consider himself to blame. 'In that case,' answered Herr von Richter,
blushing more than ever,' you will have to exchange friendly
shots--_des goups de bisdolet a l'amiaple_!'

'I don't understand that at all,' observed Sanin; 'are we to fire in
the air or what?'

'Oh, not exactly that,' stammered the sub-lieutenant, utterly
disconcerted, 'but I supposed since it is an affair between men of
honour ... I will talk to your second,' he broke off, and went away.

Sanin dropped into a chair directly he had gone, and stared at the
floor. 'What does it all mean? How is it my life has taken such a turn
all of a sudden? All the past, all the future has suddenly vanished,
gone,--and all that's left is that I am going to fight some one about
something in Frankfort.' He recalled a crazy aunt of his who used to
dance and sing:

'O my lieutenant!
My little cucumber!
My little love!
Dance with me, my little dove!'

And he laughed and hummed as she used to: 'O my lieutenant! Dance with
me, little dove!' 'But I must act, though, I mustn't waste time,' he
cried aloud--jumped up and saw Pantaleone facing him with a note in
his hand.

'I knocked several times, but you did not answer; I thought you
weren't at home,' said the old man, as he gave him the note. 'From