...
Through the locked door I heard a nervous whisper: "_Dis a l'americain
que je veux parler avec lui._"--"_Me voici_" I said.
"Put your ear to the key-hole, _M'sieu' Jean_," said the Machine-Fixer's
voice. The voice of the little Machine-Fixer, tremendously excited. I
obey--"_Alors. Qu'est-ce que c'est, mon ami?_"
"_M'sieu' Jean! Le Directeur va vous appeler tout de suite!_ You must get
ready instantly! Wash and shave, eh? He's going to call you right away.
And don't forget! Oloron! You will ask to go to Oloron Sainte Marie,
where you can paint! Oloron Sainte Marie, Basse Pyrenees! _N'oubliez pas,
M'sieu' Jean! Et depechez-vous!_"
"_Merci bien, mon ami!_"--I remember now. The little Machine-Fixer and I
had talked. It seemed that _la commission_ had decided that I was not a
criminal, but only a suspect. As a suspect I would be sent to some place
in France, any place I wanted to go, provided it was not on or near the
sea coast. That was in order that I should not perhaps try to escape from
France. The Machine-Fixer had advised me to ask to go to Oloron Sainte
Marie. I should say that, as a painter, the Pyrenees particularly
appealed to me. "_Et qu'il fait beau, la-bas!_ The snow on the mountains!
And it's not cold.
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