"_Entrez_," he commanded. I did. An unremarkable looking gentleman in a
French uniform, sitting at a sort of table. "_Monsieur le medecin, le
nouveau._" The doctor got up. "Open your shirt." I did. "Take down your
pants." I did. "All right." Then, as the _planton_ was about to escort me
from the room: "English?" he asked with curiosity. "No" I said,
"American." "_Vraiment_"--he contemplated me with attention. "South
American are you?" "United States" I explained. "_Vraiment_"--he looked
curiously at me, not disagreeably in the least. "_Pourquoi vous etes
ici?_" "I don't know" I said smiling pleasantly, "except that my friend
wrote some letters which were intercepted by the French censor." "Ah," he
remarked. "_C'est tout._"

And I departed. "Proceed!" cried the Black Holster. I retraced my steps,
and was about to exit through the door leading to the _cour_, when "Stop!
_Nom de Dieu!_ Proceed!"

I asked "Where?" completely bewildered.

"Up," he said angrily.

I turned to the stairs on the left, and climbed.

"Not so fast there," he roared behind me.

I slowed up. We reached the landing. I was sure that the Gestionnaire was
a very fierce man--probably a lean slight person who would rush at me
from the nearest door saying "Hands up" in French, whatever that may be.
The door opposite me stood open. I looked in. There was the Surveillant
standing, hands behind back, approvingly regarding my progress. I was
asking myself, Should I bow? when a scurrying and a tittering made me