irty steps is a great
distance; besides, the pistols were bad. In addition, both men were
wrapped up to the chin; one had a black coat, the other a dark gray
military cloak--colors bad for hitting; and both had their
shirt-collars concealed. There was not a point about either that would
serve for a target. But the cap business had changed the nature of the
whole affair, and made much bad blood. It proved, for one thing, that
Behrend was a first-rate shot, and this put Salista's military spirit
on its metal. The barriers were withdrawn for the second shot. Salista
took off his gray cloak, tied back his hussar jacket, so that his red
waistcoat and white shirt stood out clear, and instead of standing, as
is usual in a duel, with one side to your adversary, he presented to
him a full front, and this with red and white, the best colors, as
every one knows, for a mark. Yes, and while we were loading the
pistols, what do you think he did? But Salista is a madman when he is
roused! He took his cigar-case out of his pocket, and lighted one to
show his indifference. For the second time it was his turn to begin.
He took much more pains than the first time; in fact, he was such a
time taking aim that we had to call to him to shoot. Again he missed.
The leaves of the branches under which Ivan stood fell upon his head;
the ball had gone into the tree."

Angela shuddered.

"Ivan now addressed his opponent. 'Sir,' he said, 'it is not fitting
that at such a supreme moment as this you should smoke a cigar.'
Salista made no answer, but stood fronting Behrend; his face was
slightly turned to one side, and he blew clouds of smoke into the air.
Ivan raised his pistol for a second, took deliberate aim, then a sharp
report, and Salista's cigar flew from his mouth into space."

An involuntary smile spread over Angela's lips, but it was gone in an
instant, and her face resumed its immovable expression, as if cut out
of stone.

Count Edmund went on. "In a fury Salista threw his pistol upon the
ground. 'The devil take me,' he cried, stamping with rage, 'if I shoot
any more with this man! He is Beelzebub in person. He has shot the cap
from my head, the cigar from my mouth, and the third time he will
shoot the spurs from my boots. He shoots all round me; he is like a
Chinese juggler. I will not shoot any more with him; that's flat!' His
seconds in vain tried to persuade him; he would not listen to them; he
was furious; he would hear nothing. He