As he caught the angry sparkle of Wilfrid’s eye, it suddenly dawned upon him that he had mistaken his man. Reared in the atmosphere of Catharine’s Court, in its day the most licentious in Europe, Baranoff had become dead to all sense of honour, and failed to understand how a man could resist the twin temptation of a pleasant _amour_ and a rich bribe. “Do I take it that you refuse my offer?” “To the devil with your offer!” Baranoff elevated his eyebrows and affected the extreme of amazement. “I hold out to you the prospect of an _amour_ with a beautiful and charming woman, to be followed by a free gift of three hundred thousand roubles, and you refuse!” “Repeat your infamous offer, and I’ll—yes, by heaven! I’ll fling you over the rails of this balcony!” Unconsciously Baranoff backed a little from the table, for Wilfrid looked quite capable of putting his threat into execution. There was a brief silence. Then Baranoff spoke. “So you will visit St. Petersburg and put the lady on her guard,” sneered he, mightily pleased that he had withheld her name. “I fear that if you seek to enter Russia at this present juncture you will be taken for a spy of Pitt’s. As minister of the Czar it would be my duty to order your arrest.” “Oh, indeed! Do you really entertain the hope of returning to Russia?” “What is to prevent me?” “Myself.” “You!” exclaimed Baranoff disdainfully. Wilfrid laughed pleasantly. “I shall certainly do my best to provide you with a grave in Brandenburg’s sand. In seeking to make me the agent of an infamous deed you have offered an insult not to be passed over by an English gentleman. You will have to defend your conduct with the sword.” There was a very palpable start on the part of Baranoff, and his face paled. Though well versed in the art of fencing he durst not measure swords with the man who, inside of three minutes, had transfixed the Abbé Spada, the champion duellist of France. He sought to shield himself behind the privileges of his high offices. “It would be contrary to etiquette,” he remarked loftily, “for a _chargé d’affaires_ to accept a challenge. My imperial master would never forgive me for putting my life to the hazard of a duel while engaged in conducting a diplomatic mission, otherwise——” “Now you are talking nonsense,” interrupted Wilfrid, bluntly. “The Czar loves a duel, for only a few weeks ago he invited all the sovereigns of Europe to his Court to settle their international disputes by single combat.” And Baranoff, well knowing that the eccentric Czar _had_ so acted, felt himself deprived of his argument. “Fight me you must! I will force you.” “Force me? indeed!” said the Count. “In what way?”