anni, and then stopped suddenly. An idea struck
him. He went close to his father, and spoke in a low voice.

"The fact is, that I have just taken a man by the throat and otherwise
insulted him, by calling him a dog. The fellow seemed annoyed, and so I
told him he might send to our house in an hour for an explanation. I
cannot find a friend, because everybody is dancing this abominable
cotillon. Perhaps you can help me," he added, looking at his father
rather doubtfully. To his surprise and considerable relief the old Prince
burst into a hearty laugh.

"Of course," he cried. "What do you take me for? Do you think I would
desert my boy in a fight? Go and call my carriage, and wait for me while
I pick up somebody for a witness; we can talk on the way home."

The old Prince had been a duellist in his day, and he would no more have
thought of advising his son not to fight than of refusing a challenge
himself. He was, moreover, exceedingly bored at the ball, and not in the
least sleepy. The prospect of an exciting night was novel and delightful.
He knew Giovanni's extraordinary skill, and feared nothing for him. He
knew everybody in the ballroom was engaged, and he went straight to the
supper-table, expecting to find some one there. Astrardente, the
Duchessa, and the gouty ambassador were still together, as Giovanni had
left them a moment before. The Prince did not like Astrardente, but he
knew the ambassador very well. He called him aside, with an apology to
the Duchessa.

"I want a young man immediately," said old Saracinesca, stroking his
white beard with his broad brown hand. "Can you tell of any one who is
not dancing?"

"There is Astrardente," answered his Excellency, with an ironical smile.
"A duel?" he asked.

Saracinesca nodded.

"I am too old," said the diplomatist, thoughtfully; "but it would be
infinitely amusing. I cannot give you one of my secretaries either. It
always makes such a scandal. Oh, there goes the very man! Catch him
before it is too late!"

Old Saracinesca glanced in the direction the ambassador indicated, and
darted away. He was as active as a boy, in spite of his sixty years.

"Eh!" he cried. "Hi! you! Come here! Spicca! Stop! Excuse me--I am in a
great hurry!"

Count Spicca, whom he thus addressed, paused and looked round through his
single eyeglass in some surprise. He was an immensely tall and
cadaverous-looking man, with a black beard and searching grey eyes.

"I really beg your