His tone was triumphant.

"I tell you what it is, Monsieur," said the calm voice of the Count: "if
you go through the world banging off shots on the chance of shooting
white owls which you do not see, you are indeed likely to hit
something. But whether you will like it after it is hit, is another
matter."

Then I went indoors, for my arm was paining me. In my own room I eagerly
examined the wound. It was but slight. A pellet or two had grazed my arm
and ploughed their way along the thickness of the skin, but none had
entered deeply. So I wrapped my arm in a little lint and some old linen,
and went to bed.

I did not again see the Countess till noon on the morrow, when her
carriage was at the door and she tripped down the steps to enter.

The Count stood by it, holding the door for her to enter--I midway down
the broad flight of steps.

"Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand, from which she deftly drew
the glove. "We shall meet again."

"God grant it! I live for that!" said I, so low that the Count did not
hear, as I bent to kiss her hand. For in these months I had learned many
things.

At this moment Henry came up to say farewell, and he shook her hand with
boyish affectation of the true British indifference, which at that time