When Pembroke and I arrived at the Strasburg inn, on the north road,
neither the Prince nor Von Walden were in evidence. I stepped from our
carriage and gazed interestedly around me. The scene was a picturesque
one. The sun, but half risen, was of a rusty brass, and all east was
mottled with purple and salmon hues. The clearing, a quarter of a mile
away, where the Prince and I were to settle our dispute, was hidden
under a fine white snow; and the barren trees which encircled it stood
out blackly. Pembroke looked at his watch.

"They ought to be along soon; it's five after six. How do you feel?"
regarding me seriously.

"As nerveless as a rod of steel," I answered. "Let us go in and order
a small breakfast. I'm a bit cold."

"Better let it go at a cup of coffee," he suggested.

"It will be more consistent, that is true," I said. "Coffee and
pistols for two."

"I'm glad to see that you are bright," said Pembroke. "Hold out your
hand."

I did so.

"Good. So long as it doesn't tremble, I have confidence of the end."

We had scarcely finished our coffee when the Prince, followed by Von
Walden, entered.

"Pardon me," he said, "for having made you wait."

"Permit me," said I, rising, "to present my second; Mr. Pembroke, His
Highness Prince Ernst of Wortumborg."