the wall."

"Wonderful!" said the Count. "And what was his name?"

"Silvio, Your Excellency."

"Silvio!" exclaimed the Count, starting up. "Did you know Silvio?"

"How could I help knowing him, Your Excellency: we were intimate
friends; he was received in our regiment like a brother officer, but it
is now five years since I had any tidings of him. Then Your Excellency
also knew him?"

"Oh, yes, I knew him very well. Did he ever tell you of one very strange
incident in his life?"

"Does Your Excellency refer to the slap in the face that he received
from some blackguard at a ball?"

"Did he tell you the name of this blackguard?"

"No, Your Excellency, he never mentioned his name, . . . Ah! Your
Excellency!" I continued, guessing the truth: "pardon me . . . I did not
know . . . could it really have been you?"

"Yes, I myself," replied the Count, with a look of extraordinary
agitation; "and that bullet-pierced picture is a memento of our last
meeting."

"Ah, my dear," said the Countess, "for Heaven's sake, do not speak about