As soon as we had taken up our positions I took off my hat with my left hand, and begged him to fire first.

Instead of doing so immediately he lost two or three seconds in sighting, aiming, and covering his head by raising the weapon before it.  I was not in a position to let him kill me at his ease, so I suddenly aimed and fired on him just as he fired on me.  That I did so is evident, as all the witnesses were unanimous in saying that they only heard one report.  I felt I was wounded in my left hand, and so put it into my pocket, and I ran towards my enemy who had fallen.  All of a sudden, as I knelt beside him, three bare swords were flourished over my head, and three noble assassins prepared to cut me down beside their master.  Fortunately, Branicki had not lost consciousness or the power of speaking, and he cried out in a voice of thunder,—­

“Scoundrels! have some respect for a man of honour.”

This seemed to petrify them.  I put my right hand under the pistoli’s armpit, while the general helped him on the other side, and thus we took him to the inn, which happened to be near at hand.

Branicki stooped as he walked, and gazed at me curiously, apparently wondering where all the blood on my clothes came from.

When we got to the inn, Branicki laid himself down in an arm-chair.  We unbuttoned his clothes and lifted up his shirt, and he could see himself that he was dangerously wounded.  My ball had entered his body by the seventh rib on the right hand, and had gone out by the second false rib on the left.  The two wounds were ten inches apart, and the case was of an alarming nature, as the intestines must have been pierced.  Branicki spoke to me in a weak voice,—­

“You have killed me, so make haste away, as you are in danger of the gibbet.  The duel was fought in the ban, and I am a high court officer, and a Knight of the White Eagle.  So lose no time, and if you have not enough money take my purse.”

I picked up the purse which had fallen out, and put it back in his pocket, thanking him, and saying it would be useless to me, for if I were guilty I was content to lose my head.  “I hope,” I added, “that your wound will not be mortal, and I am deeply grieved at your obliging me to fight.”

With these words I kissed him on his brow and left the inn, seeing neither horses nor carriage, nor servant.  They had all gone off for doctor, surgeon, priest, and the friends and relatives of the wounded man.

I was alone and without any weapon, in the midst of a snow-covered country, my hand was wounded, and I had not the slightest idea which was the way to Warsaw.

I took the road which seemed most likely, and after I had gone some distance I met a peasant with an empty sleigh.

“Warszawa?” I cried, shewing him a ducat.

He understood me, and lifted a coarse mat, with which he covered me when I got into the sleigh, and then set off at a gallop.