and me and Le
Petit Belge for a quiet chat or a cigarette. The morning after the three
fights he did not appear in the _cour_ for early promenade along with the
rest of us (including The Sheeneys). In vain did _les femmes_ strain
their necks and eyes to find the black man who was stronger than six
Frenchmen. And B. and I noticed our bed-clothing airing upon the
window-sills. When we mounted, Jean was patting and straightening our
blankets, and looking for the first time in his life guilty of some
enormous crime. Nothing however had disappeared. Jean said, "Me feeks
_lits tous les jours."_ And every morning he aired and made our beds for
us, and we mounted to find him smoothing affectionately some final
ruffle, obliterating with enormous solemnity some microscopic crease. We
gave him cigarettes when he asked for them (which was almost never) and
offered them when we knew he had none or when we saw him borrowing from
someone else whom his spirit held in less esteem. Of us he asked no
favours. He liked us too well.
When B. went away, Jean was almost as desolate as I.
About a fortnight later, when the grey dirty snow-slush hid the black
filthy world which we saw from our windows, and when people lived in
their ill-smelling beds, it came to pass that my particular _amis_--The
Zulu, Jean, Mexique--and I and all the remaining _miserables_ of La Ferte
descended at the decree of Caesar Augustus to endure our bi-weekly bath.
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