The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [126]
Wokulski threw down his pistol and left the spot. All ran to the kneeling Baron who, however, instead of giving up the ghost, said in a squeaky voice: ‘A most extraordinary accident, to be sure…I have a hole in my cheek, a tooth gone, but no bullet anywhere. Surely I haven’t swallowed it?’
The Egyptologist picked up the Baron’s pistol and examined it: ‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, ‘I see…the bullet went into the pistol, and the catch entered your cheek. The pistol is wrecked—a most interesting shot…’
‘Is Wokulski satisfied?’ the ‘English’ Count asked.
‘Yes.’ The surgeon bandaged the Baron’s face. Alarmed, Konstanty ran up from among the trees. ‘What’s this?’ he cried, ‘didn’t I say his Excellency would catch it?’
‘Silence, you ninny,’ the Baron roared, ‘be off with you to the Baroness and tell the cook I am gravely wounded…’
‘Now, if you please,’ said the ‘English’ Count gravely, ‘will you two gentlemen shake hands?’
Wokulski approached the Baron and did so. ‘A fine shot, Mr Wokulski,’ said the Baron with some difficulty, shaking him firmly by the hand, ‘it surprises me that a man of your trade…but perhaps that offends you?’
‘Not at all…’
‘That a man of your trade—highly respected, of course, should shoot so well. Where is my pince-nez? Ah, here…Mr Wokulski, a word in your ear, if you please.’
He leaned on Wokulski’s arm and they went a few yards into the wood. ‘I am disfigured,’ said the Baron, ‘I look like an old monkey with the mumps…I don’t want another quarrel with you, for I see you have good luck on your side. So tell me please—why have I been wounded? Not for pushing you,’ he added, looking straight at him.
‘You insulted a lady,’ Wokulski answered quietly.
The Baron took a step back: ‘Ah, c’est ça…’ he said, ‘I understand. I apologise once more and, as for that, know what I must do.’
‘And pray forgive me, Baron,’ Wokulski rejoined.
‘It is nothing…don’t mention it…never mind,’ said the Baron, shaking his hand, ‘the disfigurement will pass, and as for the tooth…Where is my tooth, doctor? Please wrap it up in a bit of paper…As for my tooth, I should have had false ones long ago. You would scarcely believe, Mr Wokulski, what a state my teeth are in.’
Much pleased, they all parted. The Baron was surprised that a man in trade should be such a good shot, the would-be Englishman looked more than ever like a dummy, and the Egyptologist began observing the clouds again. In the other party, Wokulski was thoughtful, Rzecki delighted by the spirits and civility of the Baron, and only Szuman was cross. Not until their carriage had gone down the hill past the Camaldolite monastery did the doctor glance at Wokulski and mutter: ‘What savages! And to think I did not call the police about such fools…’
Three days after the strange duel, Wokulski was sitting locked in his study with a certain Mr William Collins. The servant, long intrigued by these conferences, which were held several times a week, was dusting in the next room, and from time to time would put his ear or eye to the key-hole. He could see some books on the table, his master writing in a notebook; he could hear the visitor put questions to Wokulski, who replied sometimes loudly and at once, sometimes in an undertone, shyly…But the servant could not imagine what they were talking about in this peculiar fashion, for the conversation was conducted in a foreign language: ‘It ain’t German, though,’ the servant muttered, ‘for in German they say “Bitte mein Herr,” and it ain’t French neither, for they don’t say “Monsieur bonjour”…and it ain’t Hebrew neither, nor no language whatsoever, so what is it? The old man must be thinking up some first-rate speculation altogether, if he talks so the devil himself wouldn’t understand him…And he’s found himself a partner too…May the devil take ’em…’
The bell rang. The watchful servant withdrew on tiptoe from the study door, went noisily into the hall and after a minute returned to knock at his master’s door.
‘What is it?’ asked Wokulski impatiently, looking out.
‘That gent has come, what