“A superb pair of weapons, count!” observed the doctor, rising.
“Yes,” said the person addressed, holding the blade so that the sunlight ran along the steel; “the same Jacques Legres and I fought with!”
Here the count smiled in a melancholy manner, which left no doubt regarding the fate of the hapless Jacques. But after a moment he supplemented this indubitable assurance by adding specifically:
“The left artery of the left lung!”
“Bless my soul!” commented the medical man. “But what is this head in gold beneath the guard?”
“Saint Michael, the patron saint of duelists!” answered the count.
“Patron!” exclaimed the doctor. “Well, all I have to say is, it is a saintless business for Michael.”
The count laughed and turned away with a business-like air.
“Are you ready, gentlemen?”
At his words the contestants immediately took their positions. The land baron, lithe and supple, presented a picture of insolent and conscious pride, his glance 270 lighted by disdain, but smoldering with fiercer passions as he examined and tested his blade.