“Your opinions, allow me to say, Baron von Jung, although in the
      main correct, are, in many nice points, discreditable to yourself
      and to the university of which you are a member. In a few
      respects they are even unworthy of serious refutation. I would
      say more than this, sir, were it not for the fear of giving you
      offence (here the speaker smiled blandly), I would say, sir, that
      your opinions are not the opinions to be expected from a
      gentleman.”

      As Hermann completed this equivocal sentence, all eyes were
      turned upon the Baron. He became pale, then excessively red;
      then, dropping his pocket-handkerchief, stooped to recover it,
      when I caught a glimpse of his countenance, while it could be
      seen by no one else at the table. It was radiant with the
      quizzical expression which was its natural character, but which I
      had never seen it assume except when we were alone together, and
      when he unbent himself freely. In an instant afterward he stood
      erect, confronting Hermann; and so total an alteration of
      countenance in so short a period I certainly never saw before. For a moment I even fancied that I had misconceived him, and that
      he was in sober earnest. He appeared to be stifling with passion,
      and his face was cadaverously white. For a short time he remained
      silent, apparently striving to master his emotion. Having at
      length seemingly succeeded, he reached a decanter which stood
      near him, saying as he held it firmly clenched—“The language you
      have thought proper to employ, Mynheer Hermann, in addressing
      yourself to me, is objectionable in so many particulars, that I
      have neither temper nor time for specification. That my opinions,
      however, are not the opinions to be expected from a gentleman, is
      an observation so directly offensive as to allow me but one line
      of conduct. Some courtesy, nevertheless, is due to the presence
      of this company, and to yourself, at this moment, as my guest. You will pardon me, therefore, if, upon this consideration, I
      deviate slightly from the general usage among gentlemen in
      similar cases of personal affront. You will forgive me for the
      moderate tax I shall make upon your imagination, and endeavor to
      consider, for an instant, the reflection of your person in yonder
      mirror as the living Mynheer Hermann himself. This being done,
      there will be no difficulty whatever. I shall discharge this
      decanter of wine at your image in yonder mirror, and thus fulfil
      all the spirit, if not the exact letter, of resentment for your
      insult, while the necessity of physical violence to your real
      person will be obviated.”

      With these words he hurled the decanter, full of wine, against
      the mirror which hung directly opposite Hermann; striking the
      reflection of his person with great precision, and of course
      shattering the glass into fragments. The whole company at once
      started to their feet, and, with the exception of myself and
      Ritzner, took their departure. As Hermann went out, the Baron
      whispered me that I should follow him and make an offer of my
      services. To this I agreed; not knowing precisely what to make of
      so ridiculous a piece of business. The duellist accepted my aid with his stiff and _ultra recherché_
      air, and, taking my arm, led me to his apartment. I could hardly
      forbear laughing in his face while he proceeded to discuss, with
      the profoundest gravity, what he termed “the refinedly peculiar
      character” of the insult he had received. After a tiresome
      harangue in his ordinary style, he took down from his book
      shelves a number of musty volumes on the subject of the duello,
      and entertained me for a long time with their contents; reading
      aloud, and commenting earnestly as he read. I can just remember
      the titles of some of the works. There were the “Ordonnance of
      Philip le Bel on Single Combat”; the “Theatre of Honor,” by
      Favyn, and a treatise “On the Permission of Duels,” by Andiguier. He displayed, also, with much pomposity, Brantome’s “Memoirs of
      Duels,” published at Cologne, 1666, in the types of Elzevir—a
      precious and unique vellum-paper volume, with a fine margin, and
      bound by Derome. But he requested my attention particularly, and
      with an air of mysterious sagacity, to a thick octavo, written in
      barbarous Latin by one Hedelin, a Frenchman, and having the
      quaint title, “Duelli Lex Scripta, et non; aliterque.” From this
      he read me one of the drollest chapters in the world concerning
      “Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per se,”
      about half of which, he averred, was strictly applicable to his
      own “refinedly peculiar” case, although not one syllable of the
      whole matter could I understand for the life of me. Having
      finished the chapter, he closed the book, and demanded what I
      thought necessary to be done. I replied that I had entire
      confidence in his superior delicacy of feeling, and would abide
      by what he proposed. With this answer he seemed flattered, and
      sat down to write a note to the Baron. It ran thus:

      Sir,—My friend, M. P.-, will hand you this note. I find it
      incumbent upon me to request, at your earliest convenience, an
      explanation of this evening’s occurrences at your chambers. In
      the event of your declining this request, Mr. P. will be happy to
      arrange, with any friend whom you may appoint, the steps
      preliminary to a meeting. With sentiments of perfect respect,

      Your most humble servant,
      JOHANN HERMAN. “_To the Baron Ritzner von Jung,
      August 18th, 18_—.”

      Not knowing what better to do, I called upon Ritzner with this
      epistle. He bowed as I presented it; then, with a grave
      countenance, motioned me to a seat. Having perused the cartel, he
      wrote the following reply, which I carried to Hermann. “SIR,—Through our common friend, Mr. P., I have received your
      note of this evening. Upon due reflection I frankly admit the
      propriety of the explanation you suggest. This being admitted, I
      still find great difficulty, (owing to the refinedly peculiar
      nature of our disagreement, and of the personal affront offered
      on my part,) in so wording what I have to say by way of apology,
      as to meet all the minute exigencies, and all the variable
      shadows, of the case. I have great reliance, however, on that
      extreme delicacy of discrimination, in matters appertaining to
      the rules of etiquette, for which you have been so long and so
      pre-eminently distinguished.