"
"She seems to be a perfect viper."
"Is she not? You would say so, more than ever, if I told you what took
place at Warrenton."
And again Mohun's brows were knit together. Then his bitter expression
changed to laughter.
"What took place at Warrenton!" I said, looking at him intently.
"Exactly, my dear friend--it was a real comedy. Only a poignard played
a prominent part in the affair, and you know poignards belong
exclusively to tragedy."
Mohun uttered these words with his old reckless satire. A sort of grim
and biting humor was plain in his accents.
"A poniard--a tragedy--tell me about it, Mohun," I said.
He hesitated a moment. "Well, I will do so," he said, at length. "It
will amuse you, my guest, while dinner is getting ready."
"I am listening."
"Well, to go back. You remember my fight with Colonel Darke near
Buckland?"
"Certainly; and I was sure that you had killed each other."
"You were mistaken. He is not dead, and you see I am not. He was
wounded in the throat, but my sabre missed the artery, and he was taken
to a house near at hand, and thence to hospital, where he recovered. My
own wound was a bullet through the chest; and this gave me so much
agony that I could not be carried in my ambulance farther than
Warrenton, where I was left with some friends who took good care of me.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221