"If I am killed, one of you will take care of my notebook. I keep it here—see?—in the inside pocket of my shirt."
Hutin thought a little.
"Yes, only you know that it's forbidden to search dead men. You'd better make a note in your book to say you told us to take it."
He was quite right, so on the first page I wrote: "In case I am killed I beg my comrades to keep these pages until they can give them to my family."
"Now you've made your arrangements mortis causa," said Le Bidois, who was reading over my shoulder. And he added:
"That doesn't increase the risk either."
Le Bidois is a thin, lanky fellow rather like the King of Spain, for which reason Déprez and I have nicknamed him Alfonso. Every day we fire off the old Montmartre catch at him:
Alfonso, Alfonso,
Veux-tu te t'nir comme il fô!
We also call him "the Spanish Grandee." He never gets annoyed.