"Oh," I replied, "in that case, I bet, Count, that you will not hit a card even at twenty paces. The pistol demands daily practice. I know that from experience. In our regiment I was reckoned one of the best shots. Once I happened not to take a pistol in hand for a whole month: I had sent my own to the gunsmith's. Well, what do you think, Count? The first time I began again to shoot I four times running missed a bottle at twenty paces. The captain of our company, who was a wit, happened to be present, and he said to me: 'Your hand, my friend, refuses to raise itself against the bottle!' No, Count, you must not neglect to practise, or you will soon lose all skill. The best shot I ever knew used to shoot every day, and at least three times every day before dinner. This was as much his habit as the preliminary glass of vodka." The Count and Countess seemed pleased that I had begun to talk. "And what sort of a shot was he?" asked the Count. "This sort, Count: if he saw a fly settle on the wall----You smile, Countess, but I assure you it is a fact. When he saw the fly, he would call out, 'Kouska, my pistol!' Kouska brought him the loaded pistol. A crack, and the fly was crushed into the wall!" "That is astonishing!" said the Count. "And what was his name?" "Silvio was his name." "Silvio!" exclaimed the Count, starting from his seat. "_You_ knew Silvio?" "How could I fail to know him?--we were comrades; he was received at our mess like a brother-officer. It is now about five years since I last had tidings of him. Then you, Count, also knew him?" "I knew him very well. Did he never tell you of one very extraordinary incident in his life?" "Do you mean the slap in the face, Count, that he received from a blackguard at a ball?" "He did not tell you the name of this blackguard?" "No, Count, he did not. Forgive me," I added, guessing the truth, "forgive me--I did not--could it really have been you?" "It was myself," replied the Count, greatly agitated; "and the shots in the picture are a memento of our last meeting." [Illustration: "I FIRED AND HIT THAT PICTURE."] "Oh, my dear," said the Countess, "for God's sake, do not relate it! It frightens me to think of it." "No," replied the Count; "I must tell him all. He knows how I insulted his friend. He shall also know how Silvio revenged himself." The Count pushed a chair towards me, and with the liveliest interest I listened to the following story:-- "Five years ago," began the Count, "I got married. The honeymoon I spent here, in this village. To this house I am indebted for the happiest moments of my life, and for one of its saddest remembrances.