'I congratulate you,' said the same student who had been talking with
Greif, 'upon your quarrel with Bauer. You could not have picked out a
man whom I detest more cordially. Observe this slash in my jaw--two
bone splinters, an artery and nine stitches. It is a reminiscence, not
dear but near.'
'A fine cut,' answered Rex, gravely examining the scar. 'A regular
_renommir schmiss_, a gash to boast of. A deep-carte, I suppose?'
'Of course,' said the other, with the superiority of a man who knows
the exact part of the face exposed to each cut. 'It could not be
anything else. He has the most surprising limberness of wrist, and he
never hits the bandage by mistake--never! You strike high tierce like
lightning and your blade is back in guard--oh yes! but before you are
there his deep-carte sits in the middle of your cheek. Whatever you do,
it is the same.'
Every one was listening, and Greif frowned at the speaker, whose
intention was evident. He wanted to frighten Rex by an account of his
adversary's prowess. Rex looked grave but did not appear in the least
disturbed.
'So?' he ejaculated. 'Really! Well, I can put a silver thaler in my
cheek and save my teeth, at all events. They are very good.'
A roar of laughter greeted this response.
'But that is contrary to the code,' objected the student, laughing with
the rest. He was not an ill-humoured man in reality.
'Yes--I was joking,' said Rex. 'But I once saw a man fight with an iron
nose on his face.
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