The waiter placed both before him.
"Are they really loaded?" inquired Gyáli.
"Look into the barrels, where the steel head of the bullets are smiling at you."
Gyáli found it wiser to believe than to look into the pistol barrels.
"Well, the bet stands; whichever of us cannot drink out his portion pays for the champagne."
Lorand seized his glass to pour the red wine that was in it into the pistol-barrel.
The whole company was silent: some agonized restraint ruled their intoxicated nerves: every eye was rested on Lorand as if they wished to check the mad jest before its completion. On Topándy's forehead heavy beads of sweat glistened.
I quietly placed my hand on Lorand's, in which he held the weapon and amid profound silence asked:
"Would it not be good to draw lots to see who shall do it first?"
Both looked at me in confusion when I mentioned drawing lots.