It was quite possible, the captain said, drawing a familiar illustration from the gaming-table, to break the stoutest Bank in the world by a perpetual multiplication of your bets, and he was modest enough to remember that he was but one man against some thousands, to contend with all of whom would be exhausting.

Consequently the captain desired Count Ammiani to proclaim to his countrymen that the series of challenges must terminate; and he requested him to advertize the same in a Milanese, a Turin, and a Neapolitan journal.

“I am not a butcher,” he concluded.  “The task you inflict upon me is scarcely bearable.  Call it by what name you will, it is having ten shots to one, which was generally considered an equivalent to murder.  My sword is due to you, Count Ammiani; and, as I know you to be an honourable nobleman, I would rather you were fighting in Venice, though your cause is hopeless, than standing up to match yourself against me.  Let me add, that I deeply respect the lady who is engaged to be united to you, and would not willingly cross steel either with her lover or her husband.  I shall be at Camerlata at the time appointed.  If I do not find you there, I shall understand that you have done me the honour to take my humble advice, and have gone where your courage may at least appear to have done better service.  I shall sheathe my sword and say no more about it.”

All of this, save the concluding paragraph, was written under the eyes of Countess Anna of Lenkenstein.

He carried it to his quarters, where he appended the as he deemed it—­conciliatory passage:  after which he handed it to Beppo, in a square of the barracks, with a buon’mano that Beppo received bowing, and tossed to an old decorated regimental dog of many wounds and a veteran’s gravity.  For this offence a Styrian grenadier seized him by the shoulders, lifting him off his feet and swinging him easily, while the dog arose from his contemplation of the coin and swayed an expectant tail.  The Styrian had dashed Beppo to earth before Weisspriess could interpose, and the dog had got him by the throat.  In the struggle Beppo tore off the dog’s medal for distinguished conduct on the field of battle.  He restored it as soon as he was free, and won unanimous plaudits from officers and soldiers for his kindly thoughtfulness and the pretty manner with which he dropped on one knee, and assuaged the growls, and attached the medal to the old dog’s neck.  Weisspriess walked away.  Beppo then challenged his Styrian to fight.  The case was laid before a couple of sergeants, who shook their heads on hearing his condition to be that of a serving-man, the Styrian was ready to waive considerations of superiority; but the “judge” pronounced their veto.  A soldier in the Imperial Royal service, though he was merely a private in the ranks, could not accept a challenge from civilians below the rank of notary, secretary, hotel- or inn- keeper, and suchlike: