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. At last they asked each other if each other wanted to ask the man before each other anything more, and each other not wanting to do so, they said:
"C'est fini."
As at Noyon, I had made an indisputably favourable impression upon exactly one of my three examiners. I refer, in the present case, to the red-headed little gentleman who was rather decent to me. I do not exactly salute him in recognition of this decency; I bow to him, as I might bow to somebody who said he was sorry he couldn't give me a match, but there was a cigar store just around the corner, you know.
At "C'est fini" the Directeur leaped into the limelight with a savage admonition to the Wooden Hand—who saluted, opened the door suddenly, and looked at me with (dare I say it?) admiration. Instead of availing myself of this means of escape I turned to the little kite-flying gentleman and said:
"If you please, sir, will you be so good as to tell me what will become of my friend?"
The little kite-flying gentleman did not have time to reply, for the perfumed presence stated dryly and distinctly:
"We cannot say anything to you upon that point."
I gave him a pleasant smile, which said, If I could see your intestines very slowly embracing a large wooden drum rotated by means of a small iron crank turned gently and softly by myself, I should be extraordinarily happy—and I bowed softly and gently to Monsieur le Directeur, and I went through the door using all the perpendicular inches which God had given me.
Once outside I began to tremble like a peuplier in l'automne.... "L'automne humide et monotone."
—"Allez en bas, pour la soupe" the Wooden Hand said not unkindly. I looked about me. "There will be no more men
