would be a novelty to _me promener sans_ l50-odd pounds of baggage. We
set out.

As we walked easily and leisurely the by this time well peopled streets
of the vicinity, my guard indulged himself in pleasant conversation. Did
I know Paris much? He knew it all. But he had not been in Paris for
several (eight was it?) years. It was a fine place, a large city to be
sure. But always changing. I had spent a month in Paris while waiting for
my uniform and my assignment to a _section sanitaire_? And my friend was
with me? H-mmm-mm.

A perfectly typical runt of a Paris bull eyed us. The older saluted him
with infinite respect, the respect of a shabby rube deacon for a
well-dressed burglar. They exchanged a few well-chosen words, in French
of course. "What ya got there?"--"An American."--"What's wrong with
him?"--"H-mmm" mysterious shrug of the shoulders followed by a whisper in
the ear of the city thug. The latter contented himself with
"Ha-aaa"--plus a look at me which was meant to wipe me off the earth's
face (I pretended to be studying the morning meanwhile). Then we moved
on, followed by ferocious stares from the Paris bull. Evidently I was
getting to be more of a criminal every minute; I should probably be shot
to-morrow, not (as I had assumed erroneously) the day after. I drank the
morning with renewed vigor, thanking heaven for the coffee, Paris; and
feeling complete confidence in myself. I should make a great speech (in
Midi French). I should say to the firing squad: "Gentlemen, _c'est de la
blague, tu sais? Moi, je connais la soeur du conducteur._" ... They would
ask me when I preferred to die. I should reply, "Pardon me, you wish to
ask me when I prefer to become immortal?" I should answer: "What matter?
It's all the same to me, because there isn't any more time--the French
Government forbids it."