Lord Spunyarn shook his head. There seemed no other way out of it; the Frenchman had been struck, the insult was in a public place; an apology or arrangement was impossible. Spunyarn was well aware that Barbiche was by no means an antagonist to be despised. He had been a journalist, a career which in France may enable a man to attain the highest positions; from journalism he had drifted into diplomacy, as French journalists sometimes do. This was after his accession to the fortune of a deceased uncle. Of course, he was skilled with the small-sword, as all French journalists are bound to be; his reputation with the pistol was equally deadly. "I shall send my friend to him in the morning," said M. Barbiche calmly, as leaning on Lord Spunyarn's arm he left the ball-room. "I suppose you will act for him?" "Don't know, I'm sure. I'm not up to these things, but I don't see why you should shoot each other over it." The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders as he stepped into his perfectly-appointed but funereal-looking little brougham. As he drove home he meditated on his wrongs, and in his heart of hearts he swore that four-and-twenty hours should not elapse ere the insult should be avenged by his own skilful hand. CHAPTER XI. A MEETING IN THE GOOD OLD STYLE. Lord Spunyarn woke with a very bad headache indeed, the morning after the ball at Papayani's. He hurried to commence his dressing, for his valet on awakening him had presented a thin and varnished card, bearing a portentous coronet and the name of the Comte de Kerguel. The man told him that the visitor had come on business of the most urgent nature. What his business was, Spunyarn was well aware. Knowing that, next to getting married, a Frenchman looks upon the delivery of a hostile message, as the most important, pleasant, and serious event of life; Spunyarn wisely dressed himself with care and deliberation. When he entered his sitting-room M. de Kerguel rose and profoundly saluted him. "Milor Spunyarn. I have the honour of addressing him?" "Yes, it's quite right, that's me Please be seated." The Frenchman sat himself down bolt upright. "I suppose, Lord Spunyarn, that my visit is not unexpected. I had the honour to call upon your friend Monsieur Haggard, to demand satisfaction from him on the part of my friend, Monsieur Barbiche. You, I believe, were present at the whole affair. Monsieur Haggard has referred me to you as his friend." Spunyarn bowed, stretched out his long legs towards the fire, and opening his cigarette case offered it to Monsieur de Kerguel. "Won't you smoke?" he said. A French gentleman in a new frock coat, on the most serious of all missions, the bearer of a hostile message to a man he has never met in his life before, is asked to smoke! A crowd of strange thoughts passed through his mind. Are these Englishmen cowards? He drew himself up more stiffly than before, as he declined the offer.