extraordinary procession. Fritz was right behind them, however, and
pressing the leaders hard. I heard Monsieur Auguste crying in his child's
voice:

"If every-body goes slow-er we will ar-rive soon-er. You mustn't act like
that!"

Then suddenly the roar ceased. The melee integrated. We were marching in
orderly ranks. B. said:

"The Surveillant!"

At the end of the corridor, opposite the kitchen window, there was a
flight of stairs. On the third stair from the bottom stood (teetering a
little slowly back and forth, his lean hands joined behind him and
twitching regularly, a kepi tilted forward on his cadaverous head so that
its visor almost hid the weak eyes sunkenly peering from under droopy
eyebrows, his pompous rooster-like body immaculately attired in a shiny
uniform, his puttees sleeked, his cross polished)--The Fencer. There was
a renovated look about him which made me laugh. Also his pose was
ludicrously suggestive of Napoleon reviewing the armies of France.

Our column's first rank moved by him. I expected it to continue ahead
through the door and into the open air, as I had myself done in going
from _les douches_ to _le cour;_ but it turned a sharp right and then
sharp left, and I perceived a short hall, almost hidden by the stairs. In
a moment I had passed The Fencer myself and entered the hall. In another
moment I was in a room, pretty nearly square, filled with rows of
pillars. On turning into the hall the column had come almost to a
standstill. I saw that the reason for this slowing-down lay in the fact