The notary's nose;

50 THE NOTARY'S NOSE.
man watches a handsome trout dangling
at the end of his line. He rapidly pulled
off all clothes which were not absolutely
indispensable, threw his red fez and green
coat on the grass, and rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbow. It must be admitted that the sleepiest Turks wake up at
the clash of arms. This big boy, whose
face showed him every inch a Turk, appeared transfigured. His face seemed
to glow, his eyes shot flames. He took a
sabre from the Marquis' hand, stepped
back two paces, and intoned in Turkish a
poetical improvization which his friend
Osman-Bey has had the kindness to preserve and translate for us:
"I am armed for the combat; woe to
the giaour who insults me! The price of
blood is blood. Thou hast smitten me
with the hand; I, Ayvaz, son of Ruchti,
will smite thee with the sword. Thy mutilated face shall make lovely woman laugh.