“Very well,” said the major; “though, indeed, I do not understand what is the question at issue and how you will decide it!”
Without a word Vulich went into the major’s bedroom, and we followed him. He went up to the wall on which the major’s weapons were hanging, and took down at random one of the pistols—of which there were several of different calibres. We were still in the dark as to what he meant to do. But, when he cocked the pistol and sprinkled powder in the pan, several of the officers, crying out in spite of themselves, seized him by the arms.
“What are you going to do?” they exclaimed. “This is madness!”
“Gentlemen!” he said slowly, disengaging his arm. “Who would like to pay twenty ducats for me?”
They were silent and drew away.
Vulich went into the other room and sat by the table; we all followed him. With a sign he invited us to sit round him. We obeyed in silence—at that moment he had acquired a certain mysterious authority over us. I stared fixedly into his face; but he met my scrutinising gaze with a quiet and steady glance, and his pallid lips smiled. But, notwithstanding his composure, it seemed to me that I could read the stamp of death upon his pale countenance. I have noticed—and many old soldiers have corroborated my observation—that a man who is to die in a few hours frequently bears on his face a certain strange stamp of inevitable fate, so that it is difficult for practised eyes to be mistaken.
“You will die to-day!” I said to Vulich.
He turned towards me rapidly, but answered slowly and quietly:
“May be so, may be not.”...
Then, addressing himself to the major, he asked: