Part 26 (2/2)
”Do you want to abuse me? We are alone, no one will hear us. If you wish to be rough with me, I shall shout and collect a crowd in the street: that will also be bad for you.”
”I intend to do neither. You see I have put gloves on, that I may not befoul myself by touching you. Yet you can imagine that it is not customary to make a present of such a debt.”
”Do you wish to fight a duel with me?”
”Yes, and at once: I shall not allow you out of my sight until you have given me satisfaction.”
”Don't expect that. Because you are a Hercules, and I a t.i.tmouse, don't think I am overawed by your knitted eyebrows. If you so desire, I am ready.”
”I like that.”
”But you know that as the challenged, I have the right to choose weapons and method.”
”Do so.”
”And you will find it quite natural that I have no intention of being pummelled into a loaf of bread and devoured by you. I recommend the American duel. Let us put our names into a hat and he whose name is drawn is compelled to shoot himself.”
Lorand was staggered. He recalled that night in the crypt.
”One of us must die; you said so yourself,” remarked Gyali. ”Good, I am not afraid of it. Let us draw lots, and then he whom fate chooses, must die.”
Lorand gazed moodily before him, as if he were regarding things happening miles away.
”I understand your hesitation: there are others whom you would spare.
Well, let us fix a definite time for dying. How long can those, of whom you are thinking, live? Let us say ten years. He, whose name is drawn must shoot himself--to-day ten years.”
”Oh,” cried Lorand in a tone of vexation, ”this is merely a cowardly subterfuge by which you wish to escape.”
”Brave lion, you will fall just as soon, if you die, as the mouse. Your whole valor consists in being able to pin, with a round pin, a tiny little fly to the bottom of a box, but if you find an opponent, like yourself, you draw back before him.”
”I shall not draw back,” said Lorand irritated; and there appeared before his soul all those figures, which, pointing their fingers threateningly, rose before him from the depths of the earth. Headless phantoms returned to the seven cold beds; and the eighth was bespoken.
”Be it so,” sighed Lorand: ”let us write our names.” Therewith he began to look for paper. But not a morsel was there in his room: all had been burned, clean paper too, that the water mark might not betray him. At last he came across Hermine's note. There was no other alternative.
Tearing it in two,--one part he threw to Gyali, on the other he inscribed his own name.
Then they folded the pieces of paper and put them into a hat.
”Who shall draw?”
”You are the challenger.”
”But you proposed the method.”
”Wait a moment. Let us entrust the drawing of lots to a third party.”
”To whom?”
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