The Torrents Of Spring

‘And I too will not,’ his opponent repeated after him.
‘Well, then shout one, two, three!’ von Richter said, addressing the distracted
Pantaleone. The latter promptly ducked behind the bush again,
and from there, all huddled together, his eyes screwed up, and his head
turned away, he shouted at the top of his voice: ‘Una … due … tre!’
The first shot was Sanin’s, and he missed. His bullet went ping against
a tree. Baron von Dönhof shot directly after him – intentionally, to one
side, into the air.
A constrained silence followed… . No one moved. Pantaleone uttered
a faint moan.
‘Is it your wish to go on?’ said Dönhof.
‘Why did you shoot in the air?’ inquired Sanin.
‘That’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Will you shoot in the air the second time?’ Sanin asked again.
‘Possibly: I don’t know.’
‘Excuse me, excuse me, gentlemen … ’ began von Richter; ‘duellists
have not the right to talk together. That’s out of order.’
‘I decline my shot,’ said Sanin, and he threw his pistol on the ground.
‘And I too do not intend to go on with the duel,’ cried Dönhof, and he
too threw his pistol on the ground. ‘And more than that, I am prepared
to own that I was in the wrong – the day before yesterday.’
He moved uneasily, and hesitatingly held out his hand. Sanin went
rapidly up to him and shook it. Both the young men looked at each other
with a smile, and both their faces flushed crimson.
‘Bravi! bravi!’ Pantaleone roared suddenly as if he had gone mad, and
clapping his hands, he rushed like a whirlwind from behind the bush;
while the doctor, who had been sitting on one side on a felled tree,
promptly rose, poured the water out of the jug and walked off with a
lazy, rolling step out of the wood.
‘Honour is satisfied, and the duel is over!’ von Richter announced.
‘Fuori!’ Pantaleone boomed once more, through old associations.
When he had exchanged bows with the officers, and taken his seat in
the carriage, Sanin certainly felt all over him, if not a sense of pleasure, at
least a certain lightness of heart, as after an operation is over; but there
was another feeling astir within him too, a feeling akin to shame… . The
duel, in which he had just played his part, struck him as something false,
a got-up formality, a common officers’ and students’ farce. He recalled
the phlegmatic doctor, he recalled how he had grinned, that is, wrinkled
up his nose when he saw him coming out of the wood almost arm-in-
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