Instantly the cafe was in an uproar.  The stupefied Axphainians regained their senses and a general assault was made upon the hotheaded American.  He knocked another down, Harry Anguish coming to his assistance with several savage blows, after which the Graustark spectators and the waiters interfered.  It was all over in an instant, yet a sensation that would live in the gossip of generations had been created.  A Prince of the realm had been brutally assaulted!  Holding his jaw, Lorenz picked himself from the floor, several of his friends running to his aid.  There was blood on his lips and chin; it trickled to his shirt front.  For some moments he stood panting, glaring at Lorry’s mocking face.

“I am Lorenz of Axphain, sir,” he said at last, his voice quivering with suppressed anger.

“It shall be a pleasure to kill you, Lorenz,” observed his adversary, displaying his ignorance of lese-majeste.

Anguish, pale and very much concerned, dragged him away, the Prince leaving the cafe ahead of them, followed by his chattering, cursing companions.  Prince Gabriel was standing near the door as they passed out.  He looked at the Americans sharply, and Anguish detected something like triumphant joy in his eyes.

“Good Lord, Lorry; this means a duel!  Don’t you know that?” cried he, as they started upstairs.

“Of course, I do.  And I’m going to kill that villain, too,” exclaimed Lorry, loud enough to be heard from one end of the room to the other.

“This is horrible, horrible!  Let me square it up some way if—­” began the alarmed Anguish.

“Square it up!  Look here, Harry Anguish, I am the one who will do the squaring.  If he wants a duel he can have it at any old time and in any style he desires.”

“He may kill you!”

“Not while a just God rules over our destinies.  I’ll take my chances with pistols, and now let me tell you one thing, my boy:  he’ll never live to touch his lips to hers, nor will there be a royal wedding.  She cannot marry a dead man.”  He was beside himself with excitement and it was fully half an hour before Anguish could bring him to a sensible discussion of the affair.  Gradually he became cool, and, the fever once gone, he did not lose his head again.

“Choose pistols at ten paces and at eight tomorrow,” he said, nonchalantly, as a rap at the door of their apartment announced the arrival of the Prince’s friend.

Anguish admitted two well-dressed, black-bearded men, both of whom had sat at the Prince’s table in the cafe.  They introduced themselves as the Duke of Mizrox and Colonel Attobawn.  Their visit was brief, formal and conclusive.

“We understand that you are persons of rank in your own America?” said the Duke of Mizrox, after a few moments.

“We are sons of business men,” responded Mr. Anguish.

“Oh, well, I hardly know.  But his Highness is very willing to waive his rank, and to grant you a meeting.”