"He insulted Laguerre," I shouted back, and scrambled into the saddle.
But I was far from satisfied. I, Vice-President, Minister of War,
Provost-Marshal of the city, had been fighting with my fists in the
open street before half the population. I knew what Laguerre would
say, and I wondered hotly if the girl had seen me, and I swore at
myself for having justified her contempt for us. Then I swore at
myself again for giving a moment's consideration to what she thought.
I was recalled to the present by the apparition of my adversary riding
his pony toward me, partly supported and partly restrained by two of
his friends. He was trembling with anger and pain and mortification.

"You shall fight me for this," he cried.

I was about to retort that he looked as though I had been fighting
him, but it is not easy to laugh at a man when he is covered with dust
and blood, and this one was so sorry a spectacle that I felt ashamed
for him, and said nothing.

"I am not a street fighter," he raged. "I wasn't taught to fight in a
lot. But I'll fight you like a gentleman, just as though you were a
gentleman. You needn't think you've heard the last of me. My friends
will act for me, and, unless you're a coward, you will name your
seconds."

Before I could answer, Von Ritter had removed his hat and was bowing
violently from his saddle.

"I am Baron Herbert Von Ritter," he said "late Aide-de-Camp to his
Majesty, the King of Bavaria. If you are not satisfied, Captain Miller