"I
will give you a sword, M. de Tignonville, and I will meet you foot to
foot here, in this room, on a condition."
"What is it? What is it?" the young man cried with incredible eagerness.
"Name your condition!"
"That if I get the better of you, you find me a minister."
"I find you a--"
"A minister. Yes, that is it. Or tell me where I can find one."
The young man recoiled. "Never!" he said.
"You know where to find one."
"Never! Never!"
"You can lay your hand on one in five minutes, you know."
"I will not."
"Then I shall not fight you!" Count Hannibal answered coolly; and he
turned from him, and back again. "You will pardon me if I say, M. de
Tignonville, that you are in as many minds about fighting as about dying!
I do not think that you would have made your fortune at Court. Moreover,
there is a thing which I fancy you have not considered. If we fight you
may kill me, in which case the condition will not help me much. Or
I--which is more likely--" he added, with a harsh smile, "may kill you,
and again I am no better placed."
The young man's pallid features betrayed the conflict in his breast. To
do him justice, his hand itched for the sword-hilt--he was brave enough
for that; he hated, and only so could he avenge himself. But the penalty
if he had the worse! And yet what of it? He was in hell now, in a hell
of humiliation, shame, defeat, tormented by this fiend! 'Twas only to
risk a lower hell.
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