will see the matter in another light."

"No more prating, but choose your weapon," screamed the Baron.

"Really, Baron," I said, "this conduct of yours is contrary to all the
generally received etiquette in duelling. There are no seconds present,
nothing regular. I accept your challenge, if you really cannot be
brought to reason, but if I die, it must be like a gentleman, in a
regular duel, with all the usual ceremony."

"Driveller! dost prate to me of ceremony? But have it your own way,"
said the Baron. "You do not escape me this time."

"I will write to a friend of mine from town," I said. "Meanwhile, I have
the pleasure of wishing your lordship a remarkably good morning."

I opened the door and made for the staircase, but, with two immense
strides, the Baron was at my heels.

"Take that, Sir Bungler," cried he, and lifting one of his enormous
legs, lunged forth a kick upon that part of my person anatomically known
as the _Glutæus Major_, which sent me flying from the top of the stairs
to the bottom, at the imminent risk of breaking my neck; but, as good
luck would have it, I landed safely on my feet. Nevertheless the insult
stung me to the quick.

I turned round indignantly, yet striving to master my passion, in order
to preserve my dignity, and said, "Baron, you are no gentleman."

With the yell of a wounded tiger, the Baron vaulted with one bound from
the top of the staircase to the bottom, just as my hand was on the door.
I opened it and slammed it again in his face, and walked briskly in the
direction of the village. I heard the door open behind me and the
Baron's fearful footsteps after me.

I do not know what would have become of me, if just at that moment an
over-driven bull had not come to my rescue and stood between me and the
Baron. Seeing a man striding towards him furiously, he imagined the
attack was meant for himself, and accordingly stood on the defensive.
The Baron tried to pass, but the bull lowered his horns, and looked

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