a green cloth covered with carpets. Unaccustomed to luxury in my own
poor corner, and not having seen the wealth of other people for a long
time, I awaited the appearance of the Count with some little
trepidation, as a suppliant from the provinces awaits the arrival of the
minister. The door opened, and a handsome-looking man, of about thirty-
two years of age, entered the room. The Count approached me with a frank
and friendly air; I endeavored to be self-possessed and began to
introduce myself, but he anticipated me. We sat down. His conversation,
which was easy and agreeable, soon dissipated my awkward bashfulness;
and I was already beginning to recover my usual composure, when the
Countess suddenly entered, and I became more confused than ever. She was
indeed beautiful. The Count presented me. I wished to appear at ease,
but the more I tried to assume an air of unconstraint, the more awkward
I felt. They, in order to give me time to recover myself and to become
accustomed to my new acquaintances, began to talk to each other,
treating me as a good neighbor, and without ceremony. Meanwhile, 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