Señora Pollonia was charmed with M. de la Platière, who, with his young friend Captain Simon, often came in for a chat.
Alas! they had to go away after a few days’ stay, but de la Platière wrote his name in chalk on the door, in the hope that it might discourage any plunderers.
One day Boothby was suddenly aroused by the appearance in his room of an officer whom he had seen before, but did not much like.
“Eh, Capitaine, comment ça va-t-il? Ça va mieux! Ha! bon!”
Then he explained that the blade of his sword was broken. “As prisoner of war,” he said, “you will have no use for a sword. Give me yours, and, if you will, keep mine. Where is yours?”
“It stands,” said Boothby, “in yonder corner. Take it by all means.”
“Je vous laisserai la mienne,” he said, and hurried off.
Boothby wished his sword in the Frenchman’s gizzard, he was so rough and rude.
One afternoon Pedro rushed in, excited, and said: “The General himself is below, sir!”
“Bring him up, Pedro.”