“Of course,” he cried.  “What do you take me for?  Do you think I would desert my boy in a fight?  Go and call my carriage, and wait for me while I pick up somebody for a witness; we can talk on the way home.”

The old Prince had been a duellist in his day, and he would no more have thought of advising his son not to fight than of refusing a challenge himself.  He was, moreover, exceedingly bored at the ball, and not in the least sleepy.  The prospect of an exciting night was novel and delightful.  He knew Giovanni’s extraordinary skill, and feared nothing for him.  He knew everybody in the ballroom was engaged, and he went straight to the supper-table, expecting to find some one there.  Astrardente, the Duchessa, and the gouty ambassador were still together, as Giovanni had left them a moment before.  The Prince did not like Astrardente, but he knew the ambassador very well.  He called him aside, with an apology to the Duchessa.

“I want a young man immediately,” said old Saracinesca, stroking his white beard with his broad brown hand.  “Can you tell of any one who is not dancing?”

“There is Astrardente,” answered his Excellency, with an ironical smile.  “A duel?” he asked.

Saracinesca nodded.

“I am too old,” said the diplomatist, thoughtfully; “but it would be infinitely amusing.  I cannot give you one of my secretaries either.  It always makes such a scandal.  Oh, there goes the very man!  Catch him before it is too late!”

Old Saracinesca glanced in the direction the ambassador indicated, and darted away.  He was as active as a boy, in spite of his sixty years.

“Eh!” he cried.  “Hi! you!  Come here!  Spicca!  Stop!  Excuse me—­I am in a great hurry!”

Count Spicca, whom he thus addressed, paused and looked round through his single eyeglass in some surprise.  He was an immensely tall and cadaverous-looking man, with a black beard and searching grey eyes.

“I really beg your pardon,” said the Prince hurriedly, in a low voice, as he came up, “but I am in a great hurry—­an affair of honour—­will you be witness?  My carriage is at the door.”

“With pleasure,” said Count Spicca, quietly; and without further comment he accompanied the Prince to the outer hall.  Giovanni was waiting, and the Prince’s footman stood at the head of the stairs.  In three minutes the father and son and the melancholy Spicca were seated in the carriage, on their way to the Palazzo Saracinesca.

“Now then, Giovannino,” said the Prince, as he lit a cigarette in the darkness, “tell us all about it.”

“There is not much to tell,” said Giovanni.  “If the challenge arrives, there is nothing to be done but to fight.  I took him by the throat and nearly strangled him.”

“Whom?” asked Spicca, mournfully.

“Oh! it is Del Ferice,” answered Giovanni, who had forgotten that he had not mentioned the name of his probable antagonist.  The Prince laughed.