“What is it?”
“To be my second.”
“That is a serious matter, and we will not discuss it here; let us speak of nothing till we get home. Ali, bring me some water.”
The count turned up his sleeves, and passed into the little vestibule where the gentlemen were accustomed to wash their hands after shooting.
“Come in, my lord,” said Philip in a low tone, “and I will show you something droll.” Morcerf entered, and in place of the usual target, he saw some playing-cards fixed against the wall. At a distance Albert thought it was a complete suit, for he counted from the ace to the ten.
“Ah, ha,” said Albert, “I see you were preparing for a game of cards.”
“No,” said the count, “I was making a suit.”
“How?” said Albert.
“Those are really aces and twos which you see, but my shots have turned them into threes, fives, sevens, eights, nines, and tens.”
Albert approached. In fact, the bullets had actually pierced the cards in the exact places which the painted signs would otherwise have occupied, the lines and distances being as regularly kept as if they had been ruled with pencil. In going up to the target Morcerf picked up two or three swallows that had been rash enough to come within the range of the count’s pistol.