Afrique was all curiosity—what did they say? what did I say?—as he
placed before me a huge, a perfectly huge, an inexcusably huge plate of
something more than lukewarm grease…. B. and I ate at a very little
table in _la cuisine_, excitedly comparing notes as we swallowed the
red-hot stuff…. “_Du pain; prenez, mes amis_,” Afrique said. “_Mangez
comme vous voulez_” the Cook quoth benignantly, with a glance at us
over his placid shoulder…. Eat we most surely did. We could have eaten
the French Government.
The morning of the following day we went on promenade once more. It was
neither pleasant nor unpleasant to promenade in the _cour_ while
somebody else was suffering in the Room of Sorrow. It was, in fact,
rather thrilling.
The afternoon of this day we were all up in The Enormous Room when _la
commission_ suddenly entered with Apollyon strutting and lisping behind
it, explaining, and poo-poohing, and graciously waving his thick wicked
arms.
Everyone in The Enormous Room leaped to his feet, removing as he did so
his hat—with the exception of _les deux américains_, who kept theirs
on, and The Zulu, who couldn’t find his hat and had been trying for
some time to stalk it to its lair. _La commission_ reacted
interestingly to the Enormous Room: the captain of _gendarmes_ looked
soggily around and saw nothing with a good deal of contempt; the
scented soap squinted up his face and said, “Faugh!” or whatever a
French bourgeois _avocat_ says in the presence of a bad smell (_la
commission_ was standing by the door and consequently close to the
_cabinet_); but the little red-head kite-flying gentleman looked
actually horrified.
“Is there in the room anyone of Austrian nationality?”
The Silent Man stepped forward quietly.
“Why are you here?”
“I don’t know,” The Silent Man said, with tears in his eyes.
“NONSENSE! You’re here for a very good reason and you know what it is
and you could tell it if you wished, you imbecile, you incorrigible,
you criminal,” Apollyon shouted; then, turning to the _avocat_ and the
red-headed little gentleman, “He is a dangerous alien, he admits it, he
has admitted it—DON’T YOU ADMIT IT, EH? EH?” he roared at The Silent
Man, who fingered his black cap without raising his eyes or changing in
the least the simple and supreme dignity of his poise. “He is
incorrigible,” said (in a low snarl) The Directeur. “Let us go,
gentlemen, when you have seen enough.” But the red-headed man, as I
recollect, was contemplating the floor by the door, where six pails of
urine solemnly stood, three of them having overflowed slightly from
time to time upon the reeking planks…. And The Directeur was told that
_les hommes_ should have a tin trough to urinate into, for the sake of
sanitation; and that this trough should be immediately installed,
installed without delay—“O yes, indeed, sirs,” Apollyon simpered, “a
very good suggestion; it shall be done immediately: yes, indeed. Do let
me show you the—it’s just outside—” and he bowed them out with no
little skill. And the door SLAMMED behind Apollyon and the Three Wise
Men.
This, as I say, must have occurred toward the last of November.
For a week we waited.
Fritz, having waited months for a letter from the Danish consul in
reply to the letters which he, Fritz, wrote every so often and sent
through _le bureau_—meaning the _sécrétaire_—had managed to get news of
his whereabouts to said consul by unlawful means; and was immediately,
upon reception of this news by the consul, set free and invited to join
a ship at the nearest port. His departure (than which a more joyous I
have never witnessed) has been already mentioned in connection with the
third Delectable Mountain, as has been the departure for Précigne of
Pom Pom and Harree ensemble. Bill the Hollander, Monsieur Pet-airs,
Mexique, The Wanderer, the little Machine-Fixer, Pete, Jean le Nègre,
The Zulu and Monsieur Auguste (second time) were some of our remaining
friends who passed the commission with us. Along with ourselves and
these fine people were judged gentlemen like the Trick Raincoat and the
Fighting Sheeney. One would think, possibly, that Justice—in the guise
of the Three Wise Men—would have decreed different fates, to (say) The
Wanderer and The Fighting Sheeney. _Au contraire_. As I have previously
remarked, the ways of God and of the good and great French Government
are alike inscrutable.
Bill the Hollander, whom we had grown to like, whereas at first we were
inclined to fear him, Bill the Hollander who washed some towels and
handkerchiefs and what-nots for us and turned them a bright pink, Bill
the Hollander who had tried so hard to teach The Young Pole the lesson
which he could only learn from The Fighting Sheeney, left us about a
week after _la commission_. As I understand it, they decided to send
him back to Holland under guard in order that he might be jailed in his
native land as a deserter. It is beautiful to consider the
unselfishness of _le gouvernement français_ in this case. Much as _le
gouvernement français_ would have liked to have punished Bill on its
own account and for its own enjoyment, it gave him up—with a Christian
smile—to the punishing clutches of a sister or brother government:
without a murmur denying itself the incense of his sufferings and the
music of his sorrows. Then too it is really inspiring to note the
perfect collaboration of _la justice française_ and _la justice
hollandaise_ in a critical moment of the world’s history. Bill
certainly should feel that it was a great honour to be allowed to
exemplify this wonderful accord, this exquisite mutual understanding,
between the punitive departments of two nations superficially somewhat
unrelated—that is, as regards customs and language. I fear Bill didn’t
appreciate the intrinsic usefulness of his destiny. I seem to remember
that he left in a rather _Gottverdummerish_ condition. Such is
ignorance.
Poor Monsieur Pet-airs came out of the commission looking
extraordinarily _épaté_. Questioned, he averred that his penchant for
inventing force-pumps had prejudiced _ces messieurs_ in his disfavour;
and shook his poor old head and sniffed hopelessly. Mexique exited in a
placidly cheerful condition, shrugging his shoulders and remarking:
“I no do nut’ing. Dese fellers tell me wait few days, after you go
free,” whereas Pete looked white and determined and said little—except
in Dutch to the Young Skipper and his mate; which pair took _la
commission_ more or less as a healthy bull calf takes nourishment:
there was little doubt that they would refind _la liberté_ in a short
while, judging from the inability of the Three Wise Men to prove them
even suspicious characters. The Zulu uttered a few inscrutable gestures
made entirely of silence and said he would like us to celebrate the
accomplishment of this ordeal by buying ourselves and himself a good
fat cheese apiece—his friend The Young Pole looked as if the ordeal had
scared the life out of him temporarily; he was unable to say whether or
no he and “_mon ami_” would leave us: _la commission_ had adopted, in
the case of these twain, an awe-inspiring taciturnity. Jean Le Nègre,
who was one of the last to pass, had had a tremendously exciting time,
due to the fact that _le gouvernement français’s_ polished tools had
failed to scratch his mystery either in French or English—he came
dancing and singing toward us; then, suddenly suppressing every vestige
of emotion, solemnly extended for our approval a small scrap of paper
on which was written: