"How would a princess spend her day?"

"Like any young lady," answered the Count.

With a nod of the head, the girl encouraged him to continue.

"In the morning, she would have lessons in French, history, music. After her lessons, she might visit with friends or walk in the park. And at lunch she would eat her vegetables."

"My father says that princesses personify the decadence of a vanquished era."

The Count was taken aback.

"Perhaps a few," he conceded. "But not all, I assure you."

She waved her fork.

"Don't worry. Papa is wonderful and he knows everything there is to know about the workings of tractors. But he knows absolutely nothing about the workings of princesses."

The Count offered an expression of relief.

"Have you ever been to a ball?" she continued after a moment of thought.

"Certainly."

"Did you dance?"

"I have been known to scuff the parquet." The Count said this with the renowned glint in his eye—that little spark that had defused heated conversations and caught the eyes of beauties in every salon in St. Petersburg.

"Scuff the parquet?"

"Ahem," said the Count. "Yes, I have danced at balls."

"And have you lived in a castle?"

"Castles are not as common in our country as they are in fairy tales," the Count explained. "But I have dined in a castle... ."

Accepting this response as sufficient, if not ideal, the girl now furrowed her brow. She put another quadrant of fish in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Then she suddenly leaned forward.

"Have you ever been in a duel?"

"An affaire d'honneur?" The Count hesitated. "I suppose I have been in a duel of sorts... ."

"With pistols at thirty-two paces?"

"In my case, it was more of a duel in the figurative sense."

When the Count's guest expressed her disappointment at this unfortunate clarification, he found himself offering a consolation:

"My godfather was a second on more than one occasion."

"A second?"

"When a gentleman has been offended and demands satisfaction on the field of honor, he and his counterpart each appoint seconds—in essence, their lieutenants. It is the seconds who settle upon the rules of engagement."

"What sort of rules of engagement?"

"The time and place of the duel. What weapons will be used. If it is to be pistols, then how many paces will be taken and whether there will be more than one exchange of shots."

"Your godfather, you say. Where did he live?"

"Here in Moscow."

"Were his duels in Moscow?"

"One of them was. In fact, it sprang from a dispute that occurred in this hotel—between an admiral and a prince. They had been at odds for quite some time, I gather, but things came to a head one night when their paths collided in the lobby, and the gauntlet was thrown down on that very spot."

"Which very spot?"

"By the concierge's desk."

"Right where I sit!"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Were they in love with the same woman?"

"I don't think a woman was involved."

The girl looked at the Count with an expression of incredulity.

"A woman is always involved," she said.

"Yes. Well. Whatever the cause, an offense was taken followed by a demand for an apology, a refusal to provide one, and a slap of the glove. At the time, the hotel was managed by a German fellow named Keffler, who was reputedly a baron in his own right. And it was generally known that he kept a pair of pistols hidden behind a panel in his office, so that when an incident occurred, seconds could confer in privacy, carriages could be summoned, and the feuding parties could be whisked away with weapons in hand."

"In the hours before dawn ..."

"In the hours before dawn."

"To some remote spot ..."

"To some remote spot."

She leaned forward.

Excerpted from A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles. Copyright © 2016 by Amor Towles. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.