"Ugh," grunted the colonel.
"And the consoling certainty that he is not hurt."
"I wish you would talk about something else," said the colonel. "Read a little more of the book, messiou."
Aurelle turned over some pages.
"'Other nations,'" he read, "'accuse the English of incivility because they arrive and depart without touching their hats, and without that flow of compliments which are common to the French and Italians. But those who judge thus see things in a false light. The English idea is that politeness does not consist in gestures or words which are often hypocritical and deceptive, but in being courteously disposed to other people. They have their faults like every nation, but, considering everything, I am sure that the more one knows them the more one esteems and likes them.'"
"I like old Mr. Perlin," said the colonel. "Do you agree with him, messiou?"
"The whole of France now agrees with him, sir," said Aurelle warmly.
"You are biased, Aurelle," said Major Parker, "because you are getting quite English yourself. You whistle in your bath, you drink whisky and are beginning to like arguments; if you could only manage to eat tomatoes and underdone cutlets for breakfast you would be perfect."
"If you don't mind, major, I would rather remain French," said Aurelle. "Besides, I never knew that whistling in one's bath was an English rite."
"So much so," said the doctor, "that I have arranged to have carved on my tombstone: 'Here lies a British subject who never whistled in his bath or tried to be an amateur detective.'"