"The environment of Oloron would be most stimulating
to an artist--"
"Do you know it's near Spain?" he snapped, looking straight at me.
I knew it was, and therefore replied with a carefully childish ignorance:
"Spain? Indeed! Very interesting."
"You want to escape from France, that's it?" the Directeur snarled.
"Oh, I hardly should say that!" the Surveillant interposed soothingly;
"he is an artist, and Oloron is a very pleasant place for an artist. A
very nice place, I hardly think his choice of Oloron a cause for
suspicion. I should think it a very natural desire on his part."--His
superior subsided snarling.
After a few more questions I signed some papers which lay on the desk,
and was told by Apollyon to get out.
"When can I expect to leave?" I asked the Surveillant.
"Oh, it's only a matter of days, of weeks perhaps," he assured me
benignantly.
"You'll leave when it's proper for you to leave!" Apollyon burst out. "Do
you understand?"
"Yes, indeed. Thank you very much," I replied with a bow, and exited. On
the way to The Enormous Room the Black Holster said to me sharply:
"_Vous allez partir?_"
"_Oui._"
He gave me such a look as would have turned a mahogany piano leg into a
mound of smoking ashes, and slammed the key into the lock.
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