The Comte next pulled his coat back into place.
“Very well,” he said, “and don’t blame me, my Lord, if you suffer and, I hope, acutely!”
“I am waiting for you to tell me where we shall meet,” the Marquis said. “I presume it will be the Bois de Boulogne at some unearthly hour tomorrow morning.”
“On the contrary,” the Comte snarled, “you will meet me tonight at eleven o’clock in my garden, which is lit by electricity, of which this capricious young woman knows so much.”
“You can leave her out of our conversation,” the Marquis warned him.
“Considering that she is the prize that we are fighting over, that is quite impossible,” the Comte asserted. “Moreover I insist on her being present at the duel when you will meet your Master.”
The Marquis did not reply and the Comte said in his most u
