little cane.

'Pantaleone!' Sanin whispered to the old man; 'if ... if I'm
killed--anything may happen--take out of my side pocket a
paper--there's a flower wrapped up in it--and give the paper to
Signorina Gemma. Do you hear? You promise?'

The old man looked dejectedly at him, and nodded his head
affirmatively.... But God knows whether he understood what Sanin was
asking him to do.

The combatants and the seconds exchanged the customary bows; the
doctor alone did not move as much as an eyelash; he sat down yawning
on the grass, as much as to say, 'I'm not here for expressions of
chivalrous courtesy.' Herr von Richter proposed to Herr 'Tshibadola'
that he should select the place; Herr 'Tshibadola' responded, moving
his tongue with difficulty--'the wall' within him had completely given
way again. 'You act, my dear sir; I will watch....'

And Herr von Richter proceeded to act. He picked out in the wood close
by a very pretty clearing all studded with flowers; he measured out
the steps, and marked the two extreme points with sticks, which he cut
and pointed. He took the pistols out of the case, and squatting on his
heels, he rammed in the bullets; in short, he fussed about and exerted
himself to the utmost, continually mopping his perspiring brow with a
white handkerchief. Pantaleone, who accompanied him, was more like a
man frozen. During all these preparations, the two principals stood at
a little distance, looking like two schoolboys who have been punished,
and are sulky with their tutors.