“Oh,” said Lucien, “I do not deserve your praise, for one barrel is rifled, and carries a ball like a carbine.”
“Never mind, such a shot with a carbine deserves honourable mention.”
“Bah!” said Orlandi; “why, with a carbine, Monsieur Lucien could hit a five-franc piece at three hundred paces.”
“And can you shoot with a pistol as well as with a gun?”
“Yes,” said Lucien, “very nearly. At twenty-five paces I can always divide six balls out of twelve on the blade of a knife.”
I took off my hat and saluted the speaker, saying,
“Is your brother an equally good shot?”
“My brother?” he replied. “Poor Louis! he has never handled gun nor pistol in his life. My great fear is that he will get mixed up in some affair in Paris, and, brave as he undoubtedly is, he will be killed to sustain the honour of the country.”
Lucien, as he spoke, thrust the pheasant into the great pocket of his velveteen coat.