I recall
that, for some reason, I was perfectly cool. I put over six or eight hot
shots without losing in the least this composure, which surprised myself
and pleased myself and altogether increased myself. As the questions came
for me I met them half-way, spouting my best or worst French in a manner
which positively astonished the tiny red-headed demigod. I challenged
with my eyes and with my voice and with my manner Apollyon Himself, and
Apollyon Himself merely cuddled together, depressing his hairy body
between its limbs as a spider sometimes does in the presence of danger. I
expressed immense gratitude to my captors and to _le gouvernement
francais_ for allowing me to see and hear and taste and smell and touch
the things which inhabited La Ferte Mace, Orne, France. I do not think
that _la commission_ enjoyed me much. It told me, through its
sweetish-soap leader, that my friend was a criminal--this immediately
upon my entering--and I told it with a great deal of well-chosen
politeness that I disagreed. In telling how and why I disagreed I think I
managed to shove my shovel-shaped imagination under the refuse of their
intellects. At least once or twice.
Rather fatiguing--to stand up and be told: Your friend is no good; have
you anything to say for yourself?--And to say a great deal for yourself
and for your friend and for _les hommes_--or try your best to--and be
contradicted, and be told "Never mind that, what we wish to know is," and
instructed to keep to the subject, et cetera, ad infinitum.
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