coming in the distance. He was on foot and in his shirt sleeves, carrying his uniform over his arm — he was attended by only one witness. I went forward to meet him and I noticed that his cap, which he carried in his hand, was full of cherries. Our witnesses placed us twelve paces from each other. It was my privilege to shoot first, but what with passion and hatred blinding me I feared my aim would be poor, and to gain time to steady my hand, I offered to let him fire first. He refused to do so, and it was then agreed we would leave it to chance. Luck was, as usual, with this spoilt child of fortune. He fired and pierced my cap. It was now my turn, and I felt he was at my mercy. I looked at him with eagerness, hoping to find him at least a little uneasy. Not at all, for there he stood, within range of my pistol, coolly picking the ripest cherries out of his cap and blowing the pits in my direction where they fell at my feet.
"'What will I gain,' thought I, ' by taking his life, when he thinks so little of it?'
"A diabolical thought crossed my mind. I unloaded a pistol.
"'It seems,' I said, 'that you care very little whether you die or not at the present moment. You seem more anxious to breakfast instead.
