"We may go," said Zoiloff; and I handed him my sword and then dressed.
"I am glad you wounded him. I feared you were going to let him kill you. He tried his utmost, and you had one very narrow escape," said Zoiloff. "But now, where are we to go?"
"I should like first to make quite certain about the nature of his wound. Will you question the surgeon yourself? Spernow and I will wait by the horses."
"What of your own wounds? Won't you have them dressed? Better run no risks."
I had almost forgotten them in my excitement, but I agreed; and as soon as the surgeon could be spared from his attendance on the Duke he came and dressed them rapidly. The one was a mere scratch, and the other not by any means serious. I had been lucky indeed to escape so lightly. "A couple of days' rest for the arm would be enough," declared the doctor, who was inclined to be garrulous about the affair until he found that I made no response.
When he had finished with me, however, I questioned him as to my opponent's condition. He gave me a learned and technical description of the exact character of the injury, and then in simple and intelligent language told me that in all probability, if the wound healed as it should, the Duke would be a prisoner to his room for two or three weeks; if it healed badly, it might be as many months. But he put his estimate at not more than a month.
"There is no danger of his death?" I asked.
"Not the least, unless he is imprudent. In a month's time he should be quite able to fight another duel should he feel so disposed."
I saw no wit in so grim a pleasantry, for he intended
