It was nearly five o'clock before we had concluded our work: I rushed to my bed, and when, a few minutes later, the Corporal called out for the names of the sick men who wanted to go to the medical visit, I put mine down, notwithstanding Titi's warning that if the Surgeon-major did not consider me ill, I should get an extra four days Salle de Police for malingering.
At 6 A.M., after réveille, the Sergeant-major came to the room and called me.
"Look here," he said, "you are not going to begin these tricks with me—to report yourself sick just because you have slept in the Salle de Police."
I assured him that I was really ill.
"So much the better for you, if you really are," he replied; "but mind you, I shall warn the Surgeon-major, and if he finds that you are shamming there'll be another eight days for you. And, by-the-by," he added, "I want to warn you that troopers who are punished with Salle de Police are not allowed to use the canteen, and if I find that you've set foot there—God help you! You will also, during the two hours of rest you get every day, have to do corvées (hard work, such as cleaning the cells, carrying jules about, and doing any unpleasant jobs that have to be performed in the barracks)."
With this intimation he walked away.
Need I say that, now I knew all that Salle de Police implied, it was not without dread that I looked forward to the seven days I had still to undergo.
Although the description of my adventures has been but just begun, enough has, perhaps, already been said to indicate that the military training which might be made of real educational value to French youngsters is but a sordid and degrading experience, to be remembered with loathing, or forgotten—if possible.