duel yielded him eight gold crowns—four from each of the combatants. Herr von Richter carried a case of pistols, Herr von Dönhof—probably considering it the thing—was swinging in his hand a little cane.
'Pantaleone!' Sanin whispered to the old man; if . . . if I 'm killed—anything may happen—take out of my side pocket a paper—there's a flower wrapped up in it—and give the paper to Signorina Gemma. Do you hear? You promise?'
The old man looked dejectedly at him, and nodded his head affirmatively.. . . But God knows whether he understood what Sanin was asking him to do.
The combatants and the seconds exchanged the customary bows; the doctor alone did not move as much as an eyelash; he sat down yawning on the grass, as much as to say, 'I 'm not here for expressions of chivalrous courtesy.' Herr von Richter proposed to Herr 'Tshibadola' that he should select the place; Herr 'Tshibadola' responded, moving his tongue with difficulty—'the wall' within him had completely given way again. 'You act, my dear sir; I will watch.. . .'
And Herr von Richter proceeded to act. He picked out in the wood close by a very pretty clearing all studded with flowers; he measured
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