"And what is that?"
"Permission to go to the city."
"You must ask Monsieur Tardieu, the surgeon-in-chief."
He went away laughing, while we ascended arm-in-arm, to ask permission of the surgeon-major, an old man, who had heard the "Vive l'Empereur!" and demanded gravely:
"What is the matter?"
Zimmer showed his cross and replied:
"Pardon, major; but I am more than usually merry."
"I can easily believe you," said Monsieur Tardieu; "you want a pass to the city?"
"If you will be so good; for myself and my comrade, Joseph Bertha."
The surgeon had examined my wound the day before. He took out his portfolio and gave us passes. We left as proud as kings—Zimmer of his cross, I, of my letter.