ah!" was the incredulous rejoinder of the others.

"But I tell you he has," repeated the young count; "he has cut him
into a jelly."

"And Ivan?"

"He is as untouched as I am."

"Ah, you are making fun of us."

"It is no subject for fun. Ask Salista."

"But where is Ivan?"

"He will be here immediately, and will convince the unbelievers, who
will find no wounds into which they can poke their fingers. He went
home with the doctors, for Salista had two, who have at last succeeded
in stitching him together."

Then he related to them circumstantially all that had happened. For
those who did not clearly understand, he demonstrated with the help of
two walking-sticks the course the duel took. He came to the
double-cut.

"In this way Ivan parried the stomach-thrust and gave the
fore-cut--the final a _tempo contre coup_. The performer of these
wonderful exploits had not even turned a hair."

"Why, he is a miracle!"

"No such thing," protested Count Geza. "He has been in the
army--captain in the hussars." (He advanced him a grade, but captain
sounds better than lieutenant.) "He fought all through the revolution;
he was nineteen times in action, and fought with the Cossacks besides.
He has also received a good-service medal."

All this the count imagined might be the fact, although he had
certainly not heard a word of such a history from Ivan. Once a man has
scored one success, he is credited with twenty more.

"Truly a wonderful man!" said Baron Oscar. "For three months he has
been among us every day, and has never mentioned his soldiering
experiences."

"Now we have really landed him upon us, like a Sindbad that can never
be shaken off," remarked Baron Edward. "We wanted to be rid of him,
and instead we have raised him into the saddle. He will never
dismount; he is saddled on us forever. No one would dare now to speak
to him."

"Good God of Saxony!" cried Baron Oscar, "how the man will carry his
nose in the air! There will be no standing him, for the women will, of
course, make the deuce of a fuss about him, and men must have a
certain respect for him. _Sacre bleu!_ A man who can shoot and fence
like this fellow! But I would bet anything that it was a mere
accident."

"I think quite the contrary," remarked Count Stefan, "and I very much
fear that Ivan will leave us all cooling our heels here, and not show
his face. He will never cross any of our thresholds again."

"Oh, he wouldn't be such a confounded