had induced him to retire from the service and settle in a wretched little village, where he lived poorly and, at the same time, extravagantly.  He always went on foot, and constantly wore a shabby black overcoat, but the officers of our regiment were ever welcome at his table.  His dinners, it is true, never consisted of more than two or three dishes, prepared by a retired soldier, but the champagne flowed like water.  Nobody knew what his circumstances were, or what his income was, and nobody dared to question him about them.  He had a collection of books, consisting chiefly of works on military matters and a few novels.  He willingly lent them to us to read, and never asked for them back; on the other hand, he never returned to the owner the books that were lent to him.  His principal amusement was shooting with a pistol.  The walls of his room were riddled with bullets, and were as full of holes as a honeycomb.  A rich collection of pistols was the only luxury in the humble cottage where he lived.  The skill which he had acquired with his favorite weapon was simply incredible:  and if he had offered to shoot a pear off somebody’s forage-cap, not a man in our regiment would have hesitated to place the object upon his head.

Our conversation often turned upon duels.  Silvio—­so I will call him—­ never joined in it.  When asked if he had ever fought, he dryly replied that he had; but he entered into no particulars, and it was evident that such questions were not to his liking.  We came to the conclusion that he had upon his conscience the memory of some unhappy victim of his terrible skill.  Moreover, it never entered into the head of any of us to suspect him of anything like cowardice.  There are persons whose mere look is sufficient to repel such a suspicion.  But an unexpected incident occurred which astounded us all.

One day, about ten of our officers dined with Silvio.  They drank as usual, that is to say, a great deal.  After dinner we asked our host to hold the bank for a game at faro.  For a long time he refused, for he hardly ever played, but at last he ordered cards to be brought, placed half a hundred ducats upon the table, and sat down to deal.  We took our places round him, and the play began.  It was Silvio’s custom to preserve a complete silence when playing.  He never disputed, and never entered into explanations.  If the punter made a mistake in calculating, he immediately paid him the difference or noted down the surplus.  We were acquainted with this habit of his, and we always allowed him to have his own way; but among us on this occasion was an officer who had only recently been transferred to our regiment.  During the course of the game, this officer absently scored one point too many.  Silvio took the chalk and noted down the correct account according to his usual custom.  The officer, thinking that he had made a mistake, began to enter into explanations.  Silvio continued dealing in silence.  The officer, losing patience,