"Superior authorities," I said.
"If you mean to laugh at me," he replied in angry tones, "I shall have you consigned to prison."
"No, Sergeant, no more Salle de Police, prison, or cells for me—in fact, in case I do not see you again, I shall wish you good-bye now, or rather au revoir, as I hope I may meet you soon. You see I am no longer a Dragoon: I have just been invalided."
"It can't be," he said, astounded. "I should have heard of your being proposed for invalidation."
"You don't hear everything," I replied; "but if you don't believe me, here comes the dispensary Corporal, and he has my papers."
He did not add a word, and went off shrugging his shoulders eloquently.
The news soon spread through the barracks, and many were the congratulations I received.
In the afternoon the Surgeon-major came to the infirmary, where I expressed my deep thanks to him. He told me that I should have to sleep in the barracks again that night, as an error had been made in drawing up my papers, a pension having been granted to me by mistake. As to this I was quite indifferent, for I would willingly have given more than £1000 to have secured my release. The Surgeon-major also advised me to be very careful until I had received my papers, and changed my uniform for civilian clothes, for until this was done I was still under military law. The following morning my papers were handed over to me, and I returned all my outfit to the regimental stores, making a present to Titi and Piatte of all such uniforms and kits as were my personal property.
I gave twenty francs to the troopers of my peloton to drink my health, and I did not forget my friends Titi and Piatte. I then took leave of my Sergeants, gave a parting kiss to my charger, and stepped into the street, a free man at last! Half an hour later I had discarded my uniform for ever. Not only had I ceased to be a Dragoon, but I had also altogether ceased to belong to the French army.