"Would your excellency like to see my hunting permit and description?" I ventured.
"Unnecessary—it is in duplicate here," he returned curtly, and his eyes again reverted to the ledger. Then he closed the book, rose, and drawing his chair to the stove planted his big fists on his knees.
I began to breathe normally.
"So you are a painter?" said he.
"Yes," I confessed, "but I do not make a specialty of fortresses, your excellency, even in the most distant landscapes."
I was grateful he understood, for I saw a gleam of merriment flash in his eyes.
"Bon!" he exclaimed briskly—evidently the title of "excellency" helped. "It is not the best day, however, for you to be hunting hares. Are you a good shot, monsieur?"
"That is an embarrassing question," I returned. "If I do not miss I generally kill."
Pierre, who, during the interview, had been standing mute in attention, now stepped up to him and bending with a hurried "Pardon," whispered something in his coarse red ear.
The brigadier raised his shaggy eyebrows and nodded in assent.