Silvio's letters used to be addressed to our regiment, and he usually called for them himself. On one occasion, a letter having been handed to him, I saw him break the seal and, with a look of great impatience, read the contents. His eyes sparkled. The other officers, each engaged with his own letters, did not notice anything.
"Gentlemen," said Silvio, "circumstances demand my immediate departure. I leave tonight, and I hope you will not refuse to dine with me for the last time. I shall expect you, too," he added, "turning towards me, without fail." With these words he hurriedly left, and we agreed to meet at Silvio's.
I went to Silvio's at the appointed time and found nearly the whole regiment with him. His things were already packed. Nothing remained but the bare shot-marked walls. We sat down to table. The host was in excellent spirits, and his liveliness communicated itself to the rest of the company. Corks popped every moment. Bottles fizzed and tumblers foamed incessantly, and we, with much warmth, wished our departing friend a pleasant journey and every happiness. The evening was far advanced when we rose from table. During the search for hats, Silvio wished everybody goodbye. Then, taking me by the hand, as I was on the point of leaving, he said in a low voice:
"I want to speak to you."
I stopped behind.
The guests had gone and we were left alone.
Sitting down opposite one another we lighted our pipes. Silvio was much agitated, no traces of his former gaiety remained. Deadly pale, with sparkling eyes, and a thick smoke issuing from his mouth, he looked like a demon. Several minutes passed before he broke silence.
"Perhaps we shall never meet again," he said. "Before saying goodbye I want to have a few words with you. You may have remarked that I care little for the opinion of others. But I like you, and should be sorry to leave you under a wrong impression."
He paused, and began refilling his pipe. I looked down and was silent.
"You thought it odd," he continued, "that I did not require satisfaction from that drunken maniac. You will grant, however, that being entitled to the choice of weapons I had his life more or less in my hands. I might attribute my tolerance to generosity, but I will not deceive you; if I could have chastised him without the least risk to myself, without the slightest danger to my own life, then I would on no account have forgiven him."