away.

"But you must not break your neck," he concluded, smiling slightly.
"And now let us hope for a happy meeting!"

In passing Reimers glanced at the Guentzes' villa. It was all in
darkness, save for the window of his friend's study on the ground
floor, whence a light was still gleaming.

Within, Guentz sat at his writing-table, with several sheets of paper
lying before him. For more than an hour he had been staring at the
white sheets and reflecting.

Shortly after ten Klaere had fed her baby; and then, the sleeping child
tenderly clasped in her arms, she had gone up-stairs. Her husband had
watched her through the half-open door, and the nursery-lullaby with
which she hummed the child to sleep sounded in his ears for long after.

Now he sat there, not knowing whether he would ever again see his
wife's honest, sensible eyes, or the droll, wondering gaze of his
child.

A hard battle was going on within him, and once or twice he raised his
hand as if to push a heavy weight from his brow.

The cuckoo-clock in the corner by the stove cuckooed twelve times, and
then from without sounded the deep, full tone of the parish-church
clock. The new day had begun.

With a strong effort Guentz raised himself, bent over the white leaves,
and with swift-moving pen filled page after page.

He had decided to send in his resignation.

The request should go up to the regiment before the duel, and now he
was explaining to Reimers the reasons which had decided him to take
this sudden step. To Reimers alone. But if he wished he might show the
letter to the colonel. The opinion of any one else was immaterial to
him.

At the outset he begged his friend not to think that he had withdrawn
from the duel out of cowardice. He could point to his whole previous
life in support of this--the life of a quiet, resolute man, always
consistent with his principles. And, after all, Reimers knew and
trusted him.

This duel was utterly senseless, brought about as it had been by a
laughably trivial occurrence; and, moreover, it was in the highest
degree unfair, despite the fact that both duellists would face each
other under similar conditions, with similar weapons, and with the same
sun and the same wind. It was unfair, because the stakes were of such
totally unequal value. A man in his prime, who had done good work in
his profession and promised to do still more, must pit himself against
an irresponsible young fellow, who up to the present