"Sinapisme—mustard who?" demanded the French doctor of Jack.
"Plaister."
"Merci."
"I'm not going to have any mustard plaister on," said Mole.
"Comment!" exclaimed the doctor; "il n'en veut pas! he will not! Morbleu! Ze prisonniers have what ze docteur ordonnances."
"Will he?"
"Yes. You are quite right, doctor," said Jack, in French. "Where is he to have on the plaister?"
"On his legs, at the back of his ankles," replied the doctor; "it is to draw the blood from his head."
"Very good, sir."
Jack translated, and the patient singularly enough grew reassured immediately.