“Your statement sounds so improbable that I may well hesitate to accept it. If the lady has _not_ told you her name, if you have been acting in ignorance of her rank, then is the guilt hers, and not yours. Nay,” he added in a milder tone, “I am ready to withdraw my reflections upon your honour.” “You are very good. But if I am honourable how can the lady be dishonourable?” “That will be seen in the morning.” “Before the duel, I trust?” “Why, truly,” said the other with a significant smile, “you will hardly be in a condition to apprehend an explanation _after_ the duel.” “That’s to be seen. But methinks you are somewhat inconsistent, for, surely in admitting—as you have admitted—that my honour is stainless, you have, from your point of view, removed all cause for the duel?” “So one might think,” returned the other, who seemed to be growing more calm, “but it is not so. Matters are in a fairer state than I had thought them. This scandal may yet be kept quiet; it need not become the talk of Europe. None the less, Lord Courtenay, you must pay the penalty of your daring. You have done—unwittingly it is true—that which can be atoned for only by death.” “Where shall the place of our meeting be?” asked Wilfrid with some impatience, for he was eager to hasten after the Princess. “You know the Viborg Road running northwards from the city? Good! A little way beyond the eight verst-post on the right-hand side of the road is a path leading to a small glade. At eight o’clock—seven hours from now—I shall be there, attended by a friend. And you?” “Will not be a laggard in seeking the spot. And our weapons?” “The choice belongs to you as the challenged.” Wilfrid, mindful of Ouvaroff’s recent devotion to swordsmanship, and willing to accommodate him in the matter, made the reply:— “What say you to swords of three feet?” “Accepted,” said the other with evident satisfaction in his tone. “My second shall bring the weapons with him. A doctor,” he added significantly, “we shall _not_ require.” “If you will put that last remark in the singular,” said Wilfrid, “I will have no fault to find with it. Why, then, matters being thus arranged, we need not prolong this interview. The rendezvous, a glade near the eighth verst-post on the Viborg Road; the time, eight o’clock. Till then, farewell.” With that Wilfrid turned away, in an agony of suspense as to what might have happened to the Princess should she have come within view of the four liveried hirelings. And now for the first time he began to realise what a tool he had been in the hands of Count Baranoff. He had done the very thing that Baranoff wanted. His coming into Russia with the chivalrous purpose of defending a lady from the wicked intrigues of that minister had ended in compromising her name and imperilling her safety! She had given him the kiss of love in spite of her belief, “It is death if we are seen!” And they _had_ been seen, and that by an enemy!