At last, before he reached the turn in the valley, and just as the sun was passing down behind the high mountains on the left, beyond the stream, he saw the man he had come out to meet, not a hundred yards away, riding toward him on his great horse, at a foot pace.  It was the count, and he seemed lost in thought, for his head was bent on his breast, and the reins hung carelessly loose from his hand.  He did not raise his eyes until he was close to Nino, who took off his hat and pulled up short.

The old count was evidently very much surprised, for he suddenly straightened himself in his saddle, with a sort of jerk, and glared savagely at Nino; his wooden features appearing to lose colour, and his long moustache standing out and bristling.  He also reined in his horse, and the pair sat on their beasts, not five yards apart, eying each other like a pair of duelists.  Nino was the first to speak, for he was prepared.

“Good day, Signor Conte,” he said, as calmly as he could.  “You have not forgotten me, I am sure.”  Lira looked more and more amazed as he observed the cool courtesy with which he was accosted.  But his polite manner did not desert him even then, for he raised his hat.

“Good-day,” he said, briefly, and made his horse move on.  He was too proud to put the animal to a brisker pace than a walk, lest he should seem to avoid an enemy.  But Nino turned his mule at the same time.

“Pardon the liberty, sir,” he said, “but I would take advantage of this opportunity to have a few words with you.”

“It is a liberty, as you say, sir,” replied Lira, stiffly, and looking straight before him.  “But since you have met me, say what you have to say quickly.”  He talked in the same curious constructions as formerly, but I will spare you the grammatical vagaries.

“Some time has elapsed,” continued Nino, “since our unfortunate encounter.  I have been in Paris, where I have had more than common success in my profession.  From being a very poor teacher of Italian to the signorina, your daughter, I am become an exceedingly prosperous artist.  My character is blameless and free from all stain, in spite of the sad business in which we were both concerned, and of which you knew the truth from the dead lady’s own lips.”

“What then?” growled Lira, who had listened grimly, and was fast losing his temper.  “What then?  Do you suppose, Signor Cardegna, that I am still interested in your comings and goings?”

“The sequel to what I have told you, sir,” answered Nino, bowing again, and looking very grave, “is that I once more most respectfully and honestly ask you to give me the hand of your daughter, the Signorina Hedwig von Lira.”

The hot blood flushed the old soldier’s hard features to the roots of his gray hair, and his voice trembled as he answered: 

“Do you intend to insult me, sir?  If so, this quiet road is a favourable spot for settling the question.  It shall never be said that an officer in the service of his majesty the King and Emperor refused to fight with anyone,—­with his tailor, if need be.”  He reined his horse from Nino’s side, and eyed him fiercely.