"No, Count," was her answer. "It doesn't suit my plan to tell you. I didn't think quickly enough yesterday, or I wouldn't have given it to you. It was in your hands before I thought whose writing it was." The Count, who had risen, bowed profoundly. "After all," he said, "I need not trouble you. Mrs. Harbinger acknowledged that she wrote it." Mrs. Neligage flashed back at him a mocking grimace as she withdrew by the window. "I never expected to live to see you believe a thing because a woman said it," she laughed. "You must have been in strange hands since I used to know you!" Left alone, the Count thoughtfully regarded the letter for a moment, then with a shrug he restored it to his pocket, and turned to go around the corner of the house to the front piazza. Sounds of wheels, of voices, of talking, and of laughter told of the gathering of pleasure-seekers; and scarcely had the Count passed the corner than he met Mr. Bradish face to face. There were groups of men and women on the piazza and on the lawn, with the horses and dogs in sight which are the natural features in such a picture at an out-of-town club. The Count heeded none of these things, but stepped forward eagerly. "Ah, Count, you have come out to the games like everybody else, I see," Bradish said pleasantly. "Eet ees extreme glad to see me, Mr. Bradeesh," the Count returned, shaking him by the hand. "Do you weelleengly come wid us a leettle, for dat I say to you ver' particle?" Bradish, with his usual kindly courtesy, followed the Count around the corner of the house, out of sight of the arriving company. "Something particular to say to me, Count?" he observed. "You do me too much honor." "Eet weell be of honor dat I weell to you speak," the Count responded. "Weell you for myself de condescension to have dat you weell be one friend to one _affaire d'honneur_?" Bradish stared at him in undisguised amazement. "An _affaire d'honneur_?" he echoed. "Surely you don't mean that you are going to fight? You can't mean a duel?" "Oh, _oui, oui_; eet weell be a duel dat eet calls you." Bradish stared harder than ever, and then sat down as if overcome. "But, my dear Count, you can't fight duels in America." "For what weell not een Amereeca fight? He have result me! Me, Count Ernst Shimbowski! Weell I not to have hees blood?" "I'm afraid you won't," Bradish responded, shaking his head. "That isn't the way we do things here. But who is it has insulted you?" The Count became more and more excited as he spoke of his wrongs, and with wide gestures he appealed to the whole surrounding region to bear him out in his rage and his resolution. He stood over Bradish like an avenging and furious angel, swaying his body by way of accent to his words.