“If I were to assume the license of Hercules and stand up here on a pedestal, what do you suppose they'd do to me?” I whispered to Betsey. “You're no work of art!” said she. “No, I'm a man, and better than any imitation of a man, for when a lady came into the room I should jump down and hide in some sarcophagus.” I left them with the poetic cattle of Olympus and went on and asked them to look for me at the door. I lingered awhile with the lovely figures of Canova and Bernini, and was glad at last to get out of the chilly atmosphere of the gallery. I found the count at the door. He approached me and said, in broken English: “The ladies, I suppose, they are yet inside now.” I saw my chance and took advantage of it. “Why do you follow them?” “Because I have the hope for good devil-_op_-ments.” His “devil-_op_-ments” amused me, and I could not help laughing. “Ah, Signore, I have very much troubley in my harrit,” he added. “And you will have trouble in other parts of your system if you do not go away,” I said. “If you follow these ladies again I shall ask the police to protect us. If they cannot keep you away I shall injure you in some manner, or hire a boy to do it.” “What! You cannot achieve it!” he answered, in some heat. “You have given me the insults. I shall implore my friend to call on you.” “Send him along,” I said, as he hurried away. The ladies came out presently, and I observed that Gwendolyn and her mother seemed to miss the count. “He's discouraged, poor thing!” said Mrs. Norris, as we drove away. VIII.--I AGREE TO FIGHT A DUEL AND NAME A WEAPON WITH WHICH EUROPEAN GENTLEMEN ARE UNFAMILIAR THE count's friend called to see me that evening, as I expected. He was a very good-looking young fellow who had more humor and better English than the count. He was a Frenchman of the name of Vincent Aristide de Langueville. Betsey had gone to the opera with Mrs. Norris and Gwendolyn. I was alone. “For my friend, the Count Carola, I have the honor to ask you to name the day and the weapons,” he said, with politeness, before he had sat down. Now I was in for it. After all, I thought for traveling with an heiress in this country one needs a suit of armor. “I'm a born fighter,” I said, “but almost always my weapons have been words. They are the only weapons with which I am thoroughly familiar. I propose that we have a talking-match. Put us, say, ten paces apart and light the fuse and get back out of the way while we explode. We'll load the guns with Italian, if he prefers it, and I'll give him the first shot. After ten minutes you can carry him off the field. He'll be severely wounded, but it won't hurt him any.” Vincent Aristide de Langueville laughed a little and said: “But, my dear sir, this is not one joke. We desire the satisfaction.” “And I will guarantee it,” was my answer. “But, sir, we must have the fight until the blood comes.”