Sturgeon gave a sympathetic whistle, and stolidly unwound bandages.
At first the two Napoleons remained aloof, but at last, yielding to
indignant shouts, haughtily approached. The little group stood at fault.
Heywood wiped his sword-blade very carefully on a plantain leaf; then
stood erect, to address them with a kind of cool severity.
"I regret this more than anybody," he declared, pausing, and picking his
words. "We were at practice, and my friend had the misfortune to be run
through the arm."
Chantel flung out his hands, in a motion at once furious and impudent.
"Zut! What a farce!--Will you tell me, please, since your friend has
disabled himself"--
Heywood wheeled upon him, scornfully.
"You have no right to such an expression," he stated, with a coldness
which conveyed more rage than the other man's heat. "This was entirely
my fault. It's I who have spoiled your--arrangement, and therefore I am
quite ready to take up my friend's quarrel."
"I have no quarrel with you," replied Chantel, contemptuously. "You saw
last night how he--"
"He was quicker than I, that's all. By every circumstance, I'm the
natural proxy.
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