To my surprise he just glanced at the superscription, then without hesitating, opened it and read it through.
“This does not alter your case. You leave to-day,” he snapped out.
“But not for Novara I hope, mon General,” I ventured to remark.
“Well, I will make you that concession, but you must go either to Turin or Florence or Rome by the first train,” and then he added significantly: “I hope you will make no difficulty about it.” There was no mistaking his meaning.
“Of course I will not,” I replied; “my only regret is that I should have given you any trouble at all, and I trust you will understand that my motive in coming here was perfectly innocent.”
This appeared to mollify him considerably.
“Well, it is understood then that you leave to-day; the police will provide you with a ticket for whichever of the places I have named you decide to go to.” Then, to my surprise, he held out his hand as I turned to leave the room, and said in almost a friendly manner:
“The question of permitting correspondents to visit the Front is being considered, and perhaps in another month or so you will be allowed to return.”
“Then I will say au revoir, not adieu, mon General,” I said, with an attempt at cheerfulness I did not feel as we shook hands.
Well, to cut a long story short, I was packed off to Florence that evening with a third class police ticket, and with instructions to report myself immediately on my arrival there to the Commissaire of Police.