“Condemned of the Commune—by order.”
“Whose order?”
“That of the Commandant.”
“Advance order.”
The sentinel knew him. “Ah, Laflamme,” he said, and raised the point of his bayonet. The paper was produced. It did not entitle him to go about at night, and certainly not beyond the enclosure without a guard—it was insufficient. In unfolding the paper Laflamme purposely dropped it in the mud. He hastily picked it up, and, in doing so, smeared it. He wiped it, leaving the signature comparatively plain—nothing else. “Well,” said the sentinel, “the signature is right. Where do you go?”
“To Government House.”
“I do not know that I should let you pass. But—well, look out that the next sentinel doesn’t bayonet you. You came on me suddenly.”
The next sentinel was a Kanaka. The previous formula was repeated. The Kanaka examined the paper long, and then said: “You cannot pass.”
“But the other sentinel passed me. Would you get him into trouble?”
The Kanaka frowned, hesitated, then said: “That is another matter. Well, pass.”