The opportunity occurred two days later. Rupert, with his friend
Dillon, went down to the large saloon, which was the usual
rendezvous with his friends Fairholm and Loveday. The place was
crowded with officers, but Rupert soon perceived his friends,
sitting at a small table. He and Dillon placed two chairs there
also, and were engaged in conversation when a sudden lull in the
buzz of talk caused them to look up.
Captain Muller had just entered the saloon with a friend, and the
lull was caused by curiosity. As his boast had been the matter of
public talk; and as all noticed that two officers of the 5th were
present, it was anticipated that a scene would ensue.
A glance at Dillon's face showed that the blood had left his cheek;
for, brave as the Irishman was, the prospect of being killed like a
dog by this native swordsman could not but be terrible to him, and
he did not doubt for a moment that he would be selected. Captain
Muller walked leisurely up to the bar, drank off a bumper of raw
Geneva, and then turned and looked round the room. As his eyes fell
on the uniform of the 5th, a look of satisfaction came over his
face, and fixing his eyes on Dillon, he walked leisurely across the
room.
Rupert happened to be sitting on the outside of the table, and he
at once rose and as calmly advanced towards the German.
There was now a dead silence in the room, and all listened intently
to hear what the lad had to say to the duellist.
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