“It is not necessary for me to give you my card. Count Sallaconi will arrange the details with any friend you may name. You shall give me satisfaction for the aspersion you have cast upon my honor.” He was turning away when Quentin stepped quickly in front of him. “If you mean that you expect me to fight a duel with you, I must say you are to suffer disappointment. I do not believe in duelling, and I believe only in killing a man when there is no other alternative. To deliberately set about to shoot another man down is not our method of settling an issue. We either murder in cold blood or we fight it out like men, not like stage heroes.” “I will add then, sir, that you are a coward.” “I have been brave enough to refrain from hiring men to do my fighting. We will fight, Prince Ravorelli, but we will not fight with weapons made by man. You call me a coward and I call you a scoundrel. We have hands and arms and with them we shall fight.” “Count Sallaconi is my second, I do not care to hear another word--” “If Count Sallaconi comes to me with any ridiculous challenge from you, I'll knock him down and kick him across the street. My friend shot the face off of your poor tool last night. I do not care to repeat the tragedy. I shall not strike you here and now, because the act might mean my arrest and detention on no one knows what sort of a trumped-up charge. You need not bother me with any silly twaddle about swords and pistols I shall pay no attention to it. Ordinarily Americans do not delay actual combat. We usually fight it out on the spot and the best man wins. I will, however, give you the chance to deliberate over my proposition to settle our differences with our hands.” Ravorelli calmly heard him to the end. Then he turned and strode away, smiling derisively. “You are the only American coward I have ever seen. I trust you appreciate, the distinction,” he said, his white teeth showing in malicious ridicule. “Your friend, the hero of last night, should be proud of you.” Quentin watched them until they were lost in the crowd near the Palace, his brain full of many emotions. As he walked into the hotel his only thought was of Dorothy and the effect the quarrel would have on their friendship. “Which will she choose?” he mused, after narrating to Savage the episode of the park. For the first time Dickey noticed the pallor in his face, the despair in his eyes, the wistful lines about his lips. “There's only one way to find out, old man,” said he, and he did not succeed in disguising the hopelessness in his voice. “Yes, I guess I'm up to the last trench. I'm right where I have to make the final stand, let the result be what it may,” said the other, dejectedly.