ive, the
Duke's sword left his hand, sped through the air and settled, thirty
feet away, point downward in the turf, where it stuck, quivering and
swaying like a reed in the wind.

With a cry of sharp surprise, Lotzen sprang back and watched his sword
as it circled and fell. I moved a step toward him. Then, he turned to
me.

"It seems, Monsieur le Coquin," he said softly, "that I was in error;
and that it is the point of your sword and not the hilt I am to take.
So be it."

He draw himself up to attention, and raised his hand in salute.

"I am waiting," he said calmly.

Ferdinand of Lotzen was, doubtless, a bad lot. Once that night he had
given me to assassination; and, just now, he himself had deliberately
tried to kill me. He deserved no consideration; and, by every law of
justification, could I, then and there, have driven my sword into his
throat. Maybe I wanted to do it, too. We all are something of the
savage at times. And I think he fully expected to die. He had told me
frankly he purposed killing me, and he would not look for mercy,
himself. The dice had fallen against him. He had lost. And, like a
true gambler, he was ready to pay stakes. To give the fellow his due,
he was brave; with the sort of bravery that meets death--when it
must--with a smiling face and a steady eye.

And, so, for a space, we stood. He, erect and ready. I, with hand on
hip and point advanced.

I heard the gasps of women--a sob or two--and then, the rustle of
skirts, followed instantly by Courtney's soft command.

"Stay, madame--the matter is for His Highness only to decide."

Lotzen laughed lightly.

"Strike, man," he said, "or the petticoats will steal me from you."

I stepped back and shot my sword into its sheath.

"Go," I ordered. "I do not want your life. Only, depart this house
straightway, and take your bravoes with you. They will have no other
opportunity to-night. And, mark you, sir, no further meeting with the
Gypsy--now, nor hereafter."

He bowed low. "Monsieur is pleased to be generous," he sneered.

But I gave him my back and, removing my mask, went over to my friends.

The Marquise met me with a perfect gale of apologies. But I laughed
them aside, telling her it was I who stood in need of pardon for
becoming involved in such a breach of hospitality.

"Your Highness might have been killed," she insisted, woman-like.

"But I wasn't," said I, "so, pray, think no more about it."

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