His deportment was always good after he had some drink; you could tell it too from his manner of coughing and spitting and fingering his cross, for, you know, he was an Officer of the Legion of Honour.
“You have one too many here,” he said.
“Sir, I don’t know whether there is one too many, but there is a body here without an identification card.”
“It isn’t only that,” replied M. Poisson, “I see you have eight bodies here. Just wait a moment....”
He took out of his pocket a rumpled piece of paper, looking at it from every possible angle, then he shouted:
“Seven! Seven only! You ought only to have seven! You fool! Who brought this corpse here? I don’t want it. It’s not on the list. Where in the world did it come from?”
I began to tremble, and replied stammering:
“I didn’t notice which section brought it here.”
“Ah! You didn’t notice! And what do you think I’m going to do with it? Now, what is the man’s name?”
“But, sir, that’s just what I want to know. He hasn’t been identified.”