"Why didn't you make me a widow, then, last night, when you had the
chance?"
Lotzen shrugged his shoulders.
"The chance was all right, but the end was bad--though you didn't stay
to see it."
She laughed. "Didn't I? I stayed long enough to see your sword
sticking in the turf. I took that to be the end--was there more of it,
later?"
"No; that was the end--for that time."
"And for that particular method, I fancy," said she. "He wields a
pretty blade."
"Had you known it?" he asked.
"He was the best swordsman in the American Army," she answered.
"Ordinarily, that does not mean much," said Lotzen. "But, as a matter
of fact, so far as I know, he has got only one superior in Europe."
"Then why not get that chap to fight him?"
The Duke laughed.
"I would be very willing to; only, the chap happens to be that infernal
Irish adventurer, Moore, who is on his Staff."
"Why don't you try it again, yourself?" she asked.
He tapped his cigarette carefully against the ash receiver.
"Because I'm not yet tired of life," he said. "I know when I have met
my master."
"But, one of your thrusts might go home," she insisted.
He looked at her with an amused smile.
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