt no particular reputation. Count Zarka has boasted that a duel was fought on his account——”
“No, no!” Zarka protested, hardly disguising his evil satisfaction at the way his rival was walking into the trap.
“You suggested it, Count,” Von Tressen returned, with a touch of contempt. “It seems to me you have said either too much or too little.”
Zarka gave a shrug. “Too much, if you will. So I will add no more. You say there are few ladies in the forest, then it should not be difficult for the Herr Lieutenant to guess the name of my cousin’s opponent.”
“It would be affectation to ignore your insinuation,” Von Tressen replied with spirit. “But if it points to Fräulein Harlberg, I can only tell you, Count, I take the liberty of disbelieving your story.”
Zarka gave an unpleasant laugh. “I know of no one else who could have been my poor cousin’s adversary. Nevertheless, not having been present at the encounter, I am as much in the dark as yourself, Herr Lieutenant.”
“Then let me tell you, Herr Graf,” Von Tressen returned hotly, “that you have no right on mere conjecture to cast aspersions on a lady’s reputation.”
“The fighting of a duel,” Zarka objected with insolent coolness, “is, between women, ridiculous enough, but hardly a matter of dishonour.”
“It is,” Von Tressen retorted, “when it is fought for the reason your modesty allows you to suggest.”