Accordingly I was in
high spirits as I rushed toward the _bureau_.
I didn't have to go far. The mysterious one, in conversation with
_monsieur le sous-lieutenant_, met me half-way. I caught the words: "And
Cummings" (the first and last time that my name was correctly pronounced
by a Frenchman), "where is he?"
"Present," I said, giving a salute to which neither of them paid the
slightest attention.
"Ah yes" impenetrably remarked the mysterious one in positively sanitary
English. "You shall put all your baggage in the car, at once"--then, to
tin-derby-the-first, who appeared in an occult manner at his master's
elbow--"Go with him, get his baggage, at once."
My things were mostly in the vicinity of the _cuisine_, where lodged the
_cuisinier, mechanician, menusier_, etc., who had made room for me (some
ten days since) on their own initiative, thus saving me the humiliation
of sleeping with nineteen Americans in a tent which was always two-thirds
full of mud. Thither I led the tin-derby, who scrutinised everything with
surprising interest. I threw _mes affaires_ hastily together (including
some minor accessories which I was going to leave behind, but which the
t-d bade me include) and emerged with a duffle-bag under one arm and a
bed-roll under the other, to encounter my excellent friends, the "dirty
Frenchmen," aforesaid.
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