"Thank you, sir."
Somewhere about midnight, Ginger, after certain amusing adventures with the sentries, knocked at the door of Bonnard's cottage. There was some delay: then Bonnard opened the door, lifting a lighted candle.
"Bong swar, m'sew," said Ginger. "What O!"
"Ma foi!" ejaculated the Frenchman, throwing up his hands. "C'est Monsieur Ginjaire!"
"Ah, wee, wee! Large as life! Give me some grub, m'sew: la soupe; more so; anything; haven't had a good feed since I saw your jolly face last."
"Oll raight! Mais c'est merveilleux, épatant! Entrez donc, m'sieur Ginjaire; 'ow d'you do! Shake 'and!"
"Got the Iron Cross, m'sew," said Ginger with a grin, flicking the decoration with his finger-nail.
"Par exemple!" cried Bonnard. "Ah! vous avez fait un prisonnier; vous avez pris un officier prussien, n'est-ce pas? Bravo! 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray!"
There were growls through the closed door of the bedroom adjoining.
"Messieurs, messieurs," shouted the Frenchman excitedly, "c'est que m'sieur Ginjaire est revenu, avec la croix de fer. Eveillez-vous, messieurs, pour le voir."