"Officer?" he said to me.
"Yes, what can I do for you? You are English?"
"No, American."
"American!"
"Yes, I'm a K. C."
"Cassé![23] Who is it that is hurt?"
I said this with such an accent of chagrin and almost of despair, that he broke into a loud laugh.
"No, not cassé, but K. of C.," and he held up his sleeve on which were found the two letters.
He then spoke volubly enough in English, of which I could not understand a single word, but which certainly must have been of lively interest, to judge by the heat of his discourse. Fortunately he continued in French: