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He took the pistols out of the case, and squatting on his heels, he rammed in the bullets; in short, he fussed about and exerted himself to the utmost, continually mopping his perspiring brow with a white handkerchief. Pantaleone, who accompanied him, was more like a man frozen.
Suddenly at a turn in the road, a familiar figure came from behind a tall poplar, took a few steps forward and stood still. Sanin looked more closely.... Heavens! it was Emil! 'But does he know anything about it? he demanded of Pantaleone. 'I tell you I'm a madman, the poor Italian wailed despairingly, almost in a shriek.
Bravo giovanotto! You will be victor! A few minutes later they both set off to the Rosellis' shop. Sanin, as a preliminary measure, had exacted a promise from Pantaleone to keep the affair of the duel a most profound secret. In reply, the old man had merely held up his finger, and half closing his eyes, whispered twice over, Segredezza!
'No ... later on; get the brushes now as quick as you can. Pantaleone put the bottle on the floor, ran out and returned at once with two brushes, one a hair-brush, and one a clothes-brush. A curly poodle followed him in, and vigorously wagging its tail, it looked up inquisitively at the old man, the girl, and even Sanin, as though it wanted to know what was the meaning of all this fuss.
'Honour before everything! answered Pantaleone, and he sank into an arm-chair, without waiting for Sanin to ask him to sit down.
I would send Pantaleone with you too, only there would be no one to mind the shop. 'May we take Tartaglia? asked Emil. 'Of course you may. Tartaglia immediately scrambled, with delighted struggles, on to the box and sat there, licking himself; it was obviously a thing he was accustomed to.
The women burst out sobbing, and at the sound of weeping every mind was oppressed and filled with consternation. Then at last the bells began to ring. As they were hung low, their deep quivering strokes seemed to graze the heads of the people, and a sort of continuous wailing filled the intervals. "San Pantaleone! San Pantaleone!" It was an immense, unanimous cry of desperate men imploring aid.
'And would they kill him straight away or maim him? He did not go to bed, and fell asleep in his clothes on the sofa. Some one slapped him on the shoulder.... He opened his eyes, and saw Pantaleone. 'He sleeps like Alexander of Macedon on the eve of the battle of Babylon! cried the old man. 'What o'clock is it? inquired Sanin.
Sanin quickly took the boy's coat off, unbuttoned his collar, and pushed up his shirt-sleeves, and arming himself with a brush, he began brushing his chest and arms with all his might. Pantaleone as zealously brushed away with the other the hair-brush at his boots and trousers.
Only two men were left to hold up the saint, whose enormous white head heaved and reeled grotesquely like a drunken mask. The men of Mascalico were growing furious. Then San Pantaleone fell on the pavement, with a sharp, vibrant ring. As Giacobbe dashed forward to pick him up, a big devil of a man dealt him a blow with a bill-hook, which stretched him out on his back.
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