"Mais oui, Monsieur," replied Mikhail primly.
"Expect they'll catch us wretched recruits on that lay until we get artful."
"Mais oui, Monsieur," replied Mikhail primly.
What a funny shy lad he was, with his eternal "Mais oui, Monsieur" … Perhaps that was all the French he knew!…
"Do you think the medical-examination will be very—er—searching, Monsieur?" asked Mikhail.
So he did know French after all. What was he trembling about now?
"Shouldn't think so. Why? You're all right, aren't you? You wouldn't have passed the doctor when you enlisted, otherwise."
"Non, Monsieur."
"Where did you enlist?"
"At Paris, Monsieur."
"So did I; Rue St. Dominique. Little fat cove in red breeches and a white tunic. I suppose you had the same chap?"
"Er—oui, Monsieur."
"I suppose he overhauled you very thoroughly? … Wasn't it infernally cold standing stark naked in that beastly room while he punched you about?"
"Oh!—er—oui, Monsieur. Oh, please let us … Er—wasn't that running dreadful this morning?" …
"I say, Monsieur Rupaire, do you think we shall have the same 'breakfast' every morning?" put in Feodor Kyrilovitch. "It'll be the death of my brother here, if we do. He never was a runner."
"’Fraid so, during recruits' course," replied Rupert, and added: "I noticed a great difference between you and your brother."
