Szalay broke in eagerly: “None that I can tell of. He sends a friend to me to say that I have spoken disrespectfully of him, and so insulted his uniform, his corps, the army, and the King. He will hear of no apology.”
“Fire-eating little fool!” Von Lindheim ejaculated.
“But perhaps you have insulted him, and all the rest of it?”
“Not particularly. Everybody laughs at the little spit-fire, you understand; I have laughed with the rest. But not to his face; I have manners.”
“De Hayn is a dead shot and a clever swordsman,” Von Lindheim observed grimly. “These fools are not wanting in pluck.”
“But why has he challenged me of all men?” Szalay cried, with a gesture of bewilderment.
Lindheim gave a shrug. “Who can account for the action of a conceited fathead? Szalay has come to ask me to act for him. Of course, the whole affair is ridiculous, still it may end seriously if we treat it as lightly as it deserves. I must go and see this Lieutenant Paulssen without delay. What line would you take?”
“You come to the worst man in the world when you put such a case to an Englishman,” I answered, “for——”
“I know. You have no duels, and hold them supremely absurd. But as a man of the world——”
“Don’t call me that, even in a complimentary sense,” I returned. “But so far as my advice goes, it would be to see this Lieutenant Paulssen, assure him that your principal has no recollection of having spoken disrespectfully of his, far less of any intention to do so; that his man has been misinformed, and generally to apologize for any careless word by which he may have unwittingly reflected upon that constructive list of institutions he is so jealous of. That’s one way.”