“I think not. We have not done it latterly,” said the Count, musingly. “The authorities don't seem to like it; and, of course, we respect the authorities!” “That's quite evident,” said Baynton, who turned to translate the observation to his friend. Selby whispered a word in his ear. “What does the signore say?” inquired the Count. “My friend thinks that they are behind the time.” “_Per Baccho!_ Let him be easy as to that. I have known some to think that the Russian came too soon. I never heard of one who wished him earlier! There they are now: they always come by the garden.” And so saying, he hastened off to receive them. “How is this fellow to handle a sword, if his right arm be wounded?” said Selby. “Don't you know that these Russians use the left hand indifferently with the right, in all exercises? It may be awkward for _you_; but, depend upon it, _he'll_ not be inconvenienced in the least.” As he spoke, the others entered the other end of the hall. The Prince no sooner saw the Englishmen than he advanced towards them with his hat off. “My lord,” said he, rapidly, “I have come to make you an apology, and one which I trust you will accept in all the frankness that I offer it. I have learned from your friend the Duc de Brignolles how the incident of yesterday occurred. I see that the only fault committed was my own. Will you pardon, then, a momentary word of ill-temper, occasioned by what I wrongfully believed to be a great injury?” “Of course, I knew it was all a mistake on your part. I told Colonel Baynton, here, you'd see so yourself,--when it is too late, perhaps.” “I thank you sincerely,” said the Russian, bowing; “your readiness to accord me this satisfaction makes your forgiveness more precious to me. And now, as another favor, will you permit me to ask you one question?” “Yes, certainly.” “Why, when you could have so easily explained this misconception on my part, did you not take the trouble of doing so?” Selby looked confused, blushed, looked awkwardly from side to side, and then, with a glance towards his friend, seemed to say, “Will you try and answer him?” “I think you have hit it yourself, Prince,” said Baynton. “It was the trouble, the bore of an explanation, deterred him. He hates writing, and he thought there would be a shower of notes to be replied to, meetings, discussions, and what not; and so he said, 'Let him have his shot, and have done with it.'” The Russian looked from one to the other as he listened, and seemed really as if not quite sure whether this speech was uttered in seriousness or sarcasm. The calm, phlegmatic faces of the Englishmen,--the almost apathetic expression they wore,--soon convinced him that the words were truthfully spoken; and he stood actually confounded with amazement before them.