Springing from his seat, the Baron cried out, scornfully: “You are a Jew.”
For a moment, participants and listeners seemed paralyzed with astonishment; then De Broda, every nerve tingling with rage, hurled angrily back at his assailant: “You are another!”
A challenge to a duel was the result of the quarrel. Seconds were chosen on the spot, the weapons were to be pistols, and the oak forest near De Granic was to witness the affair early the following morning.
De Broda had gone home. He was arranging his papers in order, when Rabbi Solomon Zuckermandel walked into his sanctum.
“You are going to fight?” were the old man’s first words.
“Yes.”
“And with a Jew? No, Mr. De Broda; you can not, you dare not shoot a man! You will not do it.”
“Pardon me, Rabbi Solomon, but my knowledge is somewhat deeper than yours in affairs of honor.”
“Do you think so!” replied the old man, with an indulgent smile. “Ah, well, we shall see. You think we can wash our honor only in blood? My dear Mr. De Broda, spotless honor needs no washing; and if it has a blemish, it can not be effaced even by blood. The Baron called you a Jew. Is that an insult?”