Monsieur the Sub-Prefect observed:
"There is a young man full of health."
These words angered me, but I nevertheless replied respectfully:
"I am lame, Monsieur the Sub-Prefect."
The surgeon examined me, and the one from the hospital, to whom
Monsieur the Commandant had doubtless spoken of me, said:
"The left leg is a little short."
"Bah!" said the other; "it is sound."
Then placing his hand upon my chest he said, "The conformation is good.
Cough."
I coughed as feebly as I could; but he found me all right, and said
again:
"Look at his color. How good his blood must be!"
Then I, seeing that they would pass me if I remained silent, replied:
"I have been drinking vinegar."
"Ah!" said he; "that proves you have a good stomach; you like vinegar."
"But I am lame!" I cried in my distress.
"Bah! don't grieve at that," he answered; "your leg is sound. I'll
answer for it."
"But that," said Monsieur the Mayor, "does not prevent his being lame
from birth; all Phalsbourg knows that."
"The leg is too short," said the surgeon from the hospital; "it is
doubtless a case for exemption."
"Yes," said the Mayor; "I am sure that this young man could not endure
a long march; he would drop on the road the second mile."
The first surgeon said nothing more.