'Is the duel to go on?' he added, addressing Bizmyonkov.
Bizmyonkov made him no answer. But the prince, without taking the
handkerchief from the wound, without even giving himself the
satisfaction of tormenting me at the barrier, replied with a smile.
'The duel is at an end,' and fired into the air. I was almost crying
with rage and vexation. This man by his magnanimity had utterly
trampled me in the mud; he had completely crushed me. I was on the
point of making objections, on the point of demanding that he should
fire at me. But he came up to me, and held out his hand.
'It's all forgotten between us, isn't it?' he said in a friendly voice.
I looked at his blanched face, at the blood-stained handkerchief, and
utterly confounded, put to shame, and annihilated, I pressed his hand.
'Gentlemen!' he added, turning to the seconds, 'everything, I hope,
will be kept secret?'
'Of course!' cried Koloberdyaev; 'but, prince, allow me ...'
And he himself bound up his head.
The prince, as he went away, bowed to me once more. But Bizmyonkov did
not even glance at me. Shattered--morally shattered--went homewards
with Koloberdyaev.
'Why, what's the matter with you?' the cavalry captain asked me. 'Set
your mind at rest; the wound's not serious. He'll be able to dance by
to-morrow, if you like. Or are you sorry you didn't kill him? You're
wrong, if you are; he's a first-rate fellow.'
'What business had he to spare me!' I muttered at last.
'Oh, so that's it!' the cavalry captain rejoined tranquilly... 'Ugh,
you writing fellows are too much for me!'