The count put away his blades as carefully as a mother would deposit her babe in the cradle.
“Another page of history, my chicks!” he observed. “Worthy of the song of Pindar!”
“Why not Straws or Phazma?” queried the surgeon, looking up from his task.
“Would you have the press take up the affair? There are already people who talk of abolishing dueling. When they do they will abolish reputation with it. And what’s a gentleman got but his honor––demme!” And the royal emissary carefully brushed a crimson stain from the bespattered saint.
By this time the land baron had regained consciousness, 276 and, his wounds temporarily bandaged, walked, with the assistance of the count, to his carriage. As they were about to drive away the sound of a vehicle was heard drawing near, and soon it appeared followed by another equipage. Both stopped at the confines of the Oaks and the friends of the thick-set man––Susan’s admirer––and the young lad, on whom she had smiled, alighted.
“Ha!” exclaimed the doctor, who had accompanied the count and his companion to the carriage. “Number two!”
“Yes,” laughed the count, as he leaned back against the soft cushions, “it promises to be a busy day at the Oaks! Really”––as the equipage rolled on––“New Orleans is fast becoming a civilized center––demme!”