Paul nodded his head and smiled. All this cordial kindness and attentiveness were putting him at his ease.
"But suppose I want too much, sir?"
"Go ahead."
"Very well, sir, I accept. And what I ask is this: first of all, a fortnight's sick leave, counting from Saturday, the ninth of January, the day on which I shall be leaving the hospital."
"That's not a favor, that's a right."
"I know, sir. But I must have the right to spend my leave where I please."
"Very well."
"And more than that: I must have in my pocket a permit written in your own hand, sir, which will give me every latitude to move about as I wish in the French lines and to call for any assistance that can be of use to me."
The general looked at Paul for a moment, and said:
"That's a serious request you're making, Delroze."