“You fool, it was the other one--the tall one! You have quarrelled with the wrong man. The big one is Quentin, Kapolski. How could you have made such a mistake?” “Mistake or no mistake, he has struck me, and he shall pay for it. The other can come later,” growled the Russian, savagely. “Gentlemen, this is no place to fight. Let us have explanations--” began Ugo, addressing Quentin more than Savage, but the latter interrupted: “Call off your dogs and we will talk it over,” he said. “Dickey!” cautioned his friend. “I do not understand you, Mr. Savage. My dogs? Oh, I see, Mr. Quentin; he is mad with anger,” said the prince, deprecatingly. “There can be no explanations,” snarled Kapolski. “My card, Monsieur,” and he threw the pasteboard in the young American's face. “Damn your impudence,” exploded Quentin, now ready to take the fight off the hands of the one on whom it had been forced through error. “You ought to be kicked downstairs for that.” “You will have that to recall, Monsieur, but not until after I have disposed of your valiant friend,” exclaimed Kapolski. “We are not in the habit of waiting for a chance to dispose of such affairs,” said Quentin, coolly. “We fight when we have a cause and on the spot.” “Do you expect civilized men to carry arms into drawing-rooms?” sneered Kapolski. Ugo's face was lighting up with pleasure and satisfaction and Sallaconi was breathing easier. “I'm speaking of hands, not arms,” said Phil, glaring at the other. “I'll fight him in a second,” cried Dickey. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! Be calm! Let this affair be arranged by your seconds and in the regular manner,” expostulated Ugo. “This is very unusual, and I must beg of you to remember that you are in my rooms.” “That is the rub, Prince Ravorelli. It has happened in your rooms, and I want to say to you that if evil befalls my friend, I shall hold you to account for it,” said Quentin, turning on him suddenly. “What do you mean, sir?” “You know what I mean. I can and am ready to fight my own battles.” “This outrageous brawl is none of my affair, Mr. Quentin, and I do not like your threat. You and I should do all in our power to prevent it from going farther. Your friend was too free with his words, I am told. If he did not like my entertainment, he should have left the room.” “Well, I didn't like it, if you want to know,” said Dickey. “And I don't care a continental who heard what I said.” “Does he still want to fight with his hands?” demanded Kapolski, now cool and ironical. There was an infuriating attempt on his part to speak as if he were addressing a small, pouting child. “Anything--anything! The only point is, you'll have to fight to-night--right now. I've two or three friends here who'll see that I get fair play.” said Dickey, discretion flying to the wind.