“We say many things when we are under stress of excitement,” said Phil, sparring for time and his wits. Count Sallaconi was standing deferentially beside the prince. Both gentlemen had their hats in their hands, and the air was pregnant with chill formality. “Can you recall my words, Prince Ravorelli?” “You said that you would hold him to account if your friend--” began the count, but Quentin turned upon him coolly. “My quarrel, if there is one, is with the prince, Count Sallaconi. Will you kindly allow him to jog his own memory?” “I do not like your tone, Mr. Quentin,” said the count, his eyes flashingly angrily. Phil's blood was up. He saw it was useless to temporize, and there was no necessity for disguising his true feelings. They had come to the point where all that had lain smothered and dormant was to be pricked into activity; the mask was to be thrown down with the gauntlet. “So much the better; you are not in doubt as to what I meant. Now, Prince Ravorelli, may I ask you to speak plainly?” “Your remark of last night was one that I believe I would be justified in resenting,” said the prince, flicking the ash from his cigarette, but not taking his burning eyes from Quentin's face. There was not a tinge of cowardice in his eyes. “It is your privilege, sir, and I meant precisely what I said.” “Then I have to demand of you an apology and a satisfctory explanation.” “'I presume it would be travesty on politeness if I were to ask you to be seated, so we may stand up to each other and talk it over. In the first place, I have no apology to make. In the second place, I cannot give an explanation that would be satisfactory to you. Last night I said I would hold you to account if Mr. Savage was hurt. He was not hurt, so I will not carry out my threat, if you choose to call it such.” “You enlarge the insult, Mr. Quentin,” said Ugo, with a deadly tone in his voice. “You may as well know, Prince Ravorelli, that I have long been acquainted with the fact that you bear me no good will. Frankly, you regard me as a man dangerous to your most cherished aspirations, and you know that I heard Giovanni Pavesi sing in days gone by. You have not been manly enough to meet me fairly, up to this instant. I am perfectly well aware that Prince Kapolski was your guest last night for no other purpose than to bring about an affray in which I was to have been the victim of his prowess and your cleverness.” For a moment the two men glared at each other, immovably, unwaveringly. Prince Ugo's composure did not suffer the faintest relaxation under the direct charge of the American. “My only reply to that assertion is that you lie,” he said, slowly. “This is a public place, Prince Ugo. I will not knock you down here.”