Andrews turned round. A soldier with a round brown face and red cheeks stood beside him on the bridge. Andrews looked at him fixedly. A little zigzag scar above his left eye showed white on his heavily tanned skin.
“Let's see your pass,” the man said again; he had a high pitched, squeaky voice.
Andrews felt the blood thumping in his ears. “Are you an M. P.?”
“Yes.”
“Well I'm in the Sorbonne Detachment.”
“What the hell's that?” said the M. P., laughing thinly.
“What does he say?” asked Genevieve, smiling.
“Nothing. I'll have to go see the officer and explain,” said Andrews in a breathless voice. “You go back to your Aunt's and I'll come as soon as I've arranged it.”
“No, I'll come with you.”
“Please go back. It may be serious. I'll come as soon as I can,” said Andrews harshly.