tain, and they had a
terrible quarrel, and swore to shoot at each other over the hide of the
bear: that was in true gentleman's style, almost barrel to barrel. This
duel made a great stir, and in those days they sang songs about it. I was
their second; how everything came to pass--I will tell you the whole story
from the beginning."

Before the Seneschal began to speak, Gerwazy had settled the dispute. He
walked attentively around the bear; finally he drew his hanger, cut the
snout in two, and in the rear of the head, opening the layers of the
brain, he found the bullet. He took it out, wiped it on his coat, measured
it with a cartridge, applied it to the barrel of his flintlock, and then
said, raising his palm with the bullet resting upon it:--

"Gentlemen, this bullet is not from either of your weapons; it came from
this single-barrelled Horeszko carbine." (Here he raised an old flintlock,
tied up with strings.) "But I did not shoot it. O, how much daring was
needed then! it is terrible to remember it; my eyes grew dark! For both
the young gentlemen were running straight towards me, and behind them was
the bear--just, just above the head of the Count, the last of the
Horeszkos, though in the female line! 'Jesus Maria!' I exclaimed, and the
angels of the Lord sent to my aid the Bernardine Monk. He put us all to
shame; O, he is a glorious monk! While I trembled, while I dared not touch
the trigger, he snatched the musket from my hands, aimed, and fired. To
shoot between two heads! at a hundred paces! and not to miss! and in the
very centre of his jaw! to knock out his teeth so! Gentlemen, long have I
lived, and but one man have I seen who could boast himself such a
marksman: that man once famous among us for so many duels, who used to
shoot out the heels from under women's shoes, that scoundrel of
scoundrels, renowned in memorable times, that Jacek, commonly called
Mustachio; his surname I will not mention. But now it is no time for him
to be hunting bears; that ruffian is certainly buried in Hell up to his
very mustaches. Glory to the Monk, he has saved the lives of two men, and
perhaps of three. Gerwazy will not boast, but if the last child of the
Horeszkos' blood had fallen into the jaws of the beast, I should no longer
be in this world, and perhaps the bear would have gnawed clean my old
bones. Come, Father Monk, let us drink your good health!"

In vain they searched for the Monk: all that they could discover was t