Then, clicking my heels together, raising my right hand to the height
of my _képi_, I replied quite simply:
“Sir, I am not going to complain. It is five minutes to twelve. At
twelve I shall be in prison.”
The bulldog face relaxed. I thought he was going to thank me. He was
finally content to mumble:
“That’s a good thing!”
He went away. I proceeded, without laughing, to the guard-room.
You know the rest: I passed four days and four nights there. It was
in the middle of September. At that time the flower of the French army
were accomplishing such deeds of valour that an immense feeling of
gratitude seemed to stir the whole country from end to end. And it was
in a prison that I was fated to offer these men my humble thanks.
During those four days I thought of many queer things. But of them I
will tell you another time.