"The athlete people are talking about?"
He muttered that there were lots of Arnauds.
"You're a Frenchman anyway?"
"I've got to be something."
"Are you going to stay a Frenchman?"
"I don't know yet."
We continued our walk. The little white-painted Grand Stand of the Stade glimmered over the hedge on our right when next he spoke. I saw his glance at it.
"About those athletics, George," he said awkwardly. "I was an awful ass. If there's anybody who oughtn't to draw attention to himself it's me. But I did it without thinking. It was at Ambleteuse. They were running and jumping, and I suppose my conceit got the better of me and I just had to have a go. But I've cut all that out. It wasn't safe. I don't go near a Stade now."
"Ambleteuse? Then you did cross Dover-Calais?"
He hesitated. "Not exactly Dover-Calais. Thereabouts."