thinking you might back out of it, we could have prevented it. Now we
can't."

I began to wonder if the opinion the Fiske family had formed of me, on
so slight an acquaintance, was not more severe than I deserved, but I
did not let the men see how sorely the news had hurt me. I only asked:
"What other mistake did the young lady make?"

"She meant it all right," said Miller, "but it was a woman's idea of a
bluff, and it didn't go. She told us that before we urged her brother
on to fight, we should have found out that he has spent the last five
years in Paris, and that he's the gilt-edged pistol-shot of the _salle
d'armes_ in the Rue Scribe, that he can hit a scarf-pin at twenty
paces. Of course that ended it. The Baron spoke up in his best style
and said that in the face of this information it would be now quite
impossible for our man to accept an apology without being considered a
coward, and that a meeting must take place. Then the girl ran to her
brother and said, 'What have I done?' and he put his arm around her
and walked her out of the room. Then we arranged the details in peace
and came on here."

"Good," I said, "you did exactly right. I'll meet you at dinner at the
hotel."

But at this Von Ritter protested that I must not dine there, that it
was against the code.

"The code be hanged," I said. "If I don't turn up at dinner they'll
say I'm afraid to show myself out of doors. Besides, if I must be shot
through the scarf-pin before breakfast to-morrow morning, I mean to