Finally Sabina came to herself, and in a forceful and deliberate motion yanked her hand away from Gustav’s clutch. The rose fell to the floor.

Immediately Matthew took her hand and pulled her a step or two through the crowd to lead her away.

Gustav was after them in a second, laying a rough restraining hand on the back of Matthew’s shoulder.

“Stop, Ame…!” he demanded. “You swine—this is none of your affair! Leave my little Sabina to me!”

Sabina spun around. “Your Sabina!” she cried. “How dare you call me that, Gustav! And how dare you call my friend a swine!”

Without warning the forceful and undainty palm of Sabina’s hand came slapping unceremoniously across Gustav’s face with a loud whack, leaving an immediate red mark where it connected.

His eyes lit with the fire of passionate wrath at being so treated in front of so many.

He grabbed her arm, twisting it violently, and yanked her toward him. “We will dance, Sabina!” he insisted, “and later you will pay for your mistake!”

A cry escaped Sabina’s lips from the pain of his rude grip.

The next instant, Matthew was at her side, attempting to wrest her away from the cocky and drunken young German who stood at least two inches above him.

“Look, Herr von Schmundt,” he said, doing his best to be calm, “this has gone far enough. Sabina and I will leave, and you can continue your celebration—”

But in his present state, the calm words of an American diplomat’s son were not the suitable unguent to Gustav’s severely bruised ego.

The rest of the sentence never left Matthew’s mouth.

Gustav’s powerful fist came crashing into the side of his head. Stunned, Matthew staggered back a step or two. The natural fighting instinct of his own manhood suddenly awakened, he tried to shake his brain clear, then lunged forward toward his adversary. Hardly aware what he was doing, he felt his own fist crunch clumsily into Gustav’s sharp jaw below his left cheek.

Gustav had anticipated no retaliation and had done nothing to defend himself against Matthew’s blow. Unfortunately, it did not have the power to exorcise the demon of his anger.

Eyes afire, Gustav sprang back with a rapid parry of punches. Matthew, who had never been in a fistfight in his life, did not have a chance. He suddenly felt himself doubled over and gasping for breath from a wicked explosion against his midsection. Two more quick fists to the head, and a final vicious clout that landed somewhere between nose and cheekbone, and he toppled backward unsteadily, then crumpled to the floor.

“Take that, you American cur!” Gustav shouted, standing above him, fist still clenched and eager for more. “Yes, you can leave, when I’m finished with you! We need none of your kind here, you cowardly Americans. You’re all as vile as Jews!”