‘I revenge myself immediately,’ answered Rex, rising as he moved his glass in a circle and glanced round the table. The phrases are consecrated by immemorial usage. He drank, bowed and resumed his seat. He knew well enough that the Swabians did not like him over well, but he was determined that, sooner or later, they should change their minds.
‘I congratulate you,’ said the same student who had been talking with Greif, ‘upon your quarrel with Bauer. You could not have picked out a man whom I detest more cordially. Observe this slash in my jaw—two bone splinters, an artery and nine stitches. It is a reminiscence, not dear but near.’
‘A fine cut,’ answered Rex, gravely examining the scar. ‘A regular renommir schmiss, a gash to boast of. A deep-carte, I suppose?’
‘Of course,’ said the other, with the superiority of a man who knows the exact part of the face exposed to each cut. ‘It could not be anything else. He has the most surprising limberness of wrist, and he never hits the bandage by mistake—never! You strike high tierce like lightning and your blade is back in guard—oh yes! but before you are there his deep-carte sits in the middle of your cheek. Whatever you do, it is the same.’
Every one was listening, and Greif frowned at the speaker, whose intention was evident. He wanted to frighten Rex by an account of his adversary’s prowess. Rex looked grave but did not appear in the least disturbed.
‘So?’ he ejaculated. ‘Really! Well, I can put a silver thaler in my cheek and save my teeth, at all events. They are very good.’
A roar of laughter greeted this response.
‘But that is contrary to the code,’ objected the student, laughing with the rest. He was not an ill-humoured man in reality.
‘Yes—I was joking,’ said Rex. ‘But I once saw a man fight with an iron nose on his face.’
‘How was that?’ was asked by every one.