Page:The Writings of Prosper Merimee-Volume 5.djvu/233

211 joking: 'Faith, my friend,' he said to me, 'this is too much moderation. You have too great a respect for the bottle.' Beheve me, sir, one must practise all the time. Otherwise, one gets rusty. The best marksman I ever knew practised every day, firing at least three shots before his dinner; he would no more have missed them than he would have omitted his cognac before dinner."

Both the Count and his wife seemed pleased to listen to me.

"And how did he shoot? " asked the Count.

"How? Let me tell you. He would see a fly on the wall . .. You laugh? Madam, I swear to you this is true. 'Eh! Kouska I a pistol!' Kouska would bring one loaded. Crack! there lay the fly flattened against the wall."

" What consummate skill!" cried the Count, "and what was this man's name?"

"Silvio, sir."

"Silvio!" cried the Count, starting to his feet. "You have known Silvio?"

"Have I known him? Well, rather. We were the greatest of friends; he was like one of us in the regiment. But it is five years now since I heard of him, and you also knew him?"