“It is enough,” the slim count shouted, and the battle was over.
“You play with the sword so skilful,” the latter panted, as De Langueville and the surgeon began to dress his wound.
“All you need is a pair of lungs,” said Forbes. “The pair you have may do for sucking cigarettes, but not for fighting.”
“And I politely request that you do not use them again in making love to Miss Norris,” I said. “Hereafter I shall carry a fork with me, and any man who follows us again will get it run into him. But now that you know that they do not want to graft you on their family tree you will, of course, annoy them no more. I expect you're a much better fellow than you seem to be.”
“And they will permission her to marry Raspagnetti?” he demanded.
“Why not?” was my query.
“Well, he has been married already and has amuse himself by dragging his wife around his palace by the hairs of her head.”
“It's a bad fashion,” I said; “it wears out the carpets.”
He looked puzzled.
“But it's an ancient diversion of the Romans,” I went on, remembering that panel in one of the galleries which portrayed the extraction of the whiskers of a captive who was tied hand and foot—one of the basest amusements I can think of.