while, I walked about the room, examining the books and pictures. I am no judge of pictures, but one of them attracted my attention. It represented some view in Switzerland, but it was not the painting that struck me, but the circumstance that the canvas was shot through by two bullets, one planted just above the other.
"A good shot that!" said I, turning to the Count.
"Yes," replied he, "a very remarkable shot. . . . Do you shoot well?" he continued.
"Tolerably," replied I, rejoicing that the conversation had turned at last upon a subject that was familiar to me. "At thirty paces I can manage to hit a card without fail,—I mean, of course, with a pistol that I am used to."
"Really?" said the Countess, with a look of the greatest interest. "And you, my dear, could you hit a card at thirty paces?"
"Some day," replied the Count, "we will try. In my time I did not shoot badly, but it is now four years since I touched a pistol."
"Oh!" I observed, "in that case, I don't mind laying a wager that Your Excellency will not hit the card at twenty paces; the pistol demands practice every day. I know that from experience. In our regiment I was reckoned one of the best shots. It once happened that I did not touch a pistol for a whole month, as I had sent mine to be mended; and would you believe