"_Voo parlez francais._"

This was delightful. The _planton_ behind me was obviously angered by the
congenial demeanour of Monsieur le Gestionnaire, and rasped with his boot
upon the threshold. The maps to my right and left, maps of France, maps
of the Mediterranean, of Europe, even, were abashed. A little anaemic and
humble biped whom I had not previously noted, as he stood in one corner
with a painfully deferential expression, looked all at once relieved. I
guessed, and correctly guessed, that this little thing was the translator
of La Ferte. His weak face wore glasses of the same type as the
hippopotamus', but without a huge black ribbon. I decided to give him a
tremor; and said to the hippo "_Un peu, Monsieur_," at which the little
thing looked sickly.

The hippopotamus benevolently remarked "_Voo parlez bien_," and his
glasses fell off. He turned to the watchful _planton_:

"_Voo poovez aller. Je vooz appelerai._"

The watchful _planton_ did a sort of salute and closed the door after
him. The skullcapped dignitary turned to his papers and began mouthing
them with his huge hands, grunting pleasantly. Finally he found one, and
said lazily:

"_De quelle endroit que vooz etes?_"

"_De Massachusetts_," said I.

He wheeled round and stared dumbly at the weak faced one, who looked at a