hate him! I tell you. Everybody hates him. And V was the best chap between here and Orsova. He was almost like an Englishman. Wouldn't he just have polished him off if they'd had swords. That old muff, Bergheimer of the Cuirassiers, ought to be hanged. Do you think, if I'd been his second, I'd have put him up with pistols against the best shot in Europe?—and at the barrier too! It's not like at home, you know. I never knew such a mull as they made of it amongst them. This cursed Calmuck gets the pull all through, and poor V, who had lost his fortune already, loses his lady-love and his life. What a rum world it is!'
"Here the orator rolled and lit a cigarette, thus affording me a moment to inquire into the cause of his indignation. I then learned that, in consequence of a trifling dispute after last night's ball, a duel had been fought
