"And even if he were of age," he added, "is that a crime to shoot a man
for?"
Blumhardt did not reply. Since he had recovered his functions of
command, he ignored absolutely Don Marcelo's existence. He was about to
say something, to give an order, but hesitated. It might be better to
consult His Excellency . . . and seeing that he was going toward the
castle, Desnoyers marched by his side.
"Commandant, this cannot be," he commenced saying. "This lacks common
sense. To shoot a man on the suspicion that he may be twenty years old!"
But the Commandant remained silent and continued on his way. As they
crossed the bridge, they heard the sound of the piano--a good omen,
Desnoyers thought. The aesthete who had so touched him with his
impassioned voice, was going to say the saving word.
On entering the salon, he did not at first recognize His Excellency.
He saw a man sitting at the piano wearing no clothing but a Japanese
dressing gown--a woman's rose-colored kimono, embroidered with golden
birds, belonging to Chichi. At any other time, he would have burst into
roars of laughter at beholding this scrawny, bony warrior with the
cruel eyes, with his brawny braceleted arms appearing through the loose
sleeves. After taking his bath, the Count had delayed putting on his
uniform, luxuriating in the silky contact of the feminine tunic so like
his Oriental garments in Berlin.
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