Then I went indoors, for my arm was paining me. In my own room I eagerly examined the wound. It was but slight. A pellet or two had grazed my arm and ploughed their way along the thickness of the skin, but none had entered deeply. So I wrapped my arm in a little lint and some old linen, and went to bed.
I did not again see the Countess till noon on the morrow, when her carriage was at the door and she tripped down the steps to enter.
The Count stood by it, holding the door for her to enter—I midway down the broad flight of steps.
"Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand, from which she deftly drew the glove. "We shall meet again."
"God grant it! I live for that!" said I, so low that the Count did not hear, as I bent to kiss her hand. For in these months I had learned many things.
At this moment Henry came up to say farewell, and he shook her hand with boyish affectation of the true British indifference, which at that time it was the correct thing for Englishmen to assume at parting.
"Nice boy!" said the Countess indulgently, looking up at me. The Count bowed and smiled, and smiled and bowed, till the carriage drove out of sight.
Then in a moment he turned to me with a fierce and frowning countenance.
"And now, Monsieur, I have the honour to ask you to explain all this!"
I stood silent, amazed, aghast. There was in me no speech, nor reason.
Yet I had the sense to be silent, lest I should say something maladroit.