“What!” said M. Gilbert. “The service? As you please—get ready as much as you like. I have my own idea now.”
Our devoted Augustus, who had left us for a few minutes, came back with a packet of envelopes.
“I have been looking into the private correspondence of the lieutenant. I find nothing conclusive, except perhaps this postcard, signed by a Mr. Blumenthal, who calls Lieutenant Limberg ‘his cousin.’ Blumenthal—that’s a Jewish name.”
“Perhaps so,” said M. Gilbert; “but I don’t mind now. I have my own idea.”
“It is true,” said Augustus hesitatingly, “that you could still—have the coffin opened.”
“No! you mustn’t think of it!” M. Gilbert firmly replied; “and I repeat, I have my own idea. Let’s go back to our work.”
We returned then to work; and that lasted about two and a half hours. Then the orderly reappeared.
“Monsieur, the Jewish chaplain wants to see you.”
“I’m coming,” he said.
He put on his four-striped képi, took off his overalls, and disappeared.